Page 87 of When The Mountains Held Us

Levi gives me space when I need it, but along the way, he’s demanded something in return. He demands I pick up my own pieces and fit them back together. And now, being here like this, without anything separating us, I realize that he’s the glue that holds my fractured heart together.

I never planned on falling for him, but maybe that’s the thing about love. It’s as easy as breathing, and you don’t even realize you’ve started to fall until after you’ve found a soft place to land.

Levi is my soft place to land.

His hands trail down my body in fervent desperation while my arms wind around his neck and pull him closer to me. He lifts my leg, and I don’t hesitate to wrap it around his waist, already finding him hard against me.

He guides himself to my entrance, and the subtle stretch of him filling me again causes a moan to fall from my lips. His thrusts are deep and unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world to claim me like this.

I pepper soft kisses against his jaw, his neck, his lips, and everywhere I can reach, trying to convey the depth of my emotions with each brush of my mouth over his smooth skin.

We climb together, moving as one, reveling in the feel of each other, until we’re standing at the summit, ready to freefall into oblivion together. My orgasm crashes through me in a tidal wave, and I shake in Levi’s arms as he holds me, finding his own release a moment later, roaring my name as he comes. His movements stutter and falter as he spills inside me, and the weight of this moment, of us, is enough to send another torrent of shockwaves through me as I pulse around him.

We take our time coming down from our high, neither of us speaking, for fear of breaking this bubble we’ve found ourselves in. Words aren’t necessary, though. Everything he wants to say echoes in the way he carefully cleans me and then himself. He turns off the water and climbs out, leaving me standing there for a moment before returning with a fluffy towel and a change of clothes for both of us. We dry off, and as I pull his large T-shirt over my head, the hem of it brushing over the tops of my thighs, I breathe in the masculine scent of him and bask in the feeling of being surrounded by him.

Only once we’re both dressed, and after he’s combed out my long hair, do we walk back downstairs and into the kitchen. My eyes widen in shock, and my hand flies to my mouth.

“Oh my God,” I mutter with a laugh, heat blooming on my cheeks when I take in the sight of the kitchen. My clothes are in a pile on the floor, where Levi tossed them. The groceries I bought earlier lie forgotten on the ground, spilling out of rumpled brown paper bags.

“It looks like a family of raccoons ransacked the place,” I observe as I bend to pick up the items.

Levi laughs and joins me. “Totally worth it, though. What’re we making?”

“Well, I had planned to make pasta primavera, but someone had other plans for how the night was going to go.” I glance at the clock, and it’s already well past nine P.M. Jesus, how long had we been going at it?

“Why don’t you get started, and I’ll join you once I’ve let Bandit out?”

I glance at the back door where Bandit is doing a little tap dance in front of the glass, clearly needing to do his business.

“You want to help me cook?” I ask.

Levi gives me a soft smile and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I want to do everything with you.”

My stomach does an excited flip at the gravity of his words, but I don’t linger on it long, instead shaking myself free of my daze and turning to the counter to survey the items I purchased. My skin heats at the memory of being on this very counter while Levi coaxed me to orgasm with his fingers.

None of that. Focus.

If I let myself reminisce for too long, I’m liable to hop back up on the counter and declare myself his meal tonight. Though, judging by the hungry look in his eyes as he pushed inside me for the first time, and then again the second, I don’t think he’d raise any complaints.

I busy myself with starting a pot of water to boil for the pasta. Then line up the veggies and begin to trim and chop. Levi returns a moment later with a much calmer Bandit in tow. He comes up behind me, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of me, and plants a kiss on my neck. I arch into the warmth of him, loving the feel of his lips coasting along my skin. He does it again before I playfully nudge him away, shooting him a stern look.

“Make yourself useful and start browning the chicken.”

He laughs and reluctantly lets me go so he can grab another cutting board to start preparing the chicken.

“Bossy. I like it,” he comments, and I roll my eyes in fake annoyance at his flirty teasing.

We work in a comfortable quiet, the smell of olive oil and simmering chicken filling the space around us and making me feel more at home than I have in a long time. Pretty soon, the dish is done and we’re sitting together at the counter, forks in hand and steaming bowls of pasta in front of us. Levi takes a bite, and I wait nervously for his verdict. His eyes go wide.

“This is amazing. I had no idea you were such a good cook.”

I brush off his compliment with a wave of my fork. “It was one of my favorite meals growing up, but I haven’t cooked anything of substance in forever. It can’t be that good,” I say dismissively.

“Don’t do that,” he admonishes, and I look up in question. “Don’t downplay yourself like you aren’t worth the compliment. You are worth all of that and more.”

“Thank you,” I quietly amend.

I love the way he challenges me, the way he calls me out on my bullshit without any real judgment.