She was looking at him with a kind of clouded wonder in her eyes, delicate fingertips tracing over the lines on his arms. “These are beautiful,” she said.
“You want to talk about my tattoos now?”
“That was great,” she said, breathless. “But I was waiting to see these.”
“Celtic knot,” he said, speaking of the intricate designs on his arms. That wasn’t terribly personal. He’d had it done when he was eighteen and kind of an idiot. He’d hated his father and had wanted to find some identity beyond being that man’s son. Inking some of his Irish heritage on his skin, making it about some long-dead ancestors, had seemed like a way to do that at the time.
Or at least that’s what he’d told himself.
Now Levi figured it was mostly an attempt at looking like a badass and impressing women.
“And the bird?” she pressed.
Freedom. Simple as that. Also not something he was going to talk about with a hard-on.
“I like bird-watching,” he said, his lips twitching slightly. “Now, no talking.”
He gripped her chin and pulled her forward, kissing her mouth and letting her taste her own arousal there.
He took her deeper, higher, playing between her legs while he reached into his bedside table to get a condom.
Her head was thrown back, her breasts arched up toward him. Her lips, swollen from kissing, parted in pleasure. She was his every dirty dream, this sweet little angel.
He kept on teasing her, tormenting her with his fingers while he lifted the condom packet to his lips with his free hand and tore it with his teeth. Then he rolled it onto his length, slowly, taking his position against the entrance of her body.
She was so hot. So slick and ready for him. He couldn’t resist the chance to tease them both just a little bit more.
He held himself firmly at the base and arched his hips forward, sliding through those sweet folds of hers, pushing down against her clit and reveling in her hoarse sound of pleasure.
He wasn’t made for her. There was no doubt about that. He was hard, scarred and far too broken to ever be of any use to her. But as he pressed the thick head of his erection against her, as he slid into her tight heat, inch by agonizing inch, he wondered if she wasn’t made for him.
She gasped, arching against him, this time not in pain. Not like the first time.
She held on to his shoulders, her fingertips digging into his skin as he thrust into her, pulling out slowly before pressing himself back home.
Again. And again.
Until they were both lost in the fog of pleasure. Until she was panting. Begging.
Until the only sound in the room was their bodies, slapping against each other, their breathing, harsh and broken. It was the middle of the day, and he hadn’t taken her on a date. Hadn’t given her anything but an orgasm. And he couldn’t even feel guilty about it.
He had spent all those days in the dark. Counting the hours until nothing. Until the end. He had been given a life sentence. And with that there was almost no hope. Just a small possibility they’d find a body—as horrendous as that would be—and exonerate him. He had felt guilty hoping for that, even for a moment. But something.Anythingto prove his innocence.
That had been his life. And he had been prepared for it to be the rest of his life.
And now, somehow, he was here. With her.
Inside Faith’s body, the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
Blinded by the light, by his pleasure, by his need.
This was more than he had imagined having a chance to feel ever again. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything like this. Like this heat and hunger that roared in his gut, through his veins.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, forced himself to continue watching her even as his orgasm burst through him like a flame.
It was like looking at hope.
Not just a sliver of it, but full and real. Possibilities he had never imagined could be there for him.
