Page 15 of Needed You

This is the thing about Ryan that I really love. He doesn’t pussyfoot around me and treat me differently. He found me broken and fucked up and just accepted me as I was.

That doesn’t mean I’m telling him anything tonight, though.

“Fuck you,” I say lightly, taking a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and laying it on the table. I can’t seem to make sense of the emotions I feel when I see Lev. I’m angry and upset, but I also have such fond memories of him being around and hanging out at our house. I don’t know which of the emotions is stronger.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I tell Ryan, and without waiting for his response, I stand up and head out of the diner, listening to him laugh as I walk away.

I’m emotional the entire drive home. The anger and the sadness . . . and the attraction . . . they’re warring with each other. My eyes sting, and my chest is tight, and I almost feel sick to my stomach. Why does he make me feel something I can’t define? I haven’t said more than hello to Lev Richardson since he left. Why am I so affected by just being in the same room with him?

I picture his face again, the icy-blue eyes. The chiseled jaw. The dimple.

Once I’m inside my house, I go straight up to my room. I drop my pants and strip off my shirt and head into the bathroom for a quick, hot shower. When I’m done and dressed again, I get comfortable on my bed in just my boxers and socks. I pull out my phone to search for Lev on social media.

There are photos of him all over his page.

Some are of Lev and his family, some are of him and his sister or just her, as though she’d sent him photos that posted to his page. A few pictures are probably his friends from Sheltonville. In one particular picture, he’s standing in dark jeans and no shirt. He’s outside, and his skin is glistening, a sheen of sweat on his abs and chest. My mouth goes dry as I lick my lips, and my dick starts to thicken. It’s not long before it’s standing at full attention in my underwear. I zoom in on the picture, and see Lev’s got a huge smile on his face, his dimple so deep I want to put my tongue in it.

I’m so hard, and without thinking too much about it, I slide my hand down my stomach and under the waistband of my boxers, pushing them down under my balls. With one hand holding the phone and the other wrapped around my hard dick, I start to stroke myself. Using my precum as lube, I jerk myself harder, a moan escaping my lips. It feels so fucking good.

I close my eyes and picture Lev’s strong arms and thick chest pressing against me, him kissing me and biting my lip. My balls grow tighter, and a tingling rolls down my spine. I picture his arms around me and his mouth all over my body, sucking and licking and taking what he wants. As I get to the edge, I squeeze my dick harder and move my hand faster while I imagine waking up next to him in his arms, that hard, broad chest against my back and his cock pushing against my ass.

“Oh, god!” I moan again, tensing as I come all over my hand and my stomach, my orgasm pulsing out of me. I shudder and stroke myself a few more times, until the sensation is too much to handle. Breathing rapidly, I open my eyes, and my gaze meets Lev’s on my phone screen. I drop the phone on my bed and take a few deep breaths, waiting for my heart to stop racing.

Eventually, I get up, wash my hands and stomach, and throw on clean boxers. I should try to sleep, but my mind won’t stop. So instead, I go to my desk and turn on my tablet.

The project that’s been stressing me out is still there, taunting me. I sit down and run my hands through my hair, closing my eyes for a moment. An idea suddenly hits me, and the image of what I want to do comes to mind. I know what they want. I start putting the design together, and within about two hours, I have a finished product. Relieved and now unburdened, I send the files over to the client and get ready for bed.

A moment later, I crawl under the covers, curl up, and settle in, my mind at ease for the first time in a while. I think seeing Lev tonight gave me some sort of emotional and physical release and kinda restarted my brain, unblocking me. Who knew an orgasm and visions of a certain man would give me the inspiration I was so desperately waiting for?

Chapter 9

Levon

It’s Friday night, and Lindsey has the day off from work for a change. She was thrilled when I asked her to come along with me to The Copper Exchange to meet up with some of the guys and watch Chris’s band play.

The place is already busy when we get there, and after we head to the table to meet with the other guys, I quickly scan the room. My eyes fall on someone at the bar who’s talking to one of the bartenders I recognize from last week. The bartender fills a tray full of shots, smiling and talking, and then pushes the tray toward the man my eyes are locked onto.

My heart pounds in my chest, and the hair stands up on my neck and arms again. It seems that happens a lot when I’m around Dare.

Dressed in oversized black pants with chains and leather, a black T-shirt, and a black knit beanie, he’s not hard to recognize. The profile and style are unmistakably Dare. He throws some money down on the bar and takes the tray of drinks with him, turning and heading away from me.

Disappointment creeps in the farther he gets from me. I can’t deny whatever this pull is; he draws me in. I want to watch him, learn what he’s doing, learn more about him. But when I scan the room again, he’s nowhere in sight. He must be sitting somewhere else, maybe in the corner or the other room.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by Nolan’s voice. “You looking for someone?” he asks.

I clear my throat. “Garrett asked me to keep an eye on Dare when I see him here. Where does he usually hang out?” I wave my drink around, making a sweeping motion to indicate to the room. Nolan smirks, and when I glance at Lindsey, she’s smirking too. I palm her face with my free hand and push her back.

“Hey!” she squeals, shoving my shoulder.

Nolan gives me a look with a raised eyebrow and points to the back corner, completely opposite of where we’re sitting and exactly diagonal from our table. The stage is in between, so that explains why I couldn’t see him and didn’t realize he was here when we first walked in. I try to be nonchalant about it all, but I know my friends—at least Nolan and Lindsey—can see right through me.

When Chris’s band—which I now know is called Murky Soup—finishes the next song, I ask if anyone wants anything from the bar, and then I head that direction to get everyone another round. I try not to look for Dare on my way, but it’s impossible. Once I get up to the counter, it’s easy to spot him. Sitting on one of the plush leather chairs in the far back corner, he’s talking with the guy I saw him with at the diner, an attractive blonde on the guy’s lap. They’re leaning into one another so they can hear over the music, and it looks like they’re having a good conversation.

I stare in his direction probably a few seconds too long, watching as Dare throws his head back in a laugh and then downs the rest of his drink. He motions toward the bar, then stands up and heads my way. I try to take a deep breath, but all the air has left my lungs, and the room suddenly gets overly warm, heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks.

Why am I nervous? And why is my stomach fluttering?

He keeps his eyes trained on me as he waltzes up to the bar. There’s no mistaking that he sees me. Waiting for either Garrett or another one of the bartenders to address him, he turns and looks at me, a sly smirk spreading on his lips. “I guess we’re going to keep running into each other now.”