A full week drifted by, blessedly free of any further unsettling encounters with alternate versions of Levi in my sleep. I channeled my focus into a new endeavor, hiring a voice acting coach, and together we transformed our spare guest room into a recording studio, complete with sound dampening panels and a good microphone. Levi, meanwhile, seemed to be in one of his intense work phases, often burning the midnight oil in his study, the only concession to formality being his preferred attire of silk robe paired with… well, nothing else.

“Raphael, have you seen my ice cream?” Levi’s voice boomed from the kitchen, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of rummaging through the refrigerator. Oops. Given his late-night work sessions there was a distinct possibility that Levi had single-handedly decimated his entire stash and was now experiencing a bout of selective amnesia regarding the event.

I strolled from the living room into the kitchen, where Levi stood before the open refrigerator, his brow furrowed in concentration. He straightened up with a sigh, closing the door with a soft click. “And… it appears we are also completely out of chocolate,” he announced, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“Didn’t you bake those peanut butter cookies yesterday? I think they’re in the cupboard above the stove,” I offered, hoping to redirect his craving.

“No,” he refused flatly. “I want something cold. Like ice cream.”

“Well, we could whip up a cake,” I suggested, trying to find a compromise.

“I want ice cream,” he repeated, his tone taking on a distinct edge of petulance.

Gods… he was being utterly impossible. A full-grown, powerful man reduced to the insistent demands of a toddler denied his favorite treat.

“Ah, why in the blazes didn’t I invest in a dedicated ice cream-making contraption before this very moment?” Levi declared dramatically, running a hand through his ruffled hair.

“Levi, look,” I soothed, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll order some right now, okay? Just… try to be patient for a little while.”

He huffed. “An hour, Raphael. It will take a full hour for that frozen ambrosia to arrive, and I have a scheduled… engagement with the cabinet – a collection of individuals whose intellectual capacity often rivals that of particularly dim-witted earthworms.”

At least now the frustration had morphed into his more familiar brand of aristocratic disdain. I fished my phone from my pocket and navigated to the delivery app, placing an order for his preferred brand and flavor of ice cream. “It’s ordered,” I confirmed, holding up my phone. “I’ll bring it to you the very moment it arrives, yeah?”

“Good enough,” he conceded, then leaned in to press a quick, surprisingly tender kiss to my lips. I returned his kiss, a small smile playing on my lips as he then wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. Even after witnessing his habitual 'caveman chic' on a daily basis, the sight still managed to stir something within me.

“Honestly,” I murmured, leaning into his embrace, “how much longer are you planning on this… aesthetic?”

He shrugged against me. “Zero idea, my dear. Might be a fleeting fancy that vanishes with the dawn, might be a deeply ingrained preference that endures for the next decade. But right now,” he added, a distinct note of contentment in his voice, “I am thoroughly appreciating the… unrestricted airflow.”

I don't mind. Not one bit. That little hint of a smile, the casual confidence... it's all part of his charm, his infuriating, irresistible charm. A decade of this? Well, it certainly wouldn't be boring.

“Then why the robe at all, Levi? Just embrace the full caveman experience and wander around stark naked,” I teased.

“My primary chair is upholstered in fine leather, Raphael. The sensation of bare skin adhering to leather, particularly when one is… experiencing a degree of perspiration in the nether regions during prolonged and undoubtedly tedious cabinet meetings, is not conducive to optimal efficiency. However,” he added, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face, “if it is your particular desire, I could certainly dispense with the underwear. The robe, however, remains. Consider it a… strategic compromise, my dear.”

The offer is tempting. But the robe… the robe is part of the Levi aesthetic now.

“Get rid of the underwear, then.”

He raised a suggestive eyebrow. “I believe in the principle of mutual participation. You are perfectly capable of facilitating that particular de-escalation of attire yourself.” He then leaned in conspiratorially. “Afterward, we can engage in a spirited round of rock, paper, scissors to determine who answers the door for the ice cream delivery. And just for you, my dear, I will lose… this time. But please,” he purred, his gaze lingering on me, “do continue.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, a mischievous grin spreading across my face, “you’re planning on flashing the poor delivery guy?”

