16. Brielle
My pulse is a wild drumbeat in my ears, thumping faster as Levi's lips crash against mine. I'm on fire, every nerve alive and screaming for more of him. My fingers are greedy as they weave through his hair, tugging him impossibly closer. His kiss is a promise, a seduction that I'm all too willing to fall into.
"Levi," I gasp between breaths, my voice a husky whisper that betrays the storm raging inside me.
He growls low in his throat, a sound that sends shivers dancing down my spine. His hands are firm and demanding as they slide underneath my thighs, hoisting me up with an ease that speaks of hidden strength. The world tilts, and suddenly I'm perched on the cold surface of a desk, the contrast to our heated bodies sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. The air around us crackles with intensity, with desire so thick I could reach out and touch it.
"God, Brielle," Levi murmurs, his lips trailing hot kisses along my jawline as he settles me onto the desk, "I can't get enough of you."
And I want to drown in this sensation, to sink into the depths of passion that Levi offers. It's reckless, it's wild, and it's exactly what I crave. The edge of the desk bites into my skin, but it's nothing compared to the hunger that Levi stirs within me, a hunger that demands to be satiated.
Levi's lips sear a path down my neck, igniting a blaze that licks at every corner of my being. Kiss after feverish kiss, his mouth worships the tender skin, marking me with an invisible brand that screams his name. My hands claw at his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself in the storm of sensations he unleashes.
"More," I pant, the word a mere wisp of sound that spirals into the charged air between us.
His teeth catch on my pulse point, a gentle nip that has my back arching off the desk. The moan that escapes me is raw, unfiltered—a testament to the unruly desire he's stoking within me.
I'm losing myself, sinking deeper into the whirlpool of need. With each brush of his lips, each graze of his teeth, I'm slipping further under, drowning in a sea of want so intense it threatens to consume me whole. My fingers tangle tighter in his hair, holding him to me as if he's the only lifeline I have—and for this fleeting moment, he truly is.
Heat pools low in my belly, spreading outward like ripples on a pond. Levi's name becomes my mantra, the one constant through the haze of pleasure that clouds my mind. His touch brands me, claims me in ways I didn't know I yearned to be claimed.
"Levi," I whisper, a plea, a prayer, as his mouth finds new territory to conquer, leaving no inch of me untouched by his inferno.
A sharp click echoes through the room, a stark counterpoint to the symphony of our breaths. I barely register it, lost as I am in the heat of Levi's embrace.
"Levi Griffin, doing what he does best, I see." A voice, sultry and amused, slices through the fog of my arousal.
I freeze. The world snaps back into focus, harsh and bright. Levi's mouth stills on my neck, and I can feel his body tense. Slowly, painfully, I pry my eyes open and turn my head toward the source of the interruption.
She's like a vision from a glossy magazine, standing there with one hip cocked and an eyebrow raised—a supermodel made flesh. Her confidence radiates like a tangible force, the smirk on her full lips speaking volumes of her self-assuredness.
My heart skips not just a beat but an entire measure. Suddenly, the air feels too thick, too warm. The walls of the classroom press in on me, and I'm acutely aware of how vulnerable I am perched atop this desk, my skirt ridden up, my blouse askew.
"Who—" My voice is a croak, and I clear my throat, trying again. "Who are you?"
The woman doesn't answer right away, her gaze sweeping over me, assessing, appraising. It's a look that chills even as my skin still burns from Levi's touch. I'm caught in an unsteady limbo between desire and the dawning realization that something here isn't as it should be.
Levi shifts slightly, and I sense him looking at the woman, his silence now thunderous in my ears. My fingers, once knotted in his hair, now hover uncertainly in the air between us. The moment stretches, taut as a wire—and I'm waiting for it to snap.
Levi's voice breaks through the tension, a low rumble that sends another shiver down my spine. "Portia, I didn't expect you this early."
Portia doesn't blink, her cool demeanor unshaken as she steps further into the room, the click of her heels like punctuation marks to the sudden silence. "I'm full of surprises," she says, and there's a laugh in her voice, light and mocking.
My heart trips over itself. Portia—her name is as sleek and powerful as she is. And she owns it, owns this moment with the easy grace of someone who's used to getting what she wants.
"Isn't she cute?" Portia's words slither toward me as she saunters closer, her gaze locking onto mine. I feel like prey, like something small and insignificant under the scrutiny of those piercing eyes. "So…innocent."
That word, from her lips, feels like a barb. Innocent? Me? The heat of Levi's body still burns against my skin, a vivid reminder of just how not innocent I was seconds ago. Confusion knots inside me, tight and painful.
"Very," Levi answers, but he doesn't look at me, doesn't defend or claim. His eyes are on Portia, and I feel the shift in the air, the change in gravity as his attention moves. It's palpable, the connection between them, and I'm suddenly an outsider, scrambling for purchase in a scene that's slipping away from me.
Portia's smile widens as she stands beside me.
"Levi knows I don't mind sharing." Her words carve out a hollow space within me.
She's marking her territory, claiming him with her presence, her confidence, her insinuating words. And I—caught in the cross fire of their silent conversation—am nothing more than collateral damage.
My fingers still tingle where they clung to Levi, but now there's a cold void as he steps away, his focus all on Portia. "You don't need to explain anything to her," he says, his voice a blade slicing through the last thread of whatever this was between us. "She doesn't mean anything."
The words sting, a slap across my face. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, burning with humiliation and something fiercer—an ember of anger that wasn't there before.
"Nothing, huh?" I scoff, yanking my bag from the floor with more force than necessary. The contents jumble inside, a chaotic mess matching the turmoil he's tossed me into. But I won't let him see that, won't give him the satisfaction.
"Good to know where we stand, Professor." The title is a venomous dart, poisoned with sarcasm. I sling the strap over my shoulder, the weight grounding me, anchoring the swirling emotions long enough for me to take a step toward the door.
I don't look back, not at Levi, not at Portia with her smug smirk. The door swings shut behind me, the click of it final, like the period at the end of a sentence. And just like that, I'm out of their orbit, the classroom, and whatever game they're playing. It's just me, my quick breaths, and the echo of my heels against the hallway tiles—an anthem of one woman walking away.
The ladies' room door swings open at my push, and I'm face-to-face with my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears, but there's a spark there too—determination.
"Next class," I whisper to the girl in the mirror, steadying my voice. "You've got this."
I smooth down my blouse, pinch my cheeks for color, and swipe a thumb under each eye to catch any traitorous tear that might think to escape.
This complication won't define me. Levi Griffin doesn't get to unravel Brielle Rose.