FOURTEEN
Alejandro
I figuredLevi was used to me breaking in by now. He didn’t even flinch when he saw me—just lifted a brow as if this was normal. Maybe it was. This was the tenth time I’d shown up uninvited at his place, not that I was counting. Except I was. Every visit, every late-night drop-in, every time he didn’t tell me to get the hell out… it stuck.
I told myself it was convenient. Proximity. Habit. But the truth was uglier: I liked knowing he was okay with me being here. I liked that he wasn’t surprised anymore.
I kept count because it mattered. Because every time I showed up, and he didn’t tell me to get out, something in my chest eased. Because the part of me that still expected every door to be slammed in my face… didn’t know what to do with a man who kept opening his.
I shouldn’t have liked it. I shouldn’t have needed it. But I did.
Every visit was rough kissing, shoving at each other, getting off fast and hard, and then I was gone within minutes. No talking. No staying. No softness. And every damn time, he watched me leave as if he wasn’t sure if I’d ever come back.
Tonight felt different. Marisol and the twins were safe at home, I’d shut off every work phone, and when I showed up at Levi’s, the usual script didn’t fit anymore. I didn’t just want the heat and the rush and the leaving—I wanted to stay. To breathe for five minutes without the world clawing at me. Fuck knows why. It felt like an itch under my ribs, a pull I didn’t have a name for, but it almost hurt.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Of course, he noticed.
He always noticed. Even when I wished he wouldn’t. Even when the smartest thing I could’ve done was turn and walk right back out of the damn door.
“I decided today that I shouldn’t come back here,” I murmured.
Levi’s gaze fixed on me instantly—cop mode, but not cold. “But?”
“Fuck knows.” I didn’t know what to say. That single word made something twist in my gut. I wasn’t here because I needed anything from him. That was the part that rattled me—I didn’tneedhim to live my life or do my work. He was extra to it all. He was… mine… and I still came. He didn’t buy my answer, and the way he stepped closer and examined my face as if he could read every fracture had my pulse kicking hard.
“You decided not to come back, because you worry I might find out who the real Alejandro is?”
“No… yes…” I winced. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I added. “So don’t go asking me why I’m here.”
He didn’t back off. Of course, he didn’t. “So, you decided you weren’t coming back, and yet—you’re here,” he snapped, not bothering to hide the bite in it. His gaze cut straight through me. “Why the fuck even say that?” His lip curled, anger in every word. “Is this some soft-as-fuck exit speech?”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, sharper than I meant to. His words hit too close—as if he thought I was running, lying, doing what Ialways did. And maybe I was. But the sting of it, the way it dug under my ribs, wasn’t anger. It was fear. Frustration. The kind of hurt I wasn’t supposed to feel, not with him. Especially not with him.
Levi’s jaw flexed. He didn’t push again. That almost made it worse.
“I’m not leaving. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come, but I’m staying, and I want… more.”
“‘More’?” His fingers brushed my elbow. Light. Careful. I could’ve stepped away. I didn’t. Stupid. When I faced him, he looked tired and stubborn and so damn real.
I grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric hard enough that my knuckles ached.
“I want to feel,” I said, the words ripped out of me before I could stop them. “I want you to fuck me, and I want to know what it’s like to feel. Not numb. Not going through the motions. Actually feel.”
He gripped my hand. “Alejandro?—”
“Stop talking,” I said, and kissed him.
He made a rough sound, surprise and hunger tangled together, and then his hands were on my waist, pulling me in, his mouth opening beneath mine. No hesitation. No flinching. Only heat and want and something that felt a hell of a lot like relief.
Every other time, it had been sharp, frantic. A way to shut each other up. This time was slower, deeper. I took his bottom lip between my teeth until he gasped, then soothed the sting with my tongue. He shuddered, and I guided him down the hall to his bedroom, pushed him until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He went down with a soft grunt, dragging me with him, my knees bracketing his thighs. For a heartbeat, we stared at each other, breathing hard.
My hands slid under his shirt, over warm skin and hard muscle. His heart hammered against my palm. Not afraid. Wired. Turned on. For me.
“This okay?” I asked, voice lower than I intended.
“Yeah,” he said, a little hoarse. “More than okay.”
“Good.”
