Page 17 of Bound By His Name
It’s a shirt.
It smells faintly of smoke, cedar, and something colder beneath it, and I can tell it’s Lev’s. My thighs are sore in the best way, and the sheets beneath me are rumpled.
But he’s not here.
On the pillow beside me, I find his watch, face-down, and on the nightstand, a plate with fruit, toast, eggs—still warm—and a folded square of paper with four words in his sharp handwriting.
You were real. I needed to remember what that looked like.
I slowly read it once before reading it again.
Then I press it to my chest and close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat.
This wasn’t a transaction or a lesson. Living in such a harsh world as his, he wanted something from me—but it wasn’t obedience.
It was proof that I am real and I chose him.
The marble is cold under my bare feet as I walk to the kitchen. Lev’s shirt hangs loose to mid-thigh and my hair is still damp from the bath. I slice strawberries with a paring knife and eat them from the blade, sweet and sharp on my tongue.
I don’t hear him enter. Lev steps forward and slides a hand over mine, the one holding the knife. Then he takes it from me, turns my palm up, and licks the strawberry juice from my fingers.
He sets the knife aside and I don’t breathe until his hand finds my hip.
He pushes me gently back against the counter. It’s not hard but just enough that I feel the cold marble kiss my thighs through the hem of his shirt. Then he lifts me up—effortless—and sets me on the edge. His mouth finds mine before I can ask why.
It’s not sweet this time, but hungry.
“I missed this mouth,” he murmurs, pulling back only enough to speak. “I didn’t have it enough.”
My legs wrap around his waist.
“Then take it again.”
He grabs my chin and kisses me deeper.
He only unzips his pants and I feel him push his shirt I have on, up over my hips, still kissing me. His hands stay there, then I feel his cock—thick and hot.
The stretch makes me gasp.
He fills me in one long, punishing thrust. I cry out into his mouth, gripping the back of his neck as he pins me to the countertop.
He’s rougher than last night. He’s not cruel or careless, just needy. His breathing is harsh now, his hips grinding deep and slow, again and again.
"Tell me how it feels," he demands.
"It's... oh god, it's so good," I manage to gasp out between ragged breaths. "You’re so deep inside me, Lev.”
He groans, leaning over me to nip at my earlobe. "Mm, take every inch of my cock.” He slams into me with forceful thrusts that make my entire body shake.
"Harder," I pant, pushing back against him. "Fuck me harder."
Obliging, he grips my hair, yanking my head back as he pummels into me mercilessly. The sounds of our fucking fill the room; wet slapping noises mingled with our moans and grunts.
The edge builds fast with fire at the base of my spine and Lev watches my face, waiting for it.
When I break, it hits hard in an almost painful way. He groans against my neck, his lips open against my skin. I feel the tremor in his body as he follows, pressing me hard into the counter, holding on.
We stay like that—him inside me, his hands splayed across my back, his forehead resting on mine.