“Not just me, my dear,” Levi corrected, a wicked glint in his eyes as he took my hand and placed it on the silk-covered juncture of his thighs. “We will flash him. Go on. Consider it your initiation into our little… welcoming committee.”

Gods, this incorrigible man. His complete and utter lack of shame was both exasperating and undeniably… arousing.

“Absolutely no flashing innocent delivery drivers, but… alright,” I conceded, my fingers already beginning to explore the contours beneath the silk.

The flat of my palm was gently rubbing his crotch, and his face wore an expression of utter smug satisfaction. Beneath my touch, I felt the undeniable stirring, the subtle hardening that quickly escalated into a more pronounced ridge against my hand.

My fingers, emboldened by his blatant enjoyment, began to subtly knead through the silk, tracing the increasingly firm length beneath. His smugness deepened into a sensual smirk, his breath catching in his throat as my touch grew more deliberate. The low rumble intensified, a primal purr that vibrated against my palm, a clear indication of the heat rising within him. His gaze dropped to my hand, and a barely audible groan escaped his lips as he shifted slightly, pressing himself more firmly against my exploring fingers.

“I didn’t think you would enjoy a hand job this much, Levi,” I said, a playful smirk of my own mirroring his. His response was swift and decisive. With a grip under my shoulders, he lifted me with ease, settling me onto the cool marble of the kitchen counter. His hands moved with a haste, the silken robe falling open as he fumbled with the snap of my jeans, quickly followed by the yielding cotton of my underwear.

“It seems,” he murmured, his voice thick with a burgeoning desire as his eyes roamed over my exposed body, “you enjoy it rather immensely yourself.”

I scooted closer to his already straining crotch. A low growl rumbled in his throat as I parted the fabric, revealing the full length of him.

“Dearest,” he breathed against my earlobe, his teeth scraping, “use both of your hands, now. Do not be shy.”

Fuck. He was doing nothing, literally nothing. He was just standing there, and I was so utterly, achingly aroused by him that my own cock throbbed in response.

With a shuddering breath, I obeyed, my other hand leaving its teasing hold on his silk-clad thigh to join the first. Now, both of our cocks were nestled within my grasp, a sensation so intensely intimate it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. The velvety head of his pressed against the mine, a friction that instantly tightened the knot of desire in my belly. With each deliberate stroke, my knuckles brushed against the swollen vein running along the underside of his shaft, while the head of his cock teased the frenzied tip of mine.

His grip on my hips tightened further, his fingers digging in as if to anchor me to the spot, his body bucking against my hands with each stroke.

“Raphael,” he commanded, his head lolling back, his long neck exposed, his eyes squeezed shut, “tighter and faster… now.”

Ah, who was I to deny such a magnificent creature his pleasure, especially when my own body was screaming in unison? I obeyed instantly, my grip tightening like a vise around our conjoined shafts. My movements became frantic, a desperate, rhythmic milking that wrung every last drop of tension from our straining flesh. His ragged breaths turned into guttural moans, each sound a testament to the raw pleasure I was inflicting, and receiving, in equal measure.

The frantic rhythm of his hips intensified, a desperate grinding motion that pressed our slick flesh together with increasing urgency. I could feel the frantic pulse of his release building beneath my hands, a series of powerful tremors that resonated through his entire frame and into mine.

Then, with a series of intense contractions that wrung a strangled gasp from my lips, I came. His release followed swiftly. A thick stream of his seed erupted against my palms, coating our conjoined flesh in a viscous heat. His body went rigid for a moment, every muscle clenched tight, before slowly beginning to relax, his ragged breaths gradually evening out. We stood there for a long moment, panting, our bodies still pressed close.

His eyes fluttered open, a sated look in their depths as he finally met my gaze, a contented smile playing on his lips.

“Ah, Pulla…” he breathed against my lips and, sealed the moment with a tender kiss. “...you are so good.” His praise, delivered in that husky tone, was doing absolutely everything to me.

“Say it… again.”

Levi was having his wicked fun. He captured my wrist in his hand. Then his tongue, hot and slick, traced the lines of my hand, never breaking the eye contact. The Devil incarnate, knowing exactly how to reduce me to a quivering mess with a single touch. He thoroughly cleansed my palm, his tongue lapping and swirling.

