I gasped as I woke abruptly from a sound sleep. I wasn’t sure what had woken me, but I was sure, despite the unexpected wake-up, I hadn’t felt this rested in years.
Light from the clock glared in the still blackness of my quiet bedroom, and I craned my neck to get a better look at the time. Just past two a.m., it was hardly what any sane human would consider morning.
I rolled over and snuggled deeper into my pillow, intent to find the comfort of sound sleep again. Tangible and close, it seemed achievable.
Apparently, getting everything off of my chest that afternoon had gone a long way in making some of my unrest disappear. I felt ready to let the past go. Ready to embrace the present.
Ready to dream of a future.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
But the sound of tinkling bells and an organ bass startled them open again. Obnoxious and overzealous, the doorbell was the exact one my mother had had installed in my much smaller childhood home the year before she left.
If anyone had used it in the years I’d lived here since, I might have actually remembered to change it. As it was, a wave of nostalgia and a renewed sense of agitation washed over me.
I shook my head to myself. Self-actualized serenity never lasted long in the world of Levi Fox.
With a grunt and a curl, I pulled my body up and out of the bed with the muscles of my core. I wasn’t dressed to impress in a pair of black boxer briefs and nothing else, but whoever dared ring my doorbell at two in the morning would have to be ready to face the consequences.
The hall was quiet and dark as I trudged down it, but the air felt tangible. It poked and prodded at me, urging me to wake up fully and come out of the haze of sleep.
Immediately alert at the unwelcome unease, I moved quickly down the stairs and opened the door without preamble. I’d been trained in stealth and caution as an officer of the law, but I’d also been trained in common sense. Regardless of any foreboding dread, I doubted seriously that someone with the intent to harm me would have bothered to ring the bell.
Ivy was halfway down the steps on the way back to her car.
“Ivy,” I called out to make her stop.
Her steps halted, but she made no move to turn. The back of her sweater bunched, and her shoulders rose to meet her ears.
“Ivy,” I called again. “Turn around.”
The unapologetic order got her attention. Winged and free, her mane of fiery hair swung out in a crescent as she spun to face me. I settled into the doorframe, crossing my feet at the ankles and my arms over my chest. The casual nature of my stance only geared her up more.
“I don’t know why I came here.”
I shrugged. “I don’t either.”
Her eyes narrowed and her anger grew, and I had to work not to smile. I hadn’t realized it quickly enough, but I loved to watch her hackles rise.
“Jesus!” she shouted. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She turned back down the steps and headed for her car again, but I didn’t move from my spot. I watched the way she moved—attitude bleeding from even the simplest of actions—and waited for my moment.
Her hand clasped on the handle of her car door, and I smiled as she paused. She wanted to be here. She wanted the fight. She wanted a me-and-her, and she wanted it in a way that burned her badly enough to come here in the middle of the night.
“You were thinking about me,” I challenged.
Her hair flicked again, another dramatic turn toward me in the books, and the emerald of her eyes shone in the moonlight. “Excuse me?”
“I said, you were thinking about me. That’s what brought you here in the middle of the night, and that’s what’ll keep you coming back forever.”
She abandoned the car then, charging me so fiercely she barely pulled her body to a stop before colliding with me.
“You are such an egotistical prick!”
“Yeah, baby,” I agreed with a taunting smile. “I am.”
“Argh!” she screamed into the quiet, cold night. Her breath formed a cloud of lust between us, and I had to work to keep myself from wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into the house by force. “I can’t believe I’m here again! I can’t believe we’re fighting!”
“Believe it, baby. You’re here because you’re meant to be.”
“Oh, right. I’m meant to be,” she retorted sarcastically. I itched to put my hands on her, but I knew if this was going to stick, if we’d ever make it all the way past this push and pull, she was going to have to be the one to give in. She had to be the one to need me. I already knew I needed her. “And the fighting?”
“Don’t you know by now?” I asked softly, the roughness in my still sleepy voice devolving to full gravel. “Fighting, for us, means feeling. And there weren’t ever two people who’ve felt more for one another than you and I do.”
Her lips, her eyes, the soft curve of her cheek, I ran my eyes over it all, memorizing a course for when I finally got to use my lips. She was still anxious, bouncing all over the place as she tried to work through the fear of giving in.
“What? So we’re just meant to fight for the rest of our lives? That’s ridiculous!”
My smile was bold and unrepentant at the mention of the rest of our lives.
“It’s not,” I challenged, finally straightening to my full height. “It’s us and it’s real.”
“And how the fuck is that supposed to be sustainable, Levi?”
“Because as much as I fight you, I’d fight a million times harder for you.”
She was breathing hard and her eyes were wet, and my heart felt like it would explode in my chest.
“Sweat and blood, life and death, I’d give it all for you. Anytime. Anywhere. You’re worth it. You’re…worth it.”
Her body hit mine hard. Violent and unchecked, she gave herself over to me and us and everything the moment meant.
It was her and me, and we were something.
It defied nature and sensibility, but it was authentic. It was right. And she and I would be a story people talked about for the rest of their lives.
Angry, urgent lips covered mine and grappled for control. I gave it over to them immediately, knowing I didn’t need to lead this dance to enjoy it. Sometimes the manliest thing a guy could do was surrender himself to the wants and directions of a woman.
It was trust embodied, and just like the chief had taught me, actions almost always spoke louder than any and all words.
I pulled her back into the house and slammed the door, backing us up to the stairs and bringing her down on top of me.
She licked and sucked at my throat, and I groaned as she touched the sensitive spot behind my ear.
“Ivy,” I whispered, the two-syllable name sounding grittier than it ever had.
I settled my hips into one of the steps and put my back to the riser, and my little redhead didn’t waste the opportunity. She climbed astride me and pressed her knees into the carpet runner, fusing her hips to mine and grinding.
My back lodged into the riser, and suddenly, I decided taking some of the control wouldn’t be so bad.
In one swift move, I stood, wrapping my hands around her ass and lifting her with me. She gasped, and I used the opening to push my tongue deeper into her mouth. Her tongue was creamy and rich, and her breasts pushed tight against my chest on reflex.
I was feeling entirely similar, unable to get close enough, fighting the need to drop her right there on the stairs again and shove myself inside.
I wanted to take my time, work her body inch by inch until I covered them all and looped back again.
Hard and fast would be good sometime, but now, I wanted to savor.
Her skin. Her lips. Her pussy.
Taste and smell and touch, I planned to entwine myself in each and every one of them until she couldn’t remember a time when she wanted to be anywhere but under me.
I turned and jogged up the stairs, taking my lips off of hers for just long enough to make it to the top. She kept hers active, though, smoothing them over the skin of my neck and moving them down to the bare top of my collarbone.
Hard and ready, my cock pushed against her thin pajama pants and fought with the two measly layers of fabric between it and sweet solace.
I’d been inside her before, and I remembered how powerful the connection had felt.
Now I just had to see if she did.