Page 23 of Double Standard

As Levi walks to the bathroom, I take in the view. Muscular thighs, defined back, tight ass for me to ogle. The knot of desire in my core starts to tighten again.

“Don’t move,”I whisper to myself with a laugh. As if I could—he turned me boneless two minutes ago with just his fingers and his words. Sweet, supportive Levi has a dirty mouth, and I, apparently, have a praise kink.

He shuts the door behind him before sauntering over to the bed as though he has all the time in the world. As though his dick isn’t rock hard, and I’m not wet from the sight of it.

He stops short before crawling onto the mattress. “Just want to take a mental picture of you sprawled out on this bed before we make a mess of it,” he says with a smirk.

I push up on my hands, sticking out my chest and twisting my hips to give my best pin-up girl impression. Letting someone look at me like this is new. Though I’mplenty aware of my imperfections—my stretch marks and my cellulite—I can’t be bothered to care when Levi’s eyes fall to my tits and I watch his hand, holding the condom, twitch.

“Show’s over, get over here.” I rise to my knees and stretch to wrap an arm around his neck, pulling his mouth to mine. There’s no more trepidation in this kiss, no more quiet sighs or waiting for a signal to take things further. Almost instantly, his hands are on my waist, his tongue is in my mouth, and his cock is pressed against my stomach. I run my fingernails down his body and then lift the weight of him in my palm, rubbing my thumb over the tip to spread his arousal. Heat grows between my legs as I stroke him. “I want you sitting up.” I run my hand across the sheets.

He nods before wrapping my legs around his waist and bringing both of us to the top of the bed, his back against the headboard. “I want whatever you want.”

At this moment, I think Levi Stephens would let me do just about anything to him and then ask for more. I pluck the condom from his hand, tear open the foil, and place the rubber over his tip. Slowly, carefully, I roll it down his shaft. The groan he releases washes over me like late afternoon sunshine.

I tilt forward, and with a quick press of my mouth to his, I line myself up with his length. He lifts his hips to push inside, but instead I slide back, grinding myselfon his cock, over and over, until it’s slick. Levi grips my hips, his fingertips pressing into the flesh to still me.

“If you’re not careful, this is going to be over before it starts, sweetheart.”

“You can handle it.” I hold his gaze as I drag myself, slow and torturous, along his shaft.

“Ana, I swear.” He holds me with bruising pressure, forgetting himself, and I wonder if I’ll have marks from his fingertips tomorrow. Probably should stop my taunting.

I bring my mouth to suck on his neck, to the soft spot above his collarbone, as I notch his tip at my entrance. I lower myself slowly, taking the first inch of him on an exhale.

“Better?” I slide down another inch as his eyelids fall and his gaze goes unfocused.

“The best.” His hips shift up to push deeper. A jolt of pain meets the movement.

“Wait, I just need a second to adjust.” I take another deep breath and beg my pelvic floor to relax. Please.

Please.

“Hypertonic” is what they called it when I got my diagnosis. Tight, stiff muscles that try to compensate for the instability in my joints, even in my pelvis. Tight, stiff muscles that are sometimes—at the worst times—resistant to movement.

“I’m sorry, just... one more second.” A witch’s brew of anxiety, embarrassment, and frustration fills my chest.

“We don’t have to do this.” He reaches for my face and holds my jaw with both hands.

“But I want to.” I’m borderline petulant, imploring him with my eyes to give me time, not to decide for me that I’m too fragile or damaged for this.

“What do you need? How can I help?”

“Keep your hand here.”

I place my hand over his, bring it to my center, and lead him in slow, consistent strokes of my clit, still sensitive from before. I close my eyes. I try to focus on the movement of his thumb. I let the pleasure and pressure build. I visualize myself soft and open, and I try, with everything in me, not to worry if he’s wondering what the hell is going on with me right now.

“Thank you,” I say.

My eyes are still closed. His hand is still moving. And after a few too many minutes, I feel myself sink farther down his length. We both gasp at the sudden bliss of it, and I crash my mouth into his. “Thank you,” I repeat between kisses. “Thank you.” Again and again.

I lift myself up and down, reveling in the stretch and the way he feels inside of me and under my fingertips—the short stubble on his cheeks, the soft skin of his neck, the hard planes of his chest. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and it pushes me closer to the edge.

“Ana, this is... shit, you feel so good.”

“Youfeel so good.” The movement of his fingers on me picks up speed to match our rhythm, and a moment laterI come again. Like a wave crashing, I’m hit with the full weight of my pleasure, seeping from my center and zipping up my spine, reaching toward my fingers and toes and settling warm in my chest.

With a few more thrusts, Levi finishes. A moan, primal, leaves his mouth, and then we’re a heap. He sinks into the bed, and I sink into him, and we’re still connected, indistinct, nothing but heartbeats and heaving breaths.