21. Brielle

Sunlight filters through the curtains, striking my eyelids with an intensity that feels downright criminal. I pry them open, a groan escaping my lips as the world tilts and sways in a post-drunk dance. The room is unfamiliar, plush and masculine, and it takes a second—a long, heart-pounding second—for recognition to kick in.

Levi's room. Levi's bed.

I'm splayed out like a starfish on his king-sized mattress, the sheets twisted around my legs, my head pounding out a rhythm of regret. My mouth tastes like stale alcohol and bad decisions. What did I do last night?

The sound of running water stops, followed by the creak of a door hinge. Levi strides out of the bathroom, a vision of masculinity that sends a jolt straight to my core. Droplets of water cling to his chiseled chest, trailing down over well-defined abs before disappearing beneath the waistband of his low-hung sweatpants. His hair is wet, the gray at the temples somehow making him look even more distinguished, more…off-limits.

"Morning," he rumbles.

"Levi…" His name comes out as a croak, my voice betraying the chaos swirling inside me. Memories are elusive, teasing just beyond my grasp, leaving behind only the bitter taste of desire unfulfilled.

A tilt of his head, a casual flick of his finger toward the nightstand. My gaze follows, landing on the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water waiting like silent guardians against the morning's cruel light. Gratitude wars with embarrassment—I'm a mess, and he's…well, Levi.

"Thanks," I mutter, my voice rough around the edges. The words are simple but they carry the weight of my pounding heart. I reach for the ibuprofen he's provided, my fingers brushing against the cool surface of the bottle.

I pop two and toss them back, chasing them down with a gulp of water that's blissfully cold. It soothes the dry desert of my throat, brings a momentary oasis to the hangover savaging my brain. Relief is immediate, a gentle ebb in the tide of throbbing pain.

But the nervousness? That's stickier, clinging like the sweatpants to Levi's hips. What happened last night? The not knowing twists inside me, coiling around my ribs until I can barely breathe.

I glance at him and lick my lips. "Levi…" My voice is a tentative whisper, betraying the chaos of thoughts tumbling through my mind. "Did we sleep together?" The question hangs in the air, intimate and exposed.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over the ridges of his abdomen, muscles relaxed yet somehow still alert. His wet hair, darker than usual, tempts fingers to touch, to explore. But it's his eyes that pin me down—a stormy gray that promises secrets and sin.

"No, Brielle." His voice is firm, a lifeline in the uncertainty. "We didn't fuck."

Relief floods me, so intense it's almost a physical force. But confusion nips at its heels, persistent and sharp. "But we shared a bed?"

His nod is slow, deliberate. "Yeah. But nothing happened. We figured it would be best to bring you here rather than to risk having you run your mouth to your dad while you were drunk."

"Oh."

"I didn't stay the whole night," he adds, voice dropping lower, a caress that sends shivers skittering across my skin.

"Where did you go?" It slips out, curiosity a living thing between us.

"Does it matter?" Levi challenges.

A sharp, cold sweetness pierces through the fog in my head. Vanilla, rich and creamy. My mind clutches at the memory, dragging it into the light. "Levi…there was ice cream," I whisper, my voice a mix of wonder and confusion. The recollection is vivid, almost tangible, as if I can still feel the coolness against my tongue.

He leans against the doorframe, his arms folded, muscles flexing beneath his skin. "Yeah, we stopped for some on the way back. You were pretty out of it, and said you needed it."

The image bursts to life in my head—sitting inside and eating ice cream. A rare, gentle Levi breaking through the usual smoldering intensity. My chest tightens with a warmth that has nothing to do with the hangover.

"Thank you," I start, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet, my gaze flitting away. "I never should've gone to that party. It was stupid."

"Hey." His voice is a low rumble, commanding my attention. I look up to find his eyes dark with something formidable. "You don't have to thank me."

"But I do," I insist, the weight of last night pressing down on me. "That guy…he wouldn't let go of my arm. And then you were there, and suddenly I wasn't scared anymore."

"I wouldn't let anything like that happen to you," he says, a protective glint in his eyes.

I lock eyes with him, the intensity of his gaze pinning me down, stripping away layers of defense I didn't even know I had built up. "Seems a little intimate for someone who has a girlfriend."

"Why do you care about Portia and me?" His question hangs in the air, charged with an unspoken challenge.

"Because," I start, my voice a mere whisper, betraying the storm of emotions swirling within me. "Because there's something between us, and maybe it's just lust, but it's something."

Levi's expression shifts, the lines of his face carving a map of realization. He's silent, considering, and I fill the space between us with the weight of my confession.

Finally, he says, "I broke things off with Portia. Couldn't stop thinking about you, Brielle."

My breath hitches as I inch closer, my heart thudding like it's ready to break free. Levi's eyes, a stormy gray, reflect a hunger that mirrors my own. With every shaky exhale, the line we're about to cross blurs more and more.

"Levi," I murmur, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest.

He doesn't respond with words, but his gaze never wavers, intense, inviting.

And I can't resist. Not anymore.

My fingers tremble as I reach up, brushing a droplet from his still-damp hair. The touch sparks through me, igniting something primal. Before sense can claw me back, before fear can whisper its warnings, I lean in. My lips find his, tentative at first—a question, a plea.

Levi freezes, just for a heartbeat, then he's alive under my kiss. His response is a silent roar, a surge of emotion that sweeps away hesitation. Our kiss deepens, ravenous. The taste of him—mint and something uniquely Levi—floods my senses. My fingers thread into his wet hair, pulling him impossibly closer. His hands land on my waist, gripping firmly, anchoring me in the now.