“You taste so good, Pulla.”

Simple words, but the way he says them, the possessive tone… it's doing things to my insides. I want to lean in, to chase that feeling, to earn more of his dark praise. Damn him and his knowing smirk. He has me completely.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“You are a fucking devil, Levi.”

He chuckled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated against my chest as he leaned in closer. “Hm… The Devil himself would likely take copious notes, perhaps even seek an apprenticeship, if he were privy to the depths of my depravity and the… unique potential you so expertly unleash within me, dearest.” His fingers traced a slow path down my throat. “After all, even the Prince of Darkness could learn a thing or two about temptation and the art of utter enthrallment, wouldn't you agree?”

Gods, the arrogance. But, it's so ridiculously, undeniably him. He wraps me around his little finger, and the infuriating part is… I utterly adore it.

“Your god complex is bigger than your dick, really,” I quipped, a playful smirk tugging at my lips.

“Oh, it is vastly bigger than that, truly,” Levi purred. “A little later, a humble, innocent delivery guy will grace our doorstep, bearing frozen ambrosia. And you, my little corrupted angel,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over my still-bare lower half, “will completely disrobe me, precisely as we… negotiated. And, as I explicitly stated, I will lose our little game of chance. Now, tell me, my sweet Raphael. How will you, in your current state of delightful disarray, protect that unsuspecting mortal from the magnificent spectacle that awaits him?”

As if I have any control over this magnificent, incorrigible beast when he's set on a course of delightful debauchery. The poor delivery guy doesn't stand a chance. But… a tiny, wicked part of me is actually looking forward to seeing the shock on his face. And the possessive thrill of knowing Levi is doing this, this ridiculous, scandalous thing, just for… well, because he can, and because it amuses him, and maybe, just maybe, to see my reaction. I should probably try to intervene, offer some semblance of decency. But honestly? The sheer audacity of it is… kind of hot.

"Levi… What is with this sudden fascination with exhibitionism and… well, borderline voyeurism? Threatening government ministers with nudity, and now you're plotting to flash a random delivery person? Did you recently experience some sort of… belated sexual awakening or something?"

He considered my question. "Not necessarily a new awakening, no, my dear. What you quaintly term 'flashing' holds no particular distinction for me compared to being impeccably clothed. Both are merely states of being. My current… enthusiasm stems purely from scientific curiosity. Curiosity about your reaction, my sweet Raphael. What lengths would you go to prevent Levi Blake from gracing the local news with a scandalously indecent headline? The sheer deliciousness of the potential fallout is rather… stimulating, wouldn't you agree?"

“Gods… Okay. If you go around flashing people, I will get jealous, alright? I don’t want random strangers seeing your… your dick swinging around for their viewing pleasure.”

“Hm… Intriguing. A touch of possessiveness… a delightful development. Not quite enough to deter me entirely, though.”

“Asshole,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do not go and flash innocent people like some deranged lunatic.”

“Still not quite there, Pulla. A little more… incentive for good behavior, perhaps?”

“Fine…” I conceded, a reluctant compromise forming in my mind. “Our house is secluded in the middle of the woods, right? One day… we can go out there, and… and we can have outdoor sex. Just us.”

“Excellent,” he purred.

Asshole! With nothing more than a few words, a touch of teasing, and the subtle threat to his own "Saint" branding, he got exactly what he wanted. Under sixty damn seconds. The sheer audacity of it! All of this unfolded while his mind was swimming in a post-orgasmic haze of hormones, yet he still managed to expertly manipulate me like a puppet on a string. The Devil himself couldn't have orchestrated it better.

The chime of the doorbell came. Levi’s face immediately transformed into the utter smug look of a cat who has just witnessed you diligently cleaning his litter box, fully aware of his imminent plans to desecrate your efforts within the next ten seconds. We went through the motions of rock, paper, and scissors… and the bastard won!

I stalked to the door, snatched the container of frozen ambrosia from the delivery guy, and with a muttered curse, hurled it directly at Levi's smug face. With reflexes honed by years of dodging assassins and my own temper tantrums, he caught it mid-air. His lips twitched, his eyes sparkling with barely suppressed laughter, the infuriatingly handsome asshole.

