“Thank you.”
Some quick math told me he must have gotten married fairly soon after college. I’d met him my sophomore year at U of M, but he’d only been visiting friends there. I hadn’t even planned to go out that night—I’d had on a Harry Potter t-shirt, for heaven’s sake, and I think it had a hole in it—but my friends had dragged me to the bar, insisting I needed a study break. I’d noticed Levi right away, and we’d eyed each other across the room for a good portion of the night before he finally came over to me and said, “Harry Potter fan, huh? So what are the chances I can Slytherin to your chamber of secrets tonight?”
Two drinks later, we were kissing, and two after that, we were racing hand in hand to my dorm, where he’d yanked me into the hallway broom closet after we’d discovered my roommate was already asleep in my room.
For a moment, I was distracted by the memory of giggling breathlessly as I listened to him tear open the condom wrapper and put it on, the sight of him lost to me in the dark. I remembered the way my heart pounded as I slid my underwear down my legs, terrified we’d rouse my RA, whose room was right next door. I remembered the scent of bleach and Pine Sol, his lips on mine, his hands on my shoulders as he turned my body toward the wall and lifted my jean skirt. Most of all, I remembered the way he whispered as he thrust up inside me again and again and again, so deep and hard it teetered on the edge between pleasure and pain, one hand over my mouth to stifle my cries. You’re so fucking hot, I wanna fuck you so hard, oh fuck I’m gonna come.
OK, maybe not terribly poetic or imaginative, but hey, he was young.
And for me, a bookworm whose Saturday nights were usually spent reading bio-chem textbooks or romance novels, broom closet sex with a hot guy was a pretty erotic experience. Until that point I’d only had missionary sex in dorm room beds with two other guys, neither of whom had said anything except “uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh” the entire time. And by “the entire time,” I mean all five minutes.
But with Levi, it was different. Not that it was much slower—in fact, it may have been faster—but it was more illicit. More unexpected.
Dirtier.
Rougher.
And I’d liked it—it had shocked me how much I liked it. In fact, it was still one of my go-to fantasies when I was alone with Magik Mike.
Too bad he was married.
I cleared my throat in an effort to clear my head. “Is your wife here?”
“We aren’t together anymore.” He didn’t look or sound particularly sad about it.
“Oh.” My pulse picked up, and I sent God a silent apology for the stinkeye. “So tell me how you know Sebastian. Skylar is my sister.”
He cocked his head. “Is she? Sorry, I probably would know that if I hadn’t been so late that I missed the ceremony. I never saw a program or anything.”
“That’s OK, most people wouldn’t guess it. We don’t look much alike.” Skylar and Natalie had our mother’s blonde hair and petite, curvy body. I had our dad’s tall, thin frame and dark hair, although we all had the same blue eyes. “And we, um, might not have exchanged last names that night.”
Levi laughed, a deep throaty sound that heated up my insides. “Maybe not.”
“Jillian Nixon.” I held out my hand.
He took it. “Levi Brooks.”
I have a bit of a hand fetish and couldn’t resist glancing down at his. It was solid and strong, with long fingers, nails neatly trimmed. A thick black watch peeked out from the crisp white cuff of his dress shirt, which made my heart skip a few beats. I love a nice wristwatch on a man. There’s something so classic and masculine about it.
His grip was firm, and he gave my hand an affectionate little squeeze before letting go. “I met Sebastian at the gym a couple years ago, but I’m also his architect.”
“You’re an architect? Did you design his cabin?” I asked, impressed. “It’s beautiful!”
“Thanks.” He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. “That was a pretty simple project, really. And Sebastian had a lot of input. He just needed someone to draw up the plans and supervise the construction.”
“I hear they’re adding on, though, right? I knew my sister wouldn’t be able to live with so little closet space.”
Levi chuckled, and I raised my eyebrows. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just…” He glanced sideways at me, a boyish grin on his face. “Closet space.”
My face warmed, and I couldn’t help smiling either. “Ah. Yes. Closet space.”
The group in front of us moved away from the bar, and Levi put a hand lightly at the small of my back as we stepped forward. It wasn’t overtly suggestive, but it sent a flutter through my belly all the same.