5. Levi
FIVE
Levi
It feels strange to take a man’s hand simply to get up from a couch. I’m not sure why I accept it. I’m not sure why I like it. It kind of embarrasses me, but Ethan doesn’t make a thing of it. He does it as lightly as he sent me that money.
Seven thousand dollars.
I’ve never had that much money in my entire life. All my debt paid. All my stress just… gone.
He said that’s why he did it, so I could focus on what we’re doing. But right now I’m distracted by it. I can’t process it, and it’s buzzing under my skin. God, I hope I don’t cry. I almost did a few minutes ago.
It hurt, having him do that for me, regardless of his reasons, and I’m having trouble putting it aside as I follow him across the insanely nice living room of his penthouse.
I’ve never been in a penthouse. Trash like me doesn’t even clean places like this.
Serving at the charity dinner last night was a fluke.
They needed someone, anyone, and that anyone just happened to be me.
But Ethan was adopted. He didn’t come from this either.
It seems a little unfair that I already know that about him.
It’s something private and personal, but it’s all over the internet for anyone to see.
That, and the fact that his adoptive father was murdered when he was in high school.
I’d never heard of Paul Castle, but it was obviously a big deal when it happened, him being some kind of famous preacher or something.
Ethan clearly didn’t want to talk about it. I get that. I wasn’t trying to make him talk about it. But I couldn’t help feeling something, and I guess it showed on my face. Everything shows on my face. I generally catch it and get it under control, but it’s not always easy.
It’s definitely not easy right now with my head spinning and my hands shaking. I’ve got them balled up in my jacket pockets at the moment, but soon that won’t be a possibility.
I honestly can’t imagine being naked in front of another person, so my mind just keeps skipping around it. Even in the moment of deciding to come here, I wasn’t really imagining it. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about the money either. I was just thinking about being around Ethan again.
He leads me from the living room into what looks like another foyer.
There are no windows, and the black-on-black wallpaper, which is textured and ornate, further darkens the space.
There are glossy black statues in vaguely human form, but I can’t make them out in the dimness.
It’s a little eerie and almost makes me feel like we’re walking through a tunnel. Then Ethan opens a door.
I don’t know what I was expecting other than, vaguely, an art studio, but that’s not what Ethan leads me into.
The room has a strange, dark mood. The light is restricted by black curtains partway shut over windows that frame the cityscape.
Another black curtain forms one of the walls, closing off what is clearly the rest of a larger room.
In this smaller space, the ceiling and upper walls are deep red, but the color bleeds to black as it nears a floor of dark, glossy hardwood.
Lengths of silvery chain hang on the walls.
Some of it is clearly decorative, hanging connectively between pieces of abstract silver sculpture.
Some of it, though, hangs from pegs, and these chains end in shackles and even… collars.
“Those are just props,” Ethan says because I’m sure it’s obvious what I’m staring at. “They’re not for you.”
I have the weirdest reaction to that statement. I should be relieved, or maybe even freaking out and trying to leave, but all I can think is: Why not for me?
It makes no sense, so I force my mind away from the question and force my eyes away from the… what did he call them? Props.
In the corner, there’s something even stranger. It looks like a coffin made of quilted black leather. It’s closed, but I can see hinges and handles in strange places, as though there are little doors that can be opened.
To my right, there’s a well-stocked bar that’s all black and gold and crystal bottles.
I only glance at that because it looks pretty normal.
The main part of the room, however, is dominated by strange furniture.
It undulates in curves and waves like some kind of modern art.
One… chair? looks almost like a slide with two humps and a dip between them.
There’s a curved couch of deep red velvet that’s shaped sort of like a comma, where the fat end is bigger than my bed.
Only one chair looks normal, a large and imposing wingback of black leather. On a table beside it lies a large book with a plain black cover.
For the first time, the reality of what I’ve agreed to actually hits me. I’m going to take off all my clothes. Ethan is going to see me. All of me. What if he’s disappointed? I’m pale. I’m a lot smaller than him. And I didn’t… shave.
Heat creeps up my neck.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Ethan demands in a low, dark voice.
“I… I don’t know.” I’m not supposed to lie to him, but it’s not really a lie. My thoughts are crowded and slippery. I’m not sure which one I could hold onto long enough to explain.
“Are you scared?”
My eyes jump to the coffin-thing then the chains, but I’m not scared, at least not of them.
Ethan doesn’t force an answer to the question but instead asks another. “Have you ever been naked with another man?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been naked with another person?”
The heat that’s crept up my neck floods my face. I can’t bring myself to answer that. I have never, ever admitted that I’m a virgin. Not that anyone has ever asked.
I’m awkward and weird. I wouldn’t know what to do, and I’m not sexually motivated enough to try. I never have been. I don’t even jack off very often.
Fuck, why am I thinking about that right now? It’s not even what he asked.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I gasp.
“Which part?” Ethan asks, stepping in front of me, so close that my head tilts back to look up at him. “This part?” he asks, his dark eyes locked with mine as he takes hold of my jacket’s zipper and pulls it down.
I stand frozen, my heart racing, as he pushes the jacket off my shoulders. The knitted cuffs catch on my hands, which are still in my pockets. Without dropping eye contact, Ethan frees one of my hands, then the other. My jacket falls to the floor.
When Ethan’s fingers brush my stomach, I suck in a startled breath.
He finds the hem of my T-shirt and tugs it upward.
My arms lift automatically, like I’m not controlling them, like I’m under a spell.
But when our eye contact breaks as Ethan pulls the shirt over my head, that spell breaks.
Suddenly aware of myself again, I shiver and draw back.