“Fuck you, Levi!” I roared.

“To my defense, dearest,” he said, his voice smooth and utterly unrepentant, “it is entirely your fault for failing to recognize my masterful performance. You simply lacked the acumen to call my bluff.” He then winked.

It was all a performance, orchestrated solely to extract a promise of future outdoor sex and to revel in my utter bewilderment. BASTARD! And the realization only dawned on me the moment his smug fist clenched around the winning "rock" in that damn game. When in the deepest circles of hell did he even concoct this elaborate, manipulative scheme? Was it during our post-orgasmic haze? Was it the moment he suggested the rock, paper, scissors? The sheer audacity and premeditation of it made my blood boil.

“You are a fucking asshole, Levi,” I seethed, my chest heaving with each furious breath, my fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt as if to contain the raging inferno within. Every single vein in my body felt like it was coursing with thick blood.

“Ah, my deepest apologies for my… occasionally manipulative tendencies, my dear,” Levi purred, his smirk widening. “But let us be honest, Raphael. If I were to simply ask for a delectable outdoor interlude, you, in your infinite sweetness, would undoubtedly say yes. And where, pray tell, would be the delightful tension, the thrilling game of wills? It would be… dare I say… utterly boring, would it not?”

The gall! My blood is still practically boiling, and he's talking about boredom.

“You are going to pay for this, you manipulative bastard,” I declared. “We are going to play a game. A game of hide and seek… with airsoft guns. And mark my words, Levi Blake, I will fucking put a plastic bullet between your eyes.”

His eyes practically shone with predatory delight. “Hm… My dear, dear Raphael. You do recall my lineage, do you not? You are aware that my grandfather was a Marshal of the Realm. Do you have any comprehension of the countless hours the old monster dedicated to my… education in the art of the ‘hunt’?” He leaned closer, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. “Consider this. You are proposing a game… but you are stepping into my arena.”

Levi glided closer. He nonchalantly snatched a spoon from the counter. With a deliberate slowness that only amplified my dread, he opened his untouched ice cream and took a spoonful.

“Raphael, my sweet, impulsive, skittish Pulla, my dear little rabbit... I have a distinct foretelling regarding our little encounter in the woods tomorrow. We will have sex amidst the trees, my dear. And I assure you, every single protesting organ in your exquisitely sensitive body will curse your rash decision. Your brain will be a cacophony of self-reproach, endlessly echoing, ‘Why did I do this?’ But my sweet, impulsive rabbit,” he continued, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise, “I find myself utterly inclined to pursue this… endeavor. Tomorrow morning, we venture into the woods, and I shall personally arrange the necessary… ‘toys,’ shall we say, to ensure a truly memorable experience.” He took another spoonful of ice cream.

Gods… oh, sweet, merciful Gods. What in the absolute hell have I done? He wasn't just going to "tag" me; he was going to hunt me. He was going to revel in my terror. He was going to… the implications of his "toys" sent a fresh wave of nausea churning in my gut. Just as my panic threatened to overwhelm me, Levi’s phone shrilled. With a casual grace that belied the predator he was, he answered and strolled towards his study.

It all started with his ridiculous tantrum over ice cream.

FUCK! My life had become a darkly comedic tragedy in the span of twenty minutes.

...

C’mon, Raphael. Just a goddamn shred of pride, you pig. I stormed into the master bedroom, snatched my tablet off the nightstand, and began devouring airsoft tournament footage like a desperate, deranged lunatic cramming for the apocalypse. Levi was undeniably powerful, a force of nature with insane brute strength. He could probably snap me in half without breaking a sweat. On the other hand, I was quick, agile, light on my feet, and could jump and scramble. It wasn't much, but it was all I had against a genetically superior, ruthlessly trained predator. Pride, survival instinct, whatever it was, it was time to strategize like my life depended on it – because, quite frankly, it probably did.

