Chapter 131
**LEVI**
Her body was fire in my hands—not metaphorical, not poetic, but real. Feverish heat, raw and pulsing like the surface of the sun. The moment I touched her, it was like pressing my palm against something too hot to hold—but holding anyway, because the pain was worth the possession. Her skin was impossibly smooth, like silk soaked in sweat and sin, each inch of her whispering secrets into my fingers. And under my touch, she trembled—not from fear, but from familiarity. Like she knew what I was capable of. Like she knew exactly how far I could take this. How far I could take her. And still, she pressed closer. She wanted me to ruin her. And God, I would. I’d take her apart piece by piece until she couldn’t speak anything but the truth—until it poured from her lips like a holy confession, until she was too fucked-out and broken to lie to me anymore.
But this wasn’t one-sided. She wasn’t the only one trembling.
I was shaking too. From the heat. From the need. From the way her body responded to mine like a prayer answered by lust. I let go of her throat—briefly, reluctantly—stopped grinding against her ass, and pulled my shirt off with desperate, clumsy hands. I knew she could feel the absence of me instantly. The loss of my warmth, my skin, my cock pressing against her. So I hurried up. I needed us bare. No barriers. No fabric. Just us. Just this. And when I pressed my naked body against her again, it felt like the final piece clicking into place. The cold wind sliced between the trees, sharp and biting against our flushed, damp skin, but we didn’t flinch. We stood there, two living, breathing sins carved into the wild like a pair of obscene statues—shameless, defiant, glorious.
Her trembling didn’t stop—it deepened, intensified, and it shot straight to my cock. Thickening it. Hardening it further. Torturing it until I was aching, dripping, as desperate for her as she was for me. I don’t remember ever wanting like this before. This wasn’t just desire—it was madness. Sweet, electric madness. It hurt. It actually hurt. But the pain felt holy. Beautiful.
My hand curved around her hip, fingers sinking into her skin, and I felt it—the pulse of her blood beneath the surface, the life thundering through her, wild and uncontained. Her desire surged through her body in waves, and I wanted to drown in it. The scent of her—rich, earthy, soaked in heat—rose to meet me like incense. My jaw clenched. My stomach tightened. My body coiled tighter and tighter. Every breath I took around her felt like a sin I was desperate to repeat. And yet beneath all of it—beneath the hunger and the sweat and the moans—there was something darker. Fear.
I held her anyway.
Held her like she was life itself, even though she was the reason I was suffocating.
And not just any fear. Real fear. The kind that claws up from your gut and makes a home inside your chest. The kind that eats through your ribs and sits on your heart like a weight. I hadn’t even begun to recover from what Jenna did to me. Not that I ever loved her, not really. But betrayal doesn’t need love to cut deep. Her lies had left a dent, a jagged edge that still bled when I wasn’t careful. She peeled me open and reminded me of every betrayal I’d buried, every wound I’d ignored. Left me raw. Left me guarded. Left me with mistrust stitched into my bones.
And now Isabella.
This gorgeous, dangerous, smart-mouthed mystery of a woman. This chaos in perfect skin. She was pulling at every thread I’d wrapped around myself. She was tearing down the walls I’d built with blood. She was opening the door I swore I’d welded shut. And I pretended—God, I tried to pretend—she wasn’t. That she wasn’t getting to me. That I didn’t want her more than I’d ever wanted anyone. But she was. And I did. No matter how hard I dragged my feet against it—against the truth of it—it changed nothing. I was opening my heart to her. It was real. And I was not escaping.
The truth she carried—whatever it was—it scared me more than death. Because if she betrayed me like Jenna did, it wouldn’t just bruise me. It would wreck me. Because somewhere deep down, in a place I hadn’t dared to name, I felt something dangerous for her. Something too big. Too consuming. And still, I couldn’t stop despite this fear. I didn’t want to stop.
It was foolish. I should have known better. A man like me always knows better.
But with Isabella, I didn’t know anything.
And if I did know something, it didn’t matter enough to make me stay away. What the hell had this woman done to me? Why couldn’t I stop wanting her?
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