Heat rolls off Levi's body. His hands, bold and sure, trace the curve of my waist before venturing higher. The brush of his fingertips beneath the hem of my shirt sends shivers cascading down my spine. I gasp into his mouth as he finds the soft swell of my breasts, cupping gently, a touch that stokes the fire within me to a roaring blaze.

"Levi," I moan, the word dissolving on my lips as they move with him. His name is a plea for more, for everything he can give me. My hands, almost of their own accord, explore the ridges and valleys of his chest. Muscle tenses beneath my palms, responding to my touch as if I wield the power to command his very heartbeat.

His breath is warm on my neck, lips trailing a path of heat that lights up my senses like stars in a pitch-black sky. A soft groan vibrates from deep within him, a sound that resonates in my core, urging me on. Desire courses through me, a river breaking its banks, flooding me with need, with want.

The room spins, a carousel of sensation as Levi's hands worship my body, reverence in every caress. His mouth finds the sensitive skin at the base of my throat, and I arch into him, lost in the dizzying dance of passion and promise.

"Brielle," he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, sending ripples of pleasure through me. "I've wanted you since the day I laid eyes on you. You were always mine to claim."

His declaration is a brand, scorching through my veins, awakening a fierce longing that claws its way to the surface. The sound of my name on his lips is like a spell cast, binding me to him with an invisible thread pulled taut by desire.

"Levi," I breathe out, a heady mix of need lacing my voice, "I?—"

"Shh," he silences me with a finger to my lips, his gaze locking onto mine, dark and earnest. "Let me show you how much you mean to me."

With care that belies his urgency, Levi's hands find clasp of my bra. He peels it off of me, slowly, deliberately, unveiling the fevered skin beneath. The cool air kisses my exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the heat of his stare. I watch, entranced, as his eyes devour me, taking in every inch he uncovers.

"God, Brielle," he whispers, awe and raw hunger mingling in his tone. "You're stunning."

The straps slips off my shoulders, and then the lacy fabric lies forgotten on the floor, as if it never mattered at all.

I lean into the caress of his gaze, letting go of the last threads of resistance. My body hums, alive and yearning, every nerve ending crying out for his touch, his kiss, his possession.

"Show me, Levi," I urge, reckless with want. "Show me how much you want me."

Levi's lips trace fire down my neck, branding me with every touch. His mouth moves lower, sending shivers through me as he kisses the valley between my breasts. My breath hitches, anticipation coiling tight within me. He takes his time, worshiping me.

"Levi," I gasp, my fingers tangling in his damp hair. The world narrows to the feel of his mouth on my skin, each kiss a promise of more to come.

His journey doesn't stop there—his lips blaze a trail over the taut plane of my stomach, stirring a wild need that claws at my insides. A moan escapes me, unbidden, when he pauses just above the elastic of my panties. His hot breath against the sensitive skin there is torment and bliss intertwined.

"Please." The word is a whisper, a plea.

The room spins as pleasure mounts, each second stretching into eternity. I'm teetering on the edge, ready to plunge into the abyss of sensation Levi promises. My body arcs toward him, silently begging for release?—

The door creaks open.

I look up to see Grayson, standing there, his confusion etched clear across his face.

"Shit, Grayson—" Panic grips me, and I scramble, trying to rise, but I'm tangled in sheets and limbs and raw desire.

"You're not going anywhere, Brielle. I'm far from done." Levi's hand, firm and unyielding, wraps around my wrist, pulling me back down.

"Grayson," I start, breathless, but my voice is lost in the storm of sensations Levi reignites with a deliberate flick of his tongue against my clit, through the thin fabric of my panties. Words fragment, thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

"Someone care to explain?" Grayson's voice cuts through the fog of desire, sharp and disorienting. "Because if I remember correctly, Brielle, you said you wanted noting to do with us."

I'm frozen, caught in the clash of Levi's relentless pursuit of pleasure and the piercing stare from Grayson that demands answers. Every stroke Levi delivers is an act of defiance against reason, obliterating my protests before they can form.

"Grayson, it's not—" But, I don't know how to explain, how to tell him I didn't mean for this to happen.

Levi's relentless, his mouth a caress that sears through my tangled nerves, drawing moans I can't control. They fill the space, a testament to the hold he has over me. My fingers dig into Levi's shoulders, a silent plea for more—more of this sweet torture, more of him.

"Looks like you're struggling to be good, Brielle," Grayson observes, his tone unreadable, laced with something dark and dangerous.

"Trying," I manage to gasp out, but it's a lie spun by Levi's intoxicating touch. Each lap of his tongue erases the lines I've drawn, blurring right and wrong into an indistinct haze.

"Stop, Levi, please," I whisper, though every fiber of my being screams the opposite.

But he doesn't stop. He never does. Instead, he roughly removes my panties and then holds me down, licking me directly, and deeper.

"Looks like punishment is in order," Grayson murmurs, his voice a low rumble of authority that resonates within me. His eyes are dark pools of intent, holding me captive more than Levi's hands ever could.

Punishment?My mind reels, but my body betrays me, arching into Levi's relentless attention. I'm gasping, caught between two forces that threaten to tear me apart.

"Join us, Grayson." Levi's voice is a velvet command, and it sends shivers down my spine.

Grayson hesitates, his internal battle written in the clench of his jaw, the tension in his broad shoulders. I should protest, push them both away, reclaim the control slipping from my fingers.

But I don't. I can't.

Even if it makes me a horrible person—I want them both.