Chapter Twenty Nine Even Then #2
It feels like he’s just waiting for the right moment to go be with her. I can’t even think about it without going down that negative spiral—but fuck, how else am I supposed to see it?
The second I open my bedroom door, I understand the uneasy grin Arina tried to hide horribly.
The room doesn’t look like ours anymore—it looks like something out of a romance movie.
Red and pink hearts taped across the walls, strings of fairy lights draped from corner to corner, casting a soft, red glow that makes everything shimmer.
Fresh roses fill the air with sweetness, heavy and intoxicating.
It’s November, but it feels like Valentine’s Day exploded in here. Arina had to have seen him setting this up. And she just sat around, waiting for me to walk right into it.
Gift bags are stacked neatly on the bed—small and big boxes wrapped in shiny pink and red paper, ribbons tied with obvious care. Scattered among them are folded love notes, each one marked with my name in his handwriting. I can see the effort in every corner, every detail.
For a moment, I just stand there, heart tugging in two directions—between the walls I’ve built these last months and the undeniable weight of how hard I can see him trying.
I just stand there, letting myself feel the glow, the scent, the care I didn’t expect.
It feels like walking into someone else’s fantasy—one where love fixes everything, where hurt never existed.
But for us, it’s complicated.
The sight pulls at something deep inside my chest, stirring a hurt I wasn’t ready to touch.
My throat tightens, my eyes blur. Part of me wants to fall into it, to let his thoughtfulness drown out everything else.
While another part of me refuses, reminding myself why this room looks like this in the first place.
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I wipe it away quickly and step inside, closing the door softly behind me.
When I turn around, Levy’s standing behind the door like he’s been waiting for the exact second I closed the door.
A massive bouquet of red roses fills his arms, so big I can barely see his face behind it.
Only his jeans and crisp Jordans peeking out beneath the blooms. The roses tilt slightly, bowing under their own weight, and for a second, all I can do is stare, caught between shock, sadness, and something I don’t even want to name.
A tear escapes anyway, sliding hot down my cheek. I swipe it away, but my breath betrays me. He shifts forward, lowering the bouquet just enough for me to see his face. His eyes are glossy, rimmed with exhaustion, but there’s something raw there—something that makes my lungs strain for air.
“Jainey…” His voice unsteady, like he’s afraid the moment might break if he speaks too loud. “I know I’ve ruined everything. I know I broke your trust. I don’t even deserve to be standing here, but I can’t let another day go by without showing you how much you mean to me.”
The roses tremble in his hands as he swallows hard, his words spilling faster.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
You’ve given me more love than I ever thought possible, and I threw it back in your face.
I hate myself for it—every fucking day. If I could take it all back—I would in a second. ”
My body reacts before my brain can catch up, my fingers twitch at my sides, yearning to reach for him even when my mind screams don’t.
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he continues, voice breaking.
“I’m not asking you to pretend it never happened.
But I am asking you to see me now—right here—trying with everything I have left.
Jaine, I don’t want her. I’ll be a father and I’ll step up because I have to, but I want you.
Even if it kills me that I might lose you in the process, I need you to know—you’re the only one I love. ”
My pulse pounds in my ears. I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, my tears quiet but still wet on my cheeks. I don’t have a response—no words that feel right, no strength to argue or fully forgive. So I stay silent, staring at my hands clasped in my lap, heart guarded.
He steps closer, placing the bouquet gently on my vanity. He doesn’t say anything this time. He just stands there, close enough for me to feel his warmth. And for one dangerous, breathless second, I forget everything that broke us.
He lowers himself onto his knees, and my breath hitches.
The weight of his eyes lifts to meet mine, searching.
His hands reach for my ankle—careful, almost reverent—as he gently slips one shoe off, then the other.
One by one, he peels my socks away, his fingers warm against my skin.
Then he takes my foot gently into his hands, his thumbs pressing slow circles into the arch, the pressure firm, soothing.
A wave of comfort rolls through me, soothing the ache from standing on my feet all day during that horrendous six-hour shift.
What starts as simple relief, quickly becomes something deeper—each stroke carrying a tenderness that feels better that any words never could.
I don’t stop him. But I don’t lean into him either.
I just sit there, while my heart wages war inside me.
His hands drift upward, resting on my thighs before hesitating at my waistband.
The movement is slow, careful—like he’s waiting for permission that I never actually give but don’t take away either.
