Harley
His eyes never left me. Even when I pretended not to care.
Gabrielle had this way of convincing me to let loose.
"Come on," she said, already swiping her lipstick on with military precision. "You need to feel pretty and powerful — not just capable. Let's go."
I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to go out, but because of the man who always stood five feet behind me like a shadow I never asked for but now couldn't breathe without.
Levi.
He didn't say anything when I told him we were heading out. Just nodded, that impassive look on his face, and followed us to the bar like he wasn't already calculating every possible threat in the room.
We found a corner booth near the back. Mood lighting, music low enough for conversation but loud enough to drown thought. Gabriela ordered something fruity. I went for my usual.
That's when he walked over.
Tall. Charming smile. Brown eyes that tried too hard.
"Can I buy you ladies a drink?" he asked, confidence dripping like syrup.
Gabrielle was already grinning. "Only if we get to keep you at the table."
I rolled my eyes but didn't stop it. I was tired of being Stiff all the time.
The guy sat down, and then one of his friends showed up. Then another. And then a fourth.
Great. Now it was a full-blown frat party at our table.
I glanced over Gabrielle's shoulder. Levi was leaning against the wall near the exit, arms folded, eyes locked on the scene like a sniper. His jaw… was flexing. Hard.
I tilted my head slightly. Was he… annoyed?
He's a bodyguard, I reminded myself. This is probably protocol. Strange men. Potential threats. Standard discomfort.
But the way his eyes were fixed on the guy next to me — the one who was now a little too close, laughing a little too loud — it didn't feel standard.
I turned back just as that guy's hand slid onto my thigh.
He started rubbing small, slow circles.
Gabrielle froze mid-sip. "Girl…" she whispered under her breath. "Your man's about to explode."
"He's not my man," I said quickly, brushing the guy's hand away with a tight smile. "He's just… seeing things."
Gabrielle raised a brow. "Right. If you say so."
She stood casually and walked over to where Levi was stationed. I tried not to watch them, but I felt her get close to him. Saw her lean in to say something. His eyes briefly flicked toward her, then right back to me.
They were talking. Low. Intentional. And I was… annoyed.
Why was I annoyed?
I turned back to the table, but the conversation had shifted. The charm had faded. Everything felt loud, messy, suffocating.
I didn't want to be here anymore.
I stood, brushing imaginary dust off my thigh. And bid goodnight to these gentlemen
"Levi," I called out smoothly, walking up to him like I hadn't just been watching him watch me all night. "I'm ready to go home."
He didn't hesitate. "Alright."
Gabrielle blinked. "So sudden?"
"Yeah," I said, shooting her a soft smile. "Work early tomorrow. You understand."
She nodded, stepping forward and — to my absolute horror — kissed Levi on the cheek.
"I'll see you both at the office," she said, smirking slightly. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Levi didn't react. At least, not visibly. But something shifted in his eyes. A flicker of tension.
I didn't wait. I was already halfway to the car, jaw tight, stomach twisted.
I wasn't supposed to care if he talked to her. I wasn't supposed to feel this stupid ache when her lips touched his skin.
But I did.
And that terrified me more than anything else in the damn world.
The sunlight bleeding through the curtains felt colder than usual. It was morning, and the sky outside was that dull gray that promised rain but never followed through. I sat up in bed slowly, rubbing my temples, half-expecting the heaviness in my chest to dissipate with the first breath of the day. But it stayed, thick and sharp like regret.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't want to check it—not really—but habit made me reach for it I blinked against the light of the screen, reached for it with a groggy hand, expecting another calendar reminder or maybe one of those motivational quotes I stupidly subscribed to months ago.. One new message. From Steve.
"Harley, I'm sorry. This isn't working. You deserve someone better. I think it's best if we go our separate ways. I won't be around anymore. Take care."
I didn't cry. Not at first. I just set the phone down slowly, sat up in bed, and stared at the wall like it might give me a reason. Maybe I was numb. Or maybe I'd been expecting it all along.
The words didn't hurt all at once. It was more like a slow unraveling, thread by thread, until my heart felt too bare and exposed. My thumb hovered over the screen. There were no butterflies, no tears. Just numbness. And then, nothing.
I stared at the ceiling for a while, feeling the silence press down on me. It was official. I was alone. Again. A ridiculous, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I guess I already knew it, deep down. The way he'd been distant, the late-night excuses, the missed calls.
