Chapter Fourteen - Leon
The wedding is a masterpiece of spectacle, all gleaming white and cold gold, every detail calculated to signal power and peace.
The church is packed—bosses, allies, enemies dressed as friends.
The press is shut out, but the city will hear every detail before dawn.
I stand at the altar, back straight, suit flawless, a ring heavy in my pocket.
Suzy enters on her father’s arm—head high, jaw locked, eyes like a challenge.
She looks every inch the daughter of Marcus White: poised, exquisite, unbreakable. But I can see the lines drawn tight around her mouth, the tension in her shoulders. Each step she takes feels less like a procession and more like a sentence.
She glances at me only once, her gaze a mix of dread, defiance, and something that makes my own heart beat faster—anger, yes, but also an electric, dangerous thrill.
The vows are recited, the audience breathless, waiting for some sign that the old war isn’t truly over.
When the priest finally nods, gives me leave to kiss my bride, I pause.
Our faces are so close that her breath stirs the hair at my temple.
She’s braced for me to claim her right here, in front of the whole city. To stake my victory, mark her as mine.
Instead, I lean in, letting my lips hover at her ear, and whisper, “Later.”
I feel the shudder that runs through her, see the heat and fury flash in her eyes. The crowd erupts with applause—some relieved, some disappointed. Marcus smiles, pride and calculation mingling. Her brothers won’t meet my gaze. I file it all away.
The reception is a minefield dressed as a celebration. Crystal clinks, champagne flows, toasts are offered with forced cheer. Every handshake, every congratulation, is a negotiation—who gains, who loses, who waits for the alliance to crack.
Suzy moves through the room with careful grace, but I never let her drift too far. I see the way people look at her, the hunger, the envy, the resentment. I see the way her hands curl into fists when someone wishes her happiness she doesn’t want.
I don’t let her out of my sight. I memorize the way she presses her lips together, the tilt of her chin, the defiance she hides under that elegant facade.
Every glance we share is a conversation—what’s left unsaid, what’s burning just beneath the surface.
She’s a live wire, and I can’t stop watching.
Her brothers finally approach, stiff and bitter.
“Congratulations,” they say, words brittle, eyes cold.
They look at Suzy as if she’s betrayed them, but I know their anger is for me—because I got what they never could, because I made a deal they would never dare. Suzy takes it all in, spine straight, never flinching.
Hours later, when the crowd thins and the city turns away, I lead her to the suite prepared for us—a room with roses, champagne, and an immense, empty bed. The door closes with a hush that’s almost reverent.
For a moment, we stand on opposite sides of the room, breathing hard, the weight of the day pressing down. She turns on me with sudden, wild energy, eyes blazing.
“Why me?” she demands, her voice sharp, almost breaking. “Why this? You think you can just buy a future and never pay for it? What makes you so sure you can have all of me and never lose?”
The words hit like thrown glass. I feel her anger, her fear, the raw ache of a woman who has been used by everyone she’s ever loved. I don’t flinch. I let her speak, watch her pace, watch her shake.
When she finally falls silent, glaring, I cross the space between us in two steps. I reach out, tracing a fingertip along her jaw, her cheek. She shivers, refuses to look away.
“You think I wanted this for power?” I say, voice low, just for her. “You’re wrong. I wanted it because you’re the only person who ever made me feel alive. I’d burn every deal, every alliance, for the chance to see you fight me, every day, for the rest of our lives.”
She breathes in, ragged, uncertain. I can see her fighting the urge to hit me, to kiss me, to run. I touch her wrist, feel her pulse, let my thumb linger where she can’t pretend not to feel it.
“You don’t belong to anyone, Suzy,” I whisper. “Not your father. Not me. I want you, all the same.”
The words hang there, heavy and electric. She leans into my touch, almost involuntarily. “I’m not going to make this easy for you,” she murmurs, voice shaking. “I’ll make you pay for every minute you think you own me.”
I smile, real and dangerous, and pull her closer. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
There are no more walls between us. No audience, no deal, no more performances. Just us—two creatures made for war and want, circling the fire they started together.
As I hold her, as she lets herself tremble and rage in my arms, I realize this is the only victory that ever mattered.
I watch her circle the edge of the room, hurricane-swift and all wound up, eyes burning like she’d rather break glass than look at me. Her words are flint, sharp enough to draw blood.
“You think you win because the contract says so? You think one ceremony erases everything?” She shakes off the pins, the silk, the last fragile armor of the day. “You want power? Congratulations. You’ve got it. What now, Leon? What’s left for either of us but damage?”
I let the hurt land. I let her see how it stings.
“You really think I care about the ledger now?” My voice is rough, lower than I mean it to be.
“All the deals, all the politics—none of it ever mattered, not next to you. Not once I saw you could fight me, break me, burn me to the ground and still come back swinging.”
She tosses her veil—white silk, red flowers—onto the bed, jaw set in that dangerous way that makes my hands itch to touch her.
“You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to want me and cage me at the same time.”
I cross the room before I’ve made the decision, body and will finally in sync. “You think I’m not caged too?” I don’t let her turn away. My hand finds her jaw, cradling it—not hard, not rough, but inescapable. “You think I haven’t paid for every choice I made to get here?”
She’s trembling. Fury, adrenaline, defiance. I can taste it on her breath. The air between us crackles.
“You can’t have all of me, Leon. Not just because you’re strong enough, or stubborn enough. I don’t give in. Not for anyone.”
