Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Zephyrine
“If you want to listen to me, you’re going to actually listen to me. You’ll do what I say, when I say. Understood?”
“Yes.” I’d agree to just about anything right now, if I'm being honest. I just want to hear him talk to me like that again. Listening to Levi on audio felt like pure adrenaline running straight through my heart, making it beat again, making my stomach tumble with excitement and my cheeks warm, and that’s before we get to the way it lit up every single nerve ending in my body.
Ones I barely remember exist most of the time.
“Fuck.” He lets the curse rip through the darkness, and he sits up straighter, leaning back in the corner of the couch until he’s facing me. His eyes study me through the dark, and I can feel my skin heat under his gaze. He presses his glasses up his nose and clears his throat.
“Lie back against the cushions on the arm there and get comfortable. Swing your feet up here.” He pats the spot in front of his lap. I do as he asks, tentatively letting my feet drop in front of his knees as I lean back, wiggling my butt to get comfortable.
“Good?” he asks once I settle in.
“Good.” I nod.
“Spread your legs,” he orders. Apparently, when he’s in, he’s all in.
It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Every brush of my skin over the cushion fabric sounds like it’s amplified through speakers, but I follow his instructions. I let my right leg fall back into the cushion of the couch and my left drop to the side until I’m spread in front of him.
His eyes fall over me slowly, my face and my body first, then my legs and my ankles and toes, before traveling back up again, but this time, his gaze falls heavy between my thighs.
“Are those fucking lace?” The shirt I’m wearing—his shirt—is riding up on my thighs and giving him a glimpse of what’s underneath. He scowls at the underwear I have on.
“Dakota got them for me.”
“Of course she did,” he gripes.
I should defend her, but all I can think right now is how beautiful he is and how much I love the sound of his voice.
He’s already filling all my thoughts and senses every second of the day when we’re trapped together in this little cabin, tempting me with every quirk of his lips and each sexy little frown.
The smell of his cologne is everywhere I go, and the way he pushes his glasses up while he’s reading distracts me every single time.
“Pull my shirt up. I want to see all of them.” I clutch the hem of the shirt and pull it the rest of the way up, until it bunches around my waist. For all my complaints about being stuck wearing his clothes, I’ve grown attached to sleeping in them.
I glance down, and I see now why he wanted me in this position.
The moonlight from the windowpane pours in, highlighting my pale skin and the black lace panties in a neat little square around my hips and upper thighs.
I suck my lower lip in between my teeth when I realize how obvious it is that I’m already fantasizing about him.
“This wet already?”
“Hearing you talk like that… I can’t help it,” I admit softly.
“Touch yourself.”
My nerves come front and center then. Doing this in front of him in complete silence feels awkward.
“Can you hit play again?” I’ve still got the earbud in my right ear. “It’ll make me less self-conscious,” I explain when he gives me a skeptical look.
He nods then, pulling his phone out and hitting the play button. His low groan rumbles through my eardrum, and I hear the sound of his hand working over his cock. My cheeks flood with heat as he stares back at me, both of us listening to him through the speakers.
“Touch yourself.” The live version of him reminds me of my role in all this.
I run my fingers back over the top of my waistband, teasing the skin there until goose bumps start to form in their wake, and then I slide them under, closing my eyes to focus on his voice.
If he can get off listening to me, I can do the same. It's only fair.
I part my index and middle fingers as I move past my clit, brushing it just enough to feel the spark light. I gasp and bite my lower lip when I feel how drenched I am, letting out a soft moan as I start to slip the pads of my fingers back and forth through my wetness.
It’s loud, the sound of it piercing the night, and his eyes are glued to where my hand moves under the material as I listen to him moan through the recording in my ear.
“Fucking hell, Zeph,” the real one curses, palming his cock through his jeans.
I tease my clit softly. I’m so sensitive I don’t dare keep the pressure up for more than a second at a time. It has to last. I need to come hard but I want it to be with him. I have to take a deep breath to try not to let myself fall apart too soon.
