Page 29 of Fallen Stars

I reach for his hips and haul him forward. Return his kiss with equal fervor. Moan as his tongue darts out and licks the seam of my lips. Melt when my tongue grazes his and I taste him for the first time.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Levi is kissing me. Not some simple peck on the cheek. Not some virginal kiss on the lips. No, his damn tongue is down my throat. His hard dick is grinding against the length of mine. Andhis moans… it’s as though he’s starved. Ravenous. Greedy for more.

I bring a hand to his cheek and cup his jaw. Tilt his head and deepen the kiss.

And as quickly and unexpectedly as the kiss comes on, he breaks it and takes a step back. His brows bend in confusion. Wide eyes locked on mine, he covers his mouth and shakes his head.

The bravery he had moments ago disappears. In its place, his mask slips back on.

He is losing control and that scares the shit out of him.

As well as I know Levi, there is no perfect way to handle this situation. This is something he has to sort out on his own. All I can do is support him and his decision.

“Levi, it’s?—”

“No.” He shakes his head and retreats farther. His hands ball into fists as his whole expression tightens. “I’ll…” He rolls his lips between his teeth and takes another step back. “I’ll text you later.”

Before I get a word out, he whips around and runs across the street. Frozen next to my car, I stare after him as he unlocks his Ferrari, slips behind the wheel, and speeds away seconds later.

Several minutes pass before I unstick my feet, grab my pizza, and head home.

May 22nd

L fucking kissed me! And not some lame, half-ass kiss. Like a full-on, I-won’t-be-able-to-live-another-day-without-kissing-you kiss. God, it was so much better than I imagined. The way he held on to me. The way he pinned me to the car and gave me all his weight.

Fuck… it was heaven and hell and the best form of torture.

And then he freaked out and bolted. Not that I expected anything else. For a long time, I hoped L would show some level of attraction for me. Before this whole fake dating bullshit happened, I got a glimpse of it. Or so I thought. I’m not sure if my mind was playing tricks. If I’m confusing what I thought were signals.

But after tonight, I’m less confused. L, on the other hand, is probably more confused than ever.

Please don’t let it be another two weeks before we talk again. I can’t handle it. As much as I needed that time and distance to think, not talking with him every day was hell. Not hanging out was pure torture. Even if we never kiss again, I want L in my life.

If he only wants to be friends, I’ll be his friend and nothing more. I’ll go back to the way things were before. Loving him in secret.

SEVEN

LEVI

I stumblethrough the pool house door, my eyes heavy but mind buzzing. The further I dig into the dark recesses of the web for this case, the more I question my sanity and if I will be able to finish this assignment.

I’ve never been one to throw in the towel. Admitting defeat is a last resort. The evidence trail has to have been desolate for weeks or reached a point where my mind can no longer handle the monstrous content I unearth. Only then will I concede.

Tossing my phone and keys on the kitchen island, I amble to the fridge, open it, and stare at the bare contents.

When I moved into the pool house after college, I lost the perks of living in the main house on the estate. Housekeepers don’t tend to my needs. No dusting, vacuuming or laundry services. No trips to the grocery store to stock my fridge or pantry. All of which are fine. It’s a rare occasion to see any part of the pool house messy.

What I do miss, though, is access to the personal chef. Someone to make meals for me and store them in the fridge. Simple dinners to reheat. Grab-n-go lunches I can take to work. Light and quick breakfasts to eat in the car or after I get tothe office. A few days during the week when I don’t have the wherewithal to cook anything myself.

I snatch a can of Mountain Dew and a box of questionable leftovers from three or four days ago. Cracking the lid, I do a sniff check. Satisfied with the smell, I open the box and scan the remnants of the lasagna Bolognese.

“Looks safe.” I shrug.

Fetching a plate from the cabinet, I transfer it from the box and reheat it in the microwave.

While it warms, I cross to my bedroom, swap my work clothes for sweats and a T-shirt, and grab my laptop. I situate myself with dinner at the island, crack open my computer, and dive back into case work while I eat.

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