He’s killing me. He’s killing me, his thumb tracing those slow circles around my clit. I can’t get a breath in, and when I finally gasp in another lungful of air it’s not enough. It’s not enough. I need more. I need to come.

I feel like screaming.

I don’t know how long it takes to get to his penthouse. I’m in a world without time, a world centered only around the tiny movements of his thumb and the epic struggle not to let the desire raging between my legs get the better of me. I want to do what Levi said. I want to follow his order not to come. It’s turning out to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Not one of the personal trainers my dad hired for us over the years ever put me through anything as brutal as this. How can such a gentle, controlled touch be driving me so wild? How can one command already be the foundation of the universe?

My legs ache from spreading, and the heat between my legs is so intense that I’m gritting my teeth by the time the town car pulls up in front of a building. I don’t know what building, and I don’t care. Nothing about it registers—the only thing that matters is that Levi is pulling his hand away from my skin, his eyes fierce and admiring. Then he leans in one more time. “Good girl.” A zing of satisfaction moves down my spine, but I don’t linger on his praise. I can’t. I have to get out of this damn car before I explode.

Phillip pulls the door open from the outside before I can get a grip on the handle, and I launch myself out onto the sidewalk.

My knees buckle underneath me.

Levi is right behind me, and his laugh is liquid heat. “Be careful.”

He doesn’t stop there. He scoops me up into his arms like I’m weightless, like I’m some kind of princess, and heads for the door. “You did this to me.” I say the words against his neck, the scent of his cologne filling my breath.

“You love it,” he says.

“I hate it.”

“Two things can be true at once.”

Two things are true at once.

There are three sets of doors on the front of the building, and Levi takes the set to the far left. It’s a private entryway hiding in plain sight. The other doors must lead to the public lobby, or the public entryway—I’m assuming I’ll find out later—but these aren’t marked in any way. Inside, everything gleams, from the elegant tiled floor to the mahogany desk the doorman is standing behind. He’s in motion as soon as he sees us.

“Mr. Blake.” He makes no mention of the fact that Levi is carrying me at all. He only hurries across the relatively narrow space and presses a white key card to a panel outside the single elevator.

“Vern.”

He has a separate lobby just to access his penthouse. Most of the people in Conyers Farm aren’t on that level. Levi might actually own this entire building, not just the penthouse.

He steps into the elevator. The doorman Vern is already heading back to his desk.

When the doors slide shut behind us, Levi puts me back down, my feet firmly against the floor, but he doesn’t take his hands away from my waist. “Are you alright standing up?”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, I’m not alright. You’ve been torturing me for so long that—”

Then his lips are on mine, raw and passionate, my back up against the cold interior of the elevator, and his fingers are between my legs. My panties have been totally abandoned by this point, and no part of me is embarrassed about it. This is where we were going all along. 

I’m still slick, and Levi doesn’t hesitate to push one finger inside, then two, then three.

“It’s awful to be tortured.” His voice is low in my ear. “You’ve been torturing me for days. But all of that ends now.”

“Here?” The elevator glides to a halt just then. I hadn’t realized we were moving.

The doors open and Levi tugs me inside.

The entryway of his penthouse reminds me of the lobby below—hardwood polished to a high shine—but ten steps in and everything has gone sleek and modern, a monochrome color scheme that screams of space and minimalism. It’s practically empty in here, but I don’t have time to think about it.

I’m still burning up.

Past a spacious living room, down a long hallway, and Levi is pushing open the door to the master bedroom. As soon as we’ve crossed the threshold his hands are on my dress, working at the zipper, dropping it to the floor.

Pure desire. It’s so raw and strong that it sharpens every one of my senses. I feel every caress of the air against my bare breasts as Levi lets my bra fall to the floor on top of my dress. His fingers fly over the buttons of his shirt, and then I’m raking my fingernails down the cut muscles of his chest, his abs.

He stops to sweep me around again, backing me up toward the master bed and pushing me back on top of the ottoman at the foot—black and wide and imposing, leather like the seats of his town car—and spreading my legs apart again. 

This time, he kneels in front of me and bends his head down.

At the first stroke of his tongue against my slit, my hands fly up to my mouth, catching the low cry that gets louder by the second. Levi reaches up, his tongue tracing another rough path over my opening, and takes both of my wrists in one strong hand. He pulls them away from my mouth.

I’m so close to the edge—a wonderful, aching, molten edge—that I don’t recognize the sounds I’m making. All I know is that his hand around my wrists, his firm grasp, is sending another wave of pulsing heat between my legs. I tug a little, just so he’ll tighten his grip, and then I can’t wait anymore.

Pleasure crashes over me in a wave so powerful that it jerks my hips away from the ottoman, pressing more of me into Levi’s mouth. He is relentless, sucking at my clit, stroking with his tongue, licking, licking as I come so hard it feels like my soul might be flying apart. He doesn’t stop at the first one, either. He teases another orgasm out of me with his tongue against my pussy, and then a third.

When he finally lets go of my wrists, I’m almost certain I’m floating above the ground.

“Oh—” I gasp for breath. “That was—”

His hands are on me again, lifting me.

“That was just getting started.”