It’s like the audio version of him knows because he starts talking again.
“This part here, where you let out these stuttered little breaths. I can tell you’re working yourself up to the edge, barely able to fucking take it, and then you stop.
That frustrated little sigh where you tease yourself and then hold it at bay.
Do you like being edged, darlin’?” He groans again, and I hear him slow his pace down as well.
It’s some sort of unholy trinity, the three of us together like this—the recorded version of him and the real one, with me pinned down in between them.
“Do you?” Levi repeats his counterpart’s question.
“Yes.” The word comes out on half a moan as my fingertips brush over my clit again, and the recorded version of him moans in unison.
Listening to him sparks every last nerve in my body.
I let my head fall back as I start to work myself closer to the edge.
The recorded version of Levi takes over all my senses as I hear the sound of skin on skin as he works himself over.
He breathes heavily, and I imagine he’s on top of me, his breath at my throat.
I can hear the distant sound of my own muted moans in the background of his. We sound filthy. I can’t get enough.
“Oh fuck yes. Work that pretty little clit for me. You sound like a fucking angel when you come,” the recorded Levi urges me on.
“Oh,” I let out an audible gasp that echoes through the cabin.
“Stop,” Levi, the one whose eyes are glued on me, demands sharply, and I pull my hand away, fisting it in the blanket he left discarded on this side of the couch.
I take a deep breath and pinch my eyes closed for a moment as I try to block out the way my nerves are lighting up.
The recording goes silent, and I look up at him in question.
“Fuck. Didn’t think it was possible to be jealous of myself.” He lets out a coarse laugh as he tosses his phone to the coffee table.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” I whisper, unsure what I did wrong.
“I do,” he reassures me. “But if I only get to experience this once, I want every last second to count.”
“Oh,” I murmur my understanding in the soft sound.
“Take your panties off and give them to me,” he orders.
“Are you starting a collection or something?” I tease as I reach for the waistband.
“Something like that,” he answers as he shoves his pants down off his hips.
I’m distracted from my own progress when his dick slips free from behind the fabric.
He’s big, and I can’t help the grin that follows.
It’s exactly how I imagined him. I try biting down on my lip, but it’s useless, and I turn my head down so he can’t see.
I can feel the heat bloom on my cheeks as he watches me.
The silent thoughts I’m having, making me feel more vulnerable than anything else so far.
“What?” he asks, his tone genuinely curious and not at all cocky, which surprises me.
“Nothing.”
“Oh no. We’re not doing that,” he warns me, his tone still warm despite it.
“You’re just living up to the fantasy, is all,” I confess, and I don’t miss the sweet little grin that flashes over his face before it disappears. It makes my stomach flutter with a hint of hope.
“The panties.” He holds his hand out, pretending he’s unaffected.
I raise my hips and slide them down over my thighs and legs. He helps me when they reach my ankles, pulling them off gently past my toes as his fingers brush over my skin.
“Fuck,” he curses as his fingers slip over the fabric.
They’re drenched, and I worry I should be embarrassed, but it’s dismissed a moment later with a low groan as he wraps them around his dick.
“Perfect. Goddamn. I’ve been dreaming about this,” he mutters as his eyes fall closed.
He slides them up and down, and I watch his skin start to glisten with my wetness.
“Oh, hell,” I whisper out loud, and he cracks one eye open, sliding it over me.
“Put those fingers back to work. I want to hear you working yourself up again, Zephyrine.” His eyes are heavy as he watches me.
The way he says my name feels like kerosene on a fire, and I do as I’m told.
I want him sated, happy. Completely so. Because maybe if he is, if I’m the source of it, maybe I can have more of this—more of him.
Which is the only thing that I want right now.
His breathing gets heavier, and he ditches the panties for the palm of his hand, slicking it before he uses it to work himself from base to tip. I tease my clit, careful not to allow too much. I’m already swollen and sensitive from listening to the recording; the live version nearly does me in.
“Fucking hell,” he curses.