Ethan catches me by the jaw. It’s not a firm grip. I could easily pull out of it. But something about the way he does this, like he did earlier, like he did last night, makes everything go still and quiet inside me.
“Are you all right?” he asks softly.
When I nod slightly against his hand, he lets go of my jaw and sinks down, crouching at my feet. Goosebumps erupt all over my body as he starts untying my laces.
I stare down at the top of Ethan’s head as he works. He’s got such beautiful dark brown hair. It’s wavy and about the length of mine but much better cut. Mine is shaggy and gross. My shoes are gross too. They’re old and faded and the left toe cap is cracked.
Finished untying, Ethan stands up.
Something about my face makes him scowl. He demands, “What just happened? You were fine and now you’re not.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to answer him. I don’t know how.
“Levi.”
The force of his demand gets words stuttering out of me. “I’m just… I don’t understand why you want me for this. I’m—”
When I cut myself off, his eyes narrow. “You’re what? Finish that sentence.”
“I’m gross.”
Absolute rage blazes in his eyes, but I don’t have time to react to it before he grabs me and spins me around.
His arms hook around me to pull me hard against his body.
One of his hands covers my throat, and his fingers dig into my jaw.
I gasp in shock at the sudden, full-body contact.
It’s so foreign to me that I can’t even react to it.
“Don’t you ever fucking say that again. Don’t ever think it.” The words are a furious, gritted-out hiss at my ear. “Do you understand me?”
I don’t. I don’t understand. And for some reason, him saying that, him cutting that off as not a possibility, makes my eyes start prickling.
“Who fucking said that to you?” Ethan demands.
I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to not cry.
I’m shaking so hard that I would probably fall if Ethan weren’t holding me.
God, he’s holding me. I don’t remember ever being held in my life.
I don’t just hear Ethan breathing hard, I feel it.
His chest is heaving against my back. His breath is feathering hot against my neck.
He insists, “There is nothing gross about you. You are completely beautiful, and whoever said that to you can fucking rot in hell.”
I’m so distracted by his words that I don’t fully register his fingers at the waistband of my jeans until the button pops.
As he tugs the zipper down, words bubble up, but instead of no or stop, I blurt in panic, “I haven’t shaved.”
“I don’t give a shit whether you’ve shaved,” he tells me as he shoves down my jeans and underwear, abruptly exposing my cock. I make a startled sound of protest, but it dies in my throat as Ethan growls in my ear, “Like I said, you’re fucking beautiful.”
I’m so overwhelmed and overstimulated that I can’t track, let alone process, everything happening in my body. I’m shaking, buzzing, hot and cold at the same time. There’s a strange, pressured feeling in my groin.
“You’re beautiful,” he says again. “That’s why I want to draw you.”
He holds me for a long time. The hand that shoved down my pants curls around my side.
His other hand has never left my throat, though the grip has eased.
He holds me until I calm down, then he slides around me.
His hands shift and glide over my skin, leaving electric trails.
When he’s in front of me, they settle on my sides.
I can’t look at him, not while I’m standing like this with my pants around my thighs, but he doesn’t force me to. He lets my eyes stay down, but he does move one hand to my cheek. His thumb strokes. My eyes sting.
He says quietly, “I’m going to make you see it. I’m going to show you to yourself.”
My eyes squeeze shut. They’re still shut when I feel Ethan dropping in front of me, then they pop open. One of his hands remains on my bare hip while his other goes to my foot. He taps it, wanting me to lift it. When I do, I sway, too unsteady for the maneuver.
“Hands on my shoulders,” Ethan orders.
I grab onto him. For a second, all my attention goes to the sensation of his powerful shoulders under my hands, but then I’m busy obeying him, lifting one foot then the other as he pulls off my shoes and socks.
Then he’s pushing my pants down the rest of the way.
I step out of them, still holding onto his shoulders.
When he’s done, when I’m stripped bare, he looks up at me.
It’s strange to be looking down at him when I’m the one naked and vulnerable.
I feel both those things intensely, but I also find myself steadying as he holds my gaze.
I stop worrying about the fact that he’s so close to my bare cock. I stop trembling.
His face is so different from anyone I’ve ever met, and it’s not because he’s handsome. He is that. His face is very masculine, but it’s also refined. The planes of it are clean and carved. In fact, he’s more than handsome. He’s beautiful, like he called me.
But what makes his face different is his eyes.
They’re so intense. His whole being is intense, but it really shows in his eyes.
And yet, they don’t actually show anything.
Everything is under the surface. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.
Last night, I sensed something dangerous in him. I still sense it.
I feel like it should scare me, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel calm.
Ethan rises to his feet. As he does, my hands slide down from his shoulders. He catches one as they drop and pulls me into motion.
He leads me across the room, much like he did last night. But this time it’s just us and I’m completely naked. I don’t know what to think of that, so I stop thinking at all.
Ethan takes me to the red velvet couch that’s shaped like a comma, though now it looks to me more like a nautilus shell.
It’s so deep that Ethan crawls onto it with me to guide me to the back.
He gets me settled there. I’m not sure how it all happens.
I’m moving my body but he’s somehow commanding it.
There are no words. It’s just touch and intention, a hand on my shoulder, my thigh, my knee.
He poses me with one knee drawn up, my hand resting on it.
My other leg is also bent but falling to the side, that hand resting on my thigh.
I’m leaning back a little. The position is comfortable, and I don’t realize until Ethan starts to draw back just how exposed it makes me.
That startled awareness must show in my eyes because Ethan pauses.
He takes light hold of my face, tilting it slightly. He keeps contact until I breathe and relax, then he murmurs, “Mmm, perfect.”