The challenge is pure, bright, perfect. I answer it by leaning in—not as a conqueror, not as a captor, but as a man who’s starving for the one person who never yielded. My mouth finds hers, hot and fierce.
She tastes like champagne, like stubbornness and hope and everything I’ve craved since the day we met.
Her hands come up to my chest—pushing, resisting—but I don’t retreat.
I coax, I press, I take my time. I tilt her head, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, holding her steady as I claim her mouth with slow, deliberate intent.
Every line of her body shudders against mine.
I kiss her until her resistance melts into a gasp, until the fight becomes friction, until I feel her open for me, her anger folding into something darker, deeper, messier.
My hands grip her plush hips, pull her so tightly against me that I feel every ounce of her curves.
She breaks first, her fingers knotting in my lapel, dragging me closer even as she glares at me. “Don’t you dare make this gentle,” she snaps. “I want you to feel it.”
I laugh, throat raw. “I don’t know how to be gentle with you.” My hands slip lower, palms spanning her waist, anchoring her to the world. “You want real? Let’s see how much of me you can take.”
We crash together, all teeth and hands and the furious, breathless sound of silk tearing. Buttons scatter.
Her dress comes undone in frantic, scraping motions—no finesse, just necessity, need, the overwhelming urgency to touch, to be touched, to strip away the last secrets. I let my suit jacket fall, careless of where it lands. Her nails score down my shirt, scraping skin, wild and hungry.
We stagger backward, mouths never parting, until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She goes down with me on top of her, legs tangling, her breath hot against my ear.
“You want to win?” she hisses, arching up, grinding against the hard line of my thigh. “You’re not the only one who knows how to take.”
I let her claw at me, let her shove my shirt off my shoulders, teeth catching at my collarbone, her anger breaking down into something needier, rougher. I strip the dress from her, exposing skin that’s already flushed, fever-bright.
My mouth finds her throat, her shoulder, the delicate line between jaw and pulse. I bite, I soothe, I taste the salt of her skin. She moans—low and shocked, as if she can’t believe the noise comes from her.
“Look at me,” I demand, voice tight. She tries to look away, but I catch her chin, force her eyes to mine. “If you want me to stop, tell me now. I won’t ask again.”
She bares her teeth, something wild in her smile. “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”
I grin back. “Good.”
I take my time, exploring every inch of her—mapping scars and softness, learning what makes her shiver and squirm and arch her back.
I press kisses down her sternum, over her ribs, along her stomach.
My hands knead her hips, fingers spreading her thighs with the same authority I use in the boardroom.
Here, she’s the one who tests the boundaries. She tugs my hair, drags my mouth where she wants it, dares me to hold her down.
I slide her panties off, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact.
Her legs fall open, and I kneel between them, breath coming ragged.
I run my hands up her thighs, thumbs tracing the line where muscle meets silk, and then I taste her—tongue flat, mouth hungry, savoring every gasp, every curse, every trembling demand.
She rides my mouth like she’s riding out a storm, grinding against my tongue, hands in my hair, voice shaking with need.
When she comes, it’s violent—her whole body seizing, her heels digging into my back, the sound she makes half a sob, half a challenge. I don’t let up, licking and kissing and biting until she’s shuddering, begging, cursing my name.
I climb up her body, settling between her ample thighs, my cock hard and aching against her slickness. She’s thick in all the right places, from her heavy breasts right down to her gorgeous legs.
She grabs my face, dragging me down for another kiss, her lips swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction and something softer beneath.
“You think you can ruin me?” she whispers, voice hoarse. “You already have.”
I push into her in one long, slow thrust—no mercy, no pretense of gentleness. Her body clamps down around me, tight and hot and perfect. We both gasp, shock and relief mingling in the air.
She tries to set the rhythm, rolling her hips, but I grip her wrists, pinning them above her head. “You want control?” I taunt, driving into her, slow and deep. “Take it. Show me.”
She fights me, tries to break my hold, but I don’t let her. I fuck her slow, every thrust a promise, every grind of my hips a dare. She glares up at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
“You’re not strong enough to break me,” she spits.
Perhaps that’s true. Her body is sturdy, her mind sharp, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.
“Watch me,” I answer, and I pick up the pace, pounding into her until the bed shakes, until the only sounds are her cries and the slap of skin, until her body arches up, meeting me thrust for thrust, until the anger dissolves into raw, unfiltered need.
I lean down, mouth at her ear, breath hot. “Say my name,” I demand. She bites my shoulder, trying to hold back, but I slam into her harder, relentless. “Say it, Suzy.”
She caves, her voice breaking. “Leon. Fuck, Leon!”
“That’s it,” I groan, thrusting harder, losing myself in the heat and wildness of her, letting every ounce of restraint bleed out between us.
She comes again, her body milking me, and I follow, spilling inside her with a shout, her name tearing loose from my throat.
We collapse together, bodies tangled, sweat-slick and trembling. I pull her close, bury my face in her hair, arms locking around her without thought. Her breathing is ragged, heartbeat wild beneath my palm.
For a long time, we don’t move. The anger, the fear, the years of war and wanting—none of it matters now. She curls against me, her head on my chest, one arm thrown over my ribs. I stroke her back, thumb tracing lazy circles at her waist.
The silence is different now: softer, warmer. She sighs, her breath sweet on my skin. I press a kiss to her forehead, closing my eyes, letting the exhaustion and the quiet claim us both.