Love on the Brain(70)

“That’s impressive.”

“It wasn’t always correct.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “On our final presentation, while the instructor was examining it, the cortex announced that it was smelling feces.” I burst into laughter. “It maybe needed a few tweaks. But I fell in love with brain-computer interface because of Peter. He was the most brilliant engineer I’ve ever met.” He presses his lips together. “I saw his skull crack in two when he fell. I was ten feet away, halfway through my climb. The noise—it was unlike anything. I didn’t know how to tell Lily. And Penny wouldn’t leave the room . . .”

His voice is so deceptively level, so painfully neutral, I’m shocked when I realize that my cheeks are wet. I want to reach out to Levi. I need to reach out. But I’m locked inside my head, paralyzed, finally making connections and understanding things.

“They renamed the Institute after him. And he came up with the prototype.” Before dying. That’s why Levi needed to be on BLINK. Why it needed to happen with him in charge. Why he fought so hard for it.

Levi. Oh, Levi.

“I’m going to build those helmets.” He’s still staring into the distance. His grip on the bottle is a vise. “Like he envisioned them. And they’ll have his name. And Penny will know it was her dad, and she—” He stops. Like his voice will break if he continues.

Suddenly, I’m not scared anymore. I know what to do—or at least what I want to do. I stand, slide the beer out of Levi’s hand, and set it on the metal railing with a clink. Then I lower myself into his lap, legs on each side of his waist, my arms around his neck. I wait until his hands are around my waist. Until his eyes shine up at me in the darkness. Then I say, “We’re going to build those helmets. Together.” I smile fiercely against his lips. “Peter will know. Penny will know. Lily will know. And you will know.”

The kiss is a punch-out drug, but a familiar one. After all, I’ve thought about nothing else for the past day. Pleasure hums through me with every stroke of his tongue against mine, every brush of his fingers against my lower back, every reverent breath against my jaw. He pulls me closer and groans into my skin, half sentences that drive me crazy an inch at a time.

“You’re so— Fuck, Bee,” as I run my teeth down his throat. “I used to dream of you,” when my fingertips brush against the fine hair underneath his belly button. “I’m going to—we have to slow down, or I’m going to—” after I start rocking on top of him, and the friction of his erection against my clit is already the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m shuddering, pulsating, about to explode with pleasure. My underwear is soaked and I want to get closer. Closer.

But our clothes stay on. Frustratingly, maddeningly on, even when he brings me to bed, the kitchen light trickling inside the room. Levi’s grip on my hip is near-bruising, every breath a sharp intake. My body feels warm, buoyant, filled with cutting heat. He looks down at me and says, “I want to fuck you.” He nips at my collarbone, and—he likes teeth. To bite, to clutch, to suck. There’s something devouring about him, something clumsy and overeager, but it’s not a turnoff. He’s usually so patient, meticulous, but now he can’t wait. Can’t have enough. “Can I fuck you?”

I nod up at him, let him take my top, my pants, everything off, and the way he looks at me like he has found answers all of a sudden, like my body is a religious experience, has me squirming up for contact.

“This,” he says breathlessly, his thumb tracing reverently the piercing on my nipple.

“If you don’t like it, I—”

He shushes me, and it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m totally okay with him staring at my small breasts as though they’re something wondrous, with him kissing them until his lips are plump, until I have to pull at his hair, until I’m so wet, I feel it trickle down my thigh. I’m okay with being told ridiculous things: I’m a good girl, I’m perfect, I’ve been driving him insane, when he first saw me I changed the chemistry of his brain.

He makes me laugh when I roll us around, push him underneath me, his elbows smacking against the hard wall. He mumbles a few obscenities, but when I bend down to kiss him again he forgets all about it. “You’re too big for the bed,” I tell him between giggles, peeling his shirt from his skin. He has abs. Defined ones. And pecs. He has muscle groups I thought were myths.

“Your bed’s too small for me. Next time we’ll do this in mine,” he says, lifting his hips and letting me undo his zipper. The sound of each catch fills the room, and it shouldn’t be so erotic, but I’m naked on top of him, his length rubbing against my core, and there’s no mistaking how deliciously, furiously, eagerly big he is.

“It’s been a while,” he says.

I blink at him, breathless, hazy. “Yeah. Me too.” I can’t help myself. I touch the damp head of his erection, just a brush of my fingertips. He grunts, bites his lip. His hips jerk. It’s a little like riding a horse. A bull.

“Do we need a condom?” he asks. I shake my head and mouth “birth control,” eager to continue. “This might be over very quickly,” he husks, hands gripping my thighs as I position him at my entrance. “But I’ll make it up to you. With my mouth. Or my fingers. If— Bee. Bee.”