"No?" My voice comes out breathy.
"Not even close." His thumb traces my lower lip. "You said you wanted everything. I plan to give you everything."
I reach for his shirt, suddenly desperate to see him, to touch him, to return even a fraction of the pleasure he just gave me. "Then we need to get you naked."
He helps me pull his shirt over his head, and I let myself look. Really look.
Levi Harper is built like someone who spends hours in a kitchen: strong shoulders and arms from lifting heavy pots and pans, a solid chest dusted with dark hair, a slight softness around his middle that makes him real and human and absolutely perfect.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady thud of his heartbeat. When my fingers find his nipples, he sucks in a sharp breath.
"Sensitive?" I ask, doing it again.
"Everything's sensitive right now," he admits. "I'm so fucking hard it hurts."
I let my hand drift lower, over his stomach, to the obvious bulge in his jeans. When I cup him through the denim, he groans and his hips thrust forward into my touch.
"Maya—"
"Can I?" I'm already working his belt buckle open.
"Fuck yes."
I make quick work of his belt and zipper, then push his jeans and boxer briefs down together. His cock springs free, thick and hard and weeping at the tip, and my mouth literally waters.
He's bigger than I expected, bigger than anyone I've been with before, and for a second, I wonder if he'll fit. But then he's kicking off his jeans and backing me toward the stainless steel counter, and I stop thinking entirely.
"Up," he commands, lifting me easily onto the cold metal surface.
I gasp at the temperature against my bare ass, but then Levi's between my thighs again and I forget everything else. He's completely naked now, his cock jutting between us, and he looks at me with such raw hunger that I clench around nothing.
"I need to be inside you," he says roughly.
"I want to feel you," I whisper. "No barriers. Just you and me."
I feel the broad head of his cock at my entrance, pressing against me, and I spread my legs wider in invitation.
"Look at me," he commands.
I meet his eyes, those dark, intense eyes that have been watching me for weeks.
"I want to see your face when I fill you," he says. "Want to watch you take every inch."
Then he pushes forward, slow and steady, and I feel every ridge and vein as he stretches me open.
"Oh fuck," I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders.
"So tight," he groans, pushing deeper. "Squeezing me so perfectly."
He's not even halfway in and I already feel impossibly full. But he keeps going, keeps pressing forward until finally his hips are flush against mine and he's buried completely inside me.
We both freeze, breathing hard, adjusting to the sensation.
"You okay?" His voice is strained with the effort of holding still.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Good. Because I'm about to fuck you on this counter until you can't remember your own name."