Hours blurred into a frantic montage of tactical maneuvers, close-quarters combat, and the physics of plastic projectiles. I paused and rewound footage, my brow furrowed in concentration as I tried to glean any advantage. Levi's likely approach would be direct, relying on his strength and training to overwhelm me. He'd hunt me, not wait to be found. My only chance was to use the environment – the house, the woods – to my advantage. Traps? Maybe. Diversions? Definitely. And above all, speed and unpredictability. I wasn't going to try and out-muscle him; I was going to try and outsmart him, outmaneuver him, and hopefully, just maybe, land a few well-aimed shots before he turned me into woodland prey. Even a caffeinated squirrel could, on occasion, outwit a lion… right?

As the clock in the living room chimed the solemn toll of midnight, the bedroom door creaked open and Levi entered, the familiar sight of his silk robe and simple underwear. He slid into bed beside me, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight, and peered at the glowing screen of my tablet.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Hm, my dearest is diligently trying to strategize,” he murmured, his voice laced with a dark amusement that sent a shiver down my spine. “Deliciously predictable, indeed.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘toys’?” I asked, my voice betraying a tremor I couldn't quite suppress.

“Nothing particularly… elaborate, my dear. Maps of our extensive property, a pair of walkie-talkies for… communication, naturally, our airsoft weaponry, and sufficient provisions for a prolonged engagement – food and water, you understand. Though it begs the question, Raphael,” he continued, his gaze piercingly direct, “how long do you realistically envision this… charade lasting? A day of frantic scrambling? Perhaps two days of increasingly desperate evasion? Or shall we extend the delightful torment to a full three days of you attempting to outwit your far superior hunter?” He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Do be realistic. Stamina was never your strong suit.”

“Asshole,” I snapped. “Wipe your saliva; you’re practically drooling with anticipation. A day. When the first rays of dawn touch the sky, the game is over. Win or lose, I’m done.”

“Understood, my sweet little Pulla,” Levi purred. “Ah… dearest, tomorrow you will learn the exquisite, drawn-out reality of exactly how long twenty-four hours can truly be. It will be a delicious agony of torment for you, won’t it? Every rustle of leaves, every shadow beneath a bush, every snap of a twig will have you jumping, waiting, expecting my inevitable pounce.” He settled back against the pillows, a picture of serene anticipation.

Tomorrow is going to be hell. I should probably try to get some rest anyway. Fat chance of that happening with him lying next to me, practically vibrating with anticipation for my torment. Gods, why did I ever open my big mouth?

“Fuck you, Levi. I’m going to try and get some sleep,” I mumbled, turning my back to him in a futile attempt to create some distance. In response, he simply spooned me, his body molding against mine with unnerving closeness.

“Good night, dear,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my neck. And then I felt it – the unmistakable pressure of his fully erection pressing firmly against my backside.

“Get your dick off me, Levi,” I grumbled, trying to shift away but finding myself effectively pinned against his body.

“But I don’t want to,” he murmured, his voice laced with a playful stubbornness that was indeed reminiscent of a spoiled child. With an infuriatingly slow movement, he rubbed himself against the curve of my buttock.

“Levi…” I mumbled, the confession feeling like another nail in my coffin. “I… I’ve never actually shot a gun before…”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that held both amusement and a hint of genuine surprise. “Then, my impulsive little Pulla, why did you even suggest this… potentially lethal endeavor?”

Yeah. Why did I? The bravado of the moment, the burning need for revenge, the sheer audacity of challenging him… it had all seemed like a good idea at the time. Damn my big mouth. Damn my stupid pride. Damn everything.

“Because you were being an insufferable asshole, and the only language you seem to understand sometimes is a swift kick to the ego… or a plastic projectile to the face,” I retorted.

Levi chuckled, the distracting rub of his continuing. “Hm, my dear, you seem to forget that I still haven’t quite exacted my full revenge for the… unfortunate incident involving my ribs, have I? Perhaps tomorrow will present the perfect opportunity for a reciprocal demonstration of affection. However,” he continued, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone, “I am, above all, a dutiful, merciful, and attentive husband. Therefore, I will restrict my target practice to your undoubtedly stylish bulletproof vest. No bones will be intentionally fractured. A slight dislocation or two, however… well, let’s just say accidents happen in the heat of the hunt.”

Oh, gods, the ribs. I’d almost forgotten about the ribs. And he hasn’t. Of course, he hasn’t. The man is threatening me with dislocated limbs while his cock is still pressed against my ass.