An hour passed. Then two. I didn't get up. My assistant called twice. Gabriella texted me about the project edits. I ignored everything. The entire day felt like something I didn't want to participate in.
So, I cancelled it. Cleared my calendar, told my assistant I had a stomach bug, and crawled back under the covers. I ordered nothing. I ate nothing. I just lay there, cocooned in silence, letting the weight of loneliness curl up beside
I canceled everything.
I pulled the covers over my head like a child hiding from monsters. Only mine weren't imaginary. They were very, very real.
Hours passed. I didn't move. I didn't eat. The only thing I did was scroll through photos—stupid, grainy little moments where I'd convinced myself I was happy. Then I deleted every single one.
A knock came. Not sharp. Not urgent. Familiar.
Levi.
I didn't get up. I didn't answer. He let himself in with the spare key I gave him last week.
"Harley?" he called out gently, and I heard the sound of a bag rustling.
I didn't move until I felt the scent of warm food waft through the apartment. Something rich, something comforting—pasta, I think. And he brought coffee too, that stupidly specific order he remembered: Harleynut mocha with almond milk, light on the syrup.
He found me curled on the couch, in yesterday's hoodie and a blanket wrapped around me like a second skin. He didn't speak. He didn't ask questions. He just placed the food down, took a seat beside me, and exhaled like he belonged here. Like he always had.
I finally looked at him.
There was something so calm about Levi. The way he sat, how he filled the room without demanding space. His eyes always studied you like you were a riddle he wanted to understand, not fix. And right now, I needed that more than I'd ever admit.
"I got dumped," I said plainly.
"I know," he replied. "I saw the message."
"You check my phone?"
"No," he said with a soft shrug. "But you didn't have to say it. I saw it in your face this morning. You looked like someone who lost something they didn't want to admit they cared about."
God, that hit.
I turned to face him more fully, knees curled beneath me, my eyes stinging despite the tears refusing to fall.
"I hate this," I whispered. "I hate how quiet everything feels. How I wake up and there's no one there. And I just… I don't want to be alone anymore."
He stared at me for a moment. And then he reached out, arms wide and waiting.
I didn't hesitate.
I folded myself into him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the cold from my skin. His arms wrapped around me like he was built for it. My cheek pressed against his chest, and I felt the strong, steady rhythm of his heart. Nothing had ever felt safer.
Then I looked up.
The tension was subtle at first. Just the tilt of his head, the way his hand grazed my back and lingered just a second too long. His eyes searched mine, and mine, his. There was a question hanging between us, suspended by months of restraint and weeks of glances too heavy to ignore.
My hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw.
"Harley," he murmured, his voice strained. "Don't."
"Why not?" I whispered, my lips a breath away from his. "Why is it always you I want when everything falls apart?"
He closed his eyes. His hands gripped my waist, not to pull me closer, but to hold me still.
"You're vulnerable. You're hurting. You don't want me, Harley. You want comfort."
I leaned in anyway."I don't want to be alone tonight," I said. "Just tonight. Just... pretend."
I leaned in, soft lips grazing his. I kissed him like a secret I wasn't supposed to tell. Like I was drowning, and his mouth was the only air left. His breath hitched. His hand caught my wrist, not rough, not demanding. Just a touch of restraint.
"Harley," he murmured, eyes storm-dark. "We can't."
But my fingers slid up to his jaw, pulling him closer. I kissed him again, deeper this time. Desperate. His body betrayed him before his words did. His mouth opened for me, warm and consuming. His hand slid to my waist tighter, fingers digging in slightly. He groaned, low and guttural, as if he'd been fighting this moment far longer than I had.
But then, he pulled back. Gently. His forehead pressed against mine, both of us panting.
"We can't," he repeated, softer this time. "You're vulnerable. I can't be the one to take advantage of that."
"You're not taking anything," I breathed. "I'm giving it."
He shook his head slowly. "Not like this. Not when it hurts."
His breath hitched.
His hands trembled slightly as he whispered, again "We can't."
I looked at him, chest aching.
"Why?"
"Because," he said with a shaky voice, "I won't be able to stop."
Silence wrapped around us again.
And just like that, he stood up. "Eat," he said softly. "And get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow."
He left without another word.
And I sat there, alone again. Still lonely, still broken. But now with the ache of almost-love pressing against my chest like a bruise that wouldn't fade.
I didn't cry.
