Chapter 22 #3
And God knew he couldn’t refuse that invitation. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertips, memorizing the warmth of her skin, the steady pulse at her throat. Alive. His fingers started to shake. She was alive and here with him, and that simple fact threatened to unravel him completely.
“What?” Willow whispered, her good hand coming up to cover his. Her injured arm remained immobilized against her chest, the shoulder she'd just started rehabbing too fragile for any weight.
“Nothing.” The word came out rough, scraped raw.
“Levi.” She’d been through hell with him, and even in the short amount of time they’d been together, she knew him well. He bet she could read every shift in his expression, every bit of tension in his body. She whispered, “Talk to me.”
Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to hers and breathed her in before admitting, “I thought you were dead.”
Her fingers tightened on his. “I'm here. I'm okay.”
“At the compound.” The words clawed their way up his throat.
“When I was ready to blow that tunnel. I thought Phantom wasn’t going to make it.
I thought I got there too late. I thought I'd lost you—” His voice cracked.
He had to stop, had to breathe through the remembered terror of her limp body, the blood, so much blood.
“But you didn't lose me.” She cupped his face with her right hand, her thumb brushing away moisture he hadn't realized was there. “You saved me.”
“And then in surgery.” God, saying it out loud made it real again, made him feel the same gut-wrenching helplessness he'd felt in that waiting room. “When the nurse came out and said you'd coded, that they'd had to shock your heart back—” He broke off, unable to finish.
Willow made a small sound, pulling him closer. “I didn't know they’d told you that part. The doctor told me about that the first day after surgery when they made you wait outside.”
“Forty-seven seconds. That’s what the nurse said.” He opened his eyes, met her gaze. “That's how long your heart stopped. My world went sideways. I've faced down insurgents, defused bombs, and jumped from planes in the dark of night. And none of it scared me like those words from that nurse.”
“Levi.” Her voice broke on his name.
He kissed her then, soft and careful, his tears—or maybe hers—coating their lips. He couldn't tell. “I need you,” he whispered against her mouth. “I need to love you. All of you.”
“Yes.” She kissed him back, deeper. “Just … slow. Careful.”
“Always.” He would always be careful with her, would always treat her like the precious thing she was. He eased her against the pillows with infinite gentleness, arranging them behind her injured shoulder for support. His hands trembled with every movement.
The bandages were gone now, replaced by surgical tape and the angry red of healing incisions. He pressed his lips to her sternum, just above her heart, and felt its steady rhythm against his mouth. The beat that had stopped. The beat that had come back.
“I'm here,” Willow whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. “I'm not going anywhere.”
He kissed his way across her collarbone, over the unmarred skin of her good shoulder, down to the swell of her breast. Worshipped her with his mouth, his hands, moving with reverence.
She was warm and alive beneath him, sighing his name, and he wanted to memorize every sound, every flutter of her pulse, every catch of her breath.
When he finally moved over her, bracing his weight on his forearms to keep any pressure off her shoulder, he paused and looked at her. The woman who'd survived hell. The woman who'd fought her way back to him.
“I love you.” The words came easier now after everything. “God, Willow, I love you so much it terrifies me.”
Her eyes shimmered. “I love you, too. Show me.”
He entered her slowly, carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.
But there was only pleasure, only trust, only love shining in her eyes.
He moved with exquisite gentleness, each stroke deliberate and deep, one hand cradling her injured shoulder to keep it stable and the other tangled with hers.
“You're okay,” he murmured against her temple, his voice breaking. “You're okay, you're here, you're mine.”
“I'm yours,” she breathed. “Always yours.”
The pleasure built slowly between them. He wasn’t chasing a release.
This was about life, about love, and about them being together.
When Willow came, it was with his name on her lips and tears streaming down her temples.
Levi followed moments later, burying his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her name as he shattered.
He held her afterward, arranged carefully so her shoulder rested comfortably against his chest, his arm draped protectively over her waist. Her heart beat steady and strong beneath his palm.
Willow said quietly, “This is what's real. Us.”
Levi pressed a kiss to her hair, his throat too tight for words. She was right. This was real. This was what he’d craved. The warmth of her body against his, the sound of her breathing, the impossible miracle of them finding each other and making what they felt for each other stick.
He'd faced down death a thousand times and never flinched.
But he'd almost lost her twice, and he knew with absolute certainty that he'd never stop counting his blessings, never stop being grateful for every heartbeat, every breath, every moment he got to hold her like this.
Never stop loving her with everything he had.