Chapter Six
On his last day in L.A., Leon buys a suit.
He leaves Sara sleeping and heads out onto the boulevard wearing a pair of square sunglasses Melina gave him for his birthday and sipping from a bamboo coffee cup filled with espresso, because he actually gives a shit about the environment.
Sara had barely stirred when he’d smoothed the hair away from her face and placed a kiss upon her forehead.
She’d been up most of the night tossing and turning because she’s on the fence about attending the event tonight, the one exhibiting her photographs. She doesn’t like being in the limelight - she prefers to operate in the background, showcasing other people’s talents.
“You should be proud Mami,” he had told her, his thumb ghosting along the blush of her cheek. “They’re honoring your work.”
The two of them had been laying face to face amongst the plush pillows, wrapped up in Egyptian cotton sheets. He knows what the issue is, she has a problem with vulnerability, it doesn’t come naturally. Those pictures, it’s like sharing a part of herself, letting someone see inside her soul.
There’s going to be kids in attendance at the gallery from the art programs she’s hoping to support with the donation.
They’re going to have questions, questions that she doesn’t want to answer.
Sara hasn’t talked about her past, about what led her to travel the world.
He senses that those wounds, whatever they are have never really healed.
“You were a foster kid, weren’t you?” he whispers into the darkness, his legs tangled with hers.
“It’s hard for me to go back there,” she says quietly. “These kids are looking for me to share my experience, I don’t know if I can do that…”
“They’re looking to you for inspiration,” Leon tells her, his nose trailing along the length of hers. “They see your success and it gives them hope, something to aspire to. They want to know how you did it, how they can do it.”
“Leon…” she exhales, and his lips brush over hers.
“Think about it,” he murmurs as he kisses her again. “That’s all I ask.”
It had been six in the morning when she’d woken him up to let him know she’d made a decision.
“I’m going to do it,” she’d told him as her fingertips ghosted over his skin, chasing the pattern of his tattoos as she straddled his hips.
He found himself pinned to the bed underneath her, her thighs hugging his hips.
Her fingers entwined with his, drawing his hands up above his head.
It had been a while since he’d submitted to anyone, he’d forgotten how good it can feel.
She’d rode him slowly, drawing out his pleasure until she had him gasping, arching, desperate.
During the whole thing, his eyes had never left hers.
He couldn’t tear himself away because being wanted like that, it had created a sense of intimacy he wasn’t prepared for.
He may have been learning her secrets, but she was learning his too.
He needs someone else to take control, to ruin him because his life has become all about maintaining it, holding onto it so tightly that he’s terrified about what happens when he lets go.
When her hand slipped down to his throat, he’d welcomed it, his breath turning ragged as her fingers squeezed just a little and it had sent him hurtling through the stratosphere.
His hips had thrust up, burying himself deep and he’d climaxed harder than he had in his entire life.
He was still coming down from the high when she’d kissed him, it was soft and tender, a simple brush of the lips.
He’d moaned into her mouth as her thumb ghosted over the tattoo of the crown on his throat because this is what he wanted, to feel safe with another person, to know that he’s loved, cared for.
Sara’s the first person who has made him feel like that and he wants her to feel the same when she’s with him.
He thinks about that as he stands in front of a mirror in a suit shop in the middle of L.A.
tugging at the cuffs of a fitted black suit.
He looks good, the white of the shirt contrasting against his skin, highlighting the tattoos on his throat.
He’s contemplating a tie when the sales assistant approaches him.
“Important event?” she asks him as she picks up a black tie and holds it up against him.
“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head at the tie, choosing to undo the first two buttons of the shirt instead. “You could say that.”