Instead, I grabbed a spoon, walked to the freezer, and pulled out the vanilla ice cream.
K-drama played in the background while I mindlessly ate, my mind stuck in a loop. Not of Steve. Not of his betrayal.
But of Levi's hands on my waist. His voice in my ear.
"We can't."
And the dangerous part?
I didn't want to stop.
And neither did he
~~~
I found myself looking at the untouched food on the counter
I pressed my palm to my chest, like I could steady the wild beat of my heart. What was wrong with me?
No… scratch that. I knew exactly what was wrong. It was him.
Levi.
The way he touched me like I was breakable but looked at me like he wanted to ruin me.
I walked back to the counter, poured myself another glass of wine—because hell—and leaned against the marble surface, eyes shut. His scent still clung to my skin. Subtle spice and cedarwood. Masculine and warm. I'd never hated and craved something so much at the same time.
This wasn't just about Steve. Not anymore.
I thought it was. I thought this hollow ache in my chest was from heartbreak and betrayal. But it wasn't. It was from the way Levi's hands lingered too long on my hips. The way his eyes dropped to my lips when he thought I wasn't looking. The way his voice dropped whenever he said my name—low, gravelly, with a hint of restraint like he was holding back every damn second he was near me.
And now, he was back in my living room.
I didn't even realize I'd moved until I was standing in the doorway, barefoot and flushed. He was leaned back on my couch, head resting against the cushion, eyes closed like he was trying to calm himself. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady waves—but his fists were clenched in his lap.
He looked… dangerous like that.
But not the kind of danger that made me afraid.
The kind that made me curious. Breathless. Reckless.
"I can't eat," I said softly.
His eyes opened—piercing blue meeting mine.
"I tried," I added. "I really did. But all I could think about was you walking away from me. Again."
He sat up straighter, brows pulling together. "Harley…"
"No," I whispered, walking toward him, my steps slow, deliberate. "You keep pulling back like this is something we can pretend isn't real. But I feel it. You do, too. So why are you fighting it?"
He shook his head, jaw tight. "Because you're hurting. And I told myself I wouldn't take advantage of that."
"Don't," I said, my voice trembling. "Don't do that. Don't treat me like I'm made of glass. I've been broken before. I know what it feels like. This?" I stepped in front of him. "This is not breaking. This feels like the first time I'm breathing again."
His hands gripped the couch cushions like he was holding himself back from grabbing me.
"I can't stop thinking about yesterday," I admitted. "The way you held me. The way you looked at me."
He swallowed hard, looking up at me like I was fire and he was seconds from burning.
"You don't know what you're doing to me," he whispered.
I smiled bitterly. "Then show me."
In one swift move, I straddled his lap. My thighs pressed against his, and I could feel the sharp inhale he took—feel the way his body stiffened beneath me.
His hands shot up to my hips like they belonged there, but he didn't pull me down. He was still holding back. Still trying to be good.
"I can stop," I said softly, leaning close, my mouth just a breath from his. "But I don't want to."
He closed his eyes, jaw locked. "Harley…"
"Say it," I murmured. "Say you want me."
"I've always wanted you," he growled, voice breaking.
Then I kissed him.
This time, he didn't stop me.
His mouth crushed against mine with a force that made my head spin. There was no hesitation—just heat and hunger and desperation. His hands slid up my sides, fingers curling into my shirt like he was trying to memorize the feel of me.
I moaned into his mouth, grinding against him, and he let out a sound that was pure, raw need. Every inch of restraint he'd been clinging to shattered between us. He kissed me like he needed it to breathe—like he'd been starving and I was the only thing that could satisfy him.
When he pulled back, it was only to press his forehead to mine, panting. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
My fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. "Then stop fighting it."
His hands found my thighs, gripping them tight. "If we do this, Harley… it won't be gentle."
"I don't want gentle," I whispered, tilting my hips again. "I want you."
His breath caught.
"I want you to lose control," I added, voice low and trembling. "I want to see what happens when you stop pretending you don't want me."
And just like that, something snapped.
He stood, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried me down the hall, eyes never leaving mine. I clung to him, heart racing, desire pulsing through every nerve ending like wildfire.
He kicked the bedroom door open, slammed it shut behind us, and when he laid me on the bed, his body hovered over mine like he was claiming me with every breath.
And I let him.
Because for once, I wasn't afraid of being vulnerable. Not with him.