Chapter 202

Chapter 202
ISABELLA

Levi’s hand slid from my waist to my thigh, fingers tightening with a slow, merciless precision that made breath catch in my chest. I felt every line of his palm, every command in the pressure of his grip. Heat shot through me—betraying me—and I bit down hard on my lower lip, afraid that if I didn’t, a sound would escape. A scream. A moan. A plea. Something I wasn’t ready to give him in this moment or have our guests see.
Levi turned his head just enough to catch the expression I was fighting. And that smile—God, that smile—appeared on his lips again. The same one he had worn, calm, happy, beautiful, through the entire wedding ceremony that had everyone captivated by him, including me. But now it was deeper, darker, something carved from hunger and maybe a bit of madness.
He was beautiful in a way that was devastating. Not boyishly beautiful, but a man—and so hot. I would never get over how hot he looked and, even more, his aura.
God. How can I stop loving this man? What exactly would be my breaking point?
A voice whispered death in my head, and I exhaled sharply. “Let go,” I forced out, pulse racing, anger drawing my gaze tight and sharp.
Instead of letting go, Levi leaned in until his body was against mine. His hand grazed the back of my wrist, as if claiming not just my body but my attention, my breath, the very air I needed to think.
He dipped his head. “What did you say?” he asked, voice low, every syllable a challenge.
I turned to face him, matching the fire in his eyes with my own. “I said let go. This marriage was against my wish. We are not going to fuck our way out of this mess.”
For a moment, silence. Then a soft, amused chuckle that cut through the tension. His smile sharpened—no longer calm but daring, wicked, the kind of smile that promised ruin and satisfaction in equal measure.
“We are not,” he agreed, voice turning hot enough to flush my skin. “That presupposes there is a ‘we’ in this. I will be the one fucking you, Isabella. There is no we in that.”
A shiver ran through me before I could stop it. His hand moved higher—slow, deliberate, knowing exactly what that touch did to me. My heart kicked against my ribs.
Anger came first. Then anxiety.
And God help me…anticipation.
I swallowed it down, refusing to let any of it show. “Let go,” I insisted, though the word felt thin and brittle.
His voice dropped to something nearly reverent and entirely claiming. “You know I am not going to do that. So why not save your strength for tonight, love. You belong to me now—just as I belong to you.” His thumb stroked the soft inside of my thigh, firm enough to weaken my knees. “And our marriage will be consummated tonight. Tradition demands it.”
He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, making every nerve stand at attention. His fingers traced higher—slow, teasing without touching fully.
“But mostly,” he whispered, “I demand it.”
His breath was warm on my skin, and my body betrayed me again, arching ever so slightly toward him. I cursed silently.
“You seem to forget how we are together,” Levi murmured, voice sharp yet edged with a soft need. “I lead. You surrender. And I think you need to be reminded of that. Reminded of what it is I am to you.” He sighed in my ear, and my heart stopped. “Your master.”
Blood rushed to my ears as his words struck something deep and dark inside me—memory, desire, the ache of what we’d lost and what was returning piece by piece.
I opened my mouth—to retort, to challenge, to defend my pride—but nothing came out. My mind was blank, totally useless.
I swallowed, breath catching in my throat, and then his eyes found mine. “Do you remember,” he murmured, voice low, but I could hear every emotion in it, the happiness, the need—it crippled me—“the night you invited me to your apartment. The night that we crossed the line between boss and employee, and you begged me to stay with you? When I had you crying against the sink, begging me for more?”
My pulse stopped from the intense longing that came from the memory of the night flashing in my head and the fact that it was coming from him. Then roared. My eyes widened.
A slow smirk curved his mouth—dangerous, familiar, heartbreakingly his.
“Yes,” he whispered, “I’m starting to remember.”
He lifted a single finger, like he was holding the thread of a fragile truth.
“Just fragments for now… pieces of the year I lost. But you’re in every memory. Every one. My mind, my soul—they’re pulling you back to me. The desire. The madness of wanting you from the moment we first met. All of it is coming home.”
His voice thickened, breaking with something that wasn’t just lust—it was awe.
“I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did. But remembering you…” He shook his head, almost laughing at himself. “I am falling even harder. Wanting you even more. And you think I would ever let you go?”
His eyes burned—possessive, reverent, unshakably certain.
“Never.”