The sound of fabric shifting fills the silence between us.
Cool air brushes against my skin, a contrast to the warmth of his touch.
He straightens slowly, eyes tracing the view of me, stopping where my shirt meets the edge of my ribs. His fingers find the hem, sliding upward, until I’m left half-exposed, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to stay exactly where I am.
My breathing quickens, my chest rising and falling as anticipation coils tight inside me.
His palm presses gently to the small of my back, guiding me upright gently.
The clasp of my bra gives with a soft click, the weight slipping off my shoulders.
His breath is hot against the goosebumps on my skin, as his lips close around my nipple.
A shiver races through me, his tongue moving in slow, patient circles around my piercing.
He catches my other nipple, squeezing hard, sending a rush of heat straight between my thighs. The heat pools low, my clit pulsing with need. He sinks to his knees again, clothes still on, pushing my legs open with ease.
The mattress dips, the room narrowing to the rasp of our breath and the steady spread of his hands as he eases my thighs apart, baring my shaved pussy to the open air. I swallow, my hips rising up toward to him, every nerve awake and waiting.
He tilts his head, eyes hungry as his gaze drops. “I’ll never stop loving how pretty this pussy is.”
I smile, a small laugh breaking at the back of my throat. “You’ll always do this to me,” I breathe, half-mocking, half-giving in. “Drive me out of my mind, just to watch me cave.”
He shoves his face between my legs and devours me. Licking my clit roughly, forcing my legs open with both hands. He sucks harder, licking my pussy to my ass. My hips jerk up, pushing his face deeper into me, because God, I need him to keep going.
“Yes… please, Levy,” I cry out, breathless and shaking.
The slick, messy sounds of his tongue and mouth working my pussy are driving me out of my mind. He slides his tongue so deep, my head falls back in desire—managing to grab a handful of his hair on the way. He growls at that, shoving his tongue deeper inside me.
My breaths quicken, grinding hard on his face as my legs start to squeeze around his head.
Letting go of his hair, I collapse on my back still grinding, his hands grip my thighs firmly keeping me from moving too much.
He buries his tongue deeper until I feel a fierce warmth rushing up my spine, my orgasm escaping through me.
I bite down on my lip, forcing myself to stay quiet, fully aware the house isn’t empty. Though Arina probably knows what is happening right now, I don’t want to be that roommate. Reaching above my head, I grab a pillow and place it on top of my face as my orgasm rushes through me.
I remove the pillow from my face slowly, trying to catch my breath and refocus my vision. I sit up slightly to see Levy removing his clothes. He yanks everything off quicker and then I’ve ever seen, his cock so hard and veiny it looks almost desperate to be inside me.
With his underwear bunched around his ankles, he kicks them off with his shoes, his socks still on.
He positions me at the edge of the bed, lifting my legs with an ease that sends a shiver through me, placing my ankles over his shoulders, he lines up his throbbing dick to my entrance.
He pushes into me so deep I’m caged beneath him, my whole body pressed up against his.
“Fuck, this is the best pussy I’ve ever had. I’ve missed you so much, baby.” He says kissing my toes, pulling out and pushing in deeper.
“I missed you too—so much, baby. You feel so good, please … don’t stop.”
He kisses me hard, steal the air from my lungs.
He lowers my leg next to his thigh, holding my other leg in his hand while he continues thrusting inside me with full force.
I feel him shifting inside me, I grind my hips into him, moaning from constant pleasure.
He thrusts faster, and all I can think now is how badly I need to cum again, or I’m going to lose it completely.
Dropping my other leg, he grabs my breast, pulling me into him thrusting even harder, our breaths falling into the same rough rhythm as we both come apart.
I was already tired mentally, then from working a long shift.
And now getting my pussy wrecked, has me feeling exhausted and loose as a fucking slinky.
Breath by breath, the rush fades, leaving only the sound of our hearts settling.
For the first time in a long time, the silence doesn’t feel empty—it feels like peace, even if it may not last.
His eyes find mine, holding me there with quiet intensity. And when he whispers, “I love you,” the words settle deep.
A soft warmth spreads through me, my chest tightening as his breath grazes the back of my neck. My lips part on a shaky exhale. “I love you too,” I whisper, the words barely leaving me before his arm tightens around my waist.
I keep promising myself that I’ll figure out what I really want.
But what if choosing him ruins everything?