Page 170 of Levi

Mine. Wanted.

Every pull back drags against those clutching walls, every thrust sinks back into a liquid depth that tries to hold me forever.

He gets his legs around me and meets me, the angle shifting to hit that spot that causes his body to jerk and a broken sound to tear out of his throat.

The sounds ripping out of him now are nothing I’ve heard come out of him before. And then they’re coming out of me too.

English isn’t enough for tonight, and my first language comes up out of me from somewhere underneath a control I no longer have.

“Eres perfecto,” I murmur against his mouth, into his throat, timed to the roll of my hips. The drag of his body on my cock is maddening — perfect friction that builds with every careful stroke. “You’re perfect for me, Levi. Do you hear me? Eres perfecto. Levi… Levi.”

His hands slide up my back and grip hard, nails biting skin as I grind deeper, circling my hips so the head of my cock presses against that spot again and again.

“Eres mío ahora.” Deeper now, watching what every word does to his face while his body clenches around me. He understands the meaning even if he doesn’t know the words. The intensity is constant, the way he yields and then tightens as if he never wants to let me go. “You’re mine now. Ahora eres mío. Say it back to me.”

“Yours.” It breaks in half coming out of him. “God, Dante. Yours. Always. Please don’t leave me.”

“Te amo.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying, and it’s the truest sentence I have ever said in either language. “Te amo. I love you. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Te amo, Levi. I love you. My Levi. You’re mine.”

His eyes fly to mine. “Say it again,” he whispers. “Please. Tell me again.”

I say it with every stroke, the two languages braided together, over and over, until it stops being words at all and becomes the rhythm itself. Eres perfecto. You’re perfect. Eres mío. You’re mine now. Te amo. I love you. Te amo. My Levi.

He takes every word the way he takes me, wide open, nothing held between us anywhere, his heels dragging me deeper, his mouth finding mine and losing it and finding it again.

The wet, raw sounds of our bodies joining fill the room. Skin on skin, the slick glide of lube and the tight clasp of him gripping me with every thrust.

“Mi amor,” I tell him, kissing the side of his mouth. “My love. That’s your name now to me. Mi amor. Say it back.”

“Mi amor,” he tries, Tennessee twang laid all over it, not one syllable where I’d put it, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my life. His body pulses around me in time with the words, the friction cresting. “I love you, Dante. I love you so much. Mi amor. Mi amor. My life. You’re my everything.”

“Let me hear you. There’s no one here but us. I want to hear every sound.”

He says the words over and over. Then he’s not making words at all, just holding on, and I feel him getting close. The rhythmic clench of his body around my cock grows stronger, more desperate.

I shift my weight onto one forearm and slide my other hand between us, wrapping my fingers around the hard, leaking length of him. He’s already slick at the tip. I use that wetness to stroke him in time with my thrusts, steady and firm, thumb sweeping over the head on every upstroke.

Every time I drive in harder, my cock dragging over that sensitive place inside him, my fist slides the full length of his shaft. His hips stutter between the two points of pleasure, unsure whether to push back onto me or thrust up into my hand. I keep the rhythm relentless — slow, deep strokes of my cock matched to the firm, sliding grip of my fingers — until he’s shaking hard enough that the bedframe creaks.

“Come for me while I’m inside you,” I tell him.

His cock pulses hard in my fist, spilling hot and thick over my fingers and across his stomach. At the same time his body clamps down around me in a series of fierce, rhythmic spasms that milk my cock from root to tip.

The dual pressure — the tight spasm of his body and the wet heat of his release coating my hand — rips my own orgasm out of me a heartbeat later. I bury myself to the hilt and come, pulsing deep inside him while I keep stroking him through the aftershocks, drawing every last tremor from his body.

We come down breathing hard, his face buried in my neck. I stay inside him as long as I can, holding him through the aftershocks, pressing kisses to whatever part of him I can reach, still half-hard and reluctant to leave his perfect body.

When I finally ease out, the sudden cool air against my skin makes me hiss. I miss being inside him already. I pull him into my side and he burrows in close.

I give myself a few minutes of his weight and his heat, before the caretaking takes over the way it always does. I go and bring back the warm cloth. He watches me come to him, boneless and heavy-eyed, and lets me clean him up. Every pass of the cloth says he’s mine to care for now. When I’m done, I come back to the bed and he fits himself against my side again.

“I want to take care of you,” I say into his hair. “Will you let me?”

He tips his head back to see me. “What do you mean? Now? You already did that.”

“No. I mean forever.” I hold his eyes so there’s no mistaking what I’m telling him. “I need you to know that you are loved. I love you. You’re mine to take care of now, and I want to do it. No — I need to do it. I need to know that you’re eating. That you’re sleeping. That you’re breathing and healthy. Will you let me take care of you?”

He doesn’t speak while his finger draws random circles on my chest.