The difficulties in dating a single father were suddenly even more real.
Don’t ask. Don’t say anything. He feels bad enough about that. He’ll think he’s disappointing you.
Levi came up the stairs wearing just his jeans as I was pulling two bottles of water from the fridge. His bare chest and tousled hair and handsome face made the butterflies in my stomach start up again, and I smiled as I handed him a water. “I like seeing you here.”
He smiled. “I like seeing you in my shirt.”
“I love it. It smells like you.” I sniffed the collar again. “Would it be too adolescent of me to ask you if I can keep it to sleep with?”
He laughed as he uncapped the water. “Then I’m keeping your underwear that’s on the floor down there.”
I giggled and swallowed half the bottle of water. “What would you like to do? Watch a movie or something?”
“I’m fine with anything.” He tipped back the water and drank as much as I had.
“Did you check in with your sister? Everything OK?”
“I did, and no message. I assume everything is fine.” Worry creased his forehead. “It was sort of…a rough week at school.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He didn’t look entirely pleased that his sister hadn’t let him know how things were going. “If you want to call her, it’s OK.”
He put the cap on the bottle and set it down. “Come here.” I set my water aside too, and he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me and leaning back against the counter. “Part of me does want to call her, but another part says to leave him be. If there was a problem, she’d call. I want tonight to be about you.”
I hugged his torso, pressing close. In our bare feet, the top of my head nestled under his chin. “It’s not just about me. It’s about us.”
He kissed my head. “It is about us. We need this.”
With one light on above the range, the kitchen was dark and intimate, the only sound the hum of the fridge. We stayed in the cozy embrace for a moment, neither of us moving.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d told me at the restaurant—about feeling guilty, about the promises he’d made to his son, about feeling like he wasn’t enough. Although it made me sad for him, I was happy he’d opened up to me that way, that he trusted me with his feelings. It helped me understand him so much better, especially his reluctance to enter into a relationship. Any time and attention diverted from his son must feel like a betrayal. But he had to know that it wasn’t, right? Otherwise, how were we going to make this work?
I pressed my lips to his chest, wishing I could make everything better for him.
“Hey,” he said.
I pulled back a little and looked up at him. “What?”
“Am I insane?”
I smiled. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because I’m standing here in your kitchen thinking crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“Like how much I loved making dinner for you the other night. And what I can make you for breakfast in the morning. And when can I see you in my kitchen. And when can we spend another night together. When can we spend two nights together?”
I giggled, squeezing him tight. He feels the same way! “We haven’t even spent one night together yet.”
“I know, that’s why I’m telling you it’s insane. But I also know one night with you won’t be enough.” He kissed me softly. “I want all your nights, Jillian.”
“You can have them,” I whispered, my pulse racing.
“But I can’t. I can’t. And I’m resentful of that.” He closed his eyes. “And here’s where the guilt gets me.”
“Shhhh.” Running my hands over his skin, I pressed kisses everywhere my lips could reach—his mouth, his jaw, his cheek, his throat, his chest. “No guilt. Let’s not worry about anything beyond being here together tonight, OK?” I looked up at him, my breath catching. “This is what we have, and it’s all I need.”
He took my face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful. And sweet. You could have so much more than I can give you.”
“No more of that. I just want you, Levi.” My hand slid down the front of his jeans. “Tell me I have you.”
“You have me.” He crushed his mouth to mine so hard our teeth clicked, his tongue sliding between my lips. His hands moved into my hair, and his breathing was ragged and heavy. Turning us so that my back was against the counter, he put his hands on my waist and lifted me onto it.
I opened my knees and reached for the button on his jeans as he kissed a hot, fiery path down my neck. When I had his pants undone, I shoved them down and reached inside for his cock. It sprang up like I’d flipped a switch, growing hot and hard and thick in my hand. I slipped the solid flesh through my fingers as he unbuttoned the shirt I wore and put his hands on the sides of my ribcage, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. They stiffened and tingled at his touch, and he groaned against my throat as I teased the head of his cock with my fingers. How was it possible I was aching for him to fill me again already?
“Inside me,” I panted.
“I have to go get a condom from my jacket. My wallet’s in my pocket.” His breath tickled my neck.
“No!”
He picked his head up and looked at me. “What?”
“Don’t go,” I said, stroking him softly, desperate to feel that hot, velvety skin inside me with nothing between us. Maybe I couldn’t give him all my nights, but I could give him this. “I’m on the pill. It’s OK.”