Chapter 8 Leo #3
I don’t remember walking back to my quarters. I don’t remember the guards peeling away or Victoria’s subtle nod of acknowledgment as we passed in the hall. I don’t even remember if I locked the door behind me.
All I remember is Rangi’s heat as he walked beside me. The heavy pulse of wanting that thrums in my blood like a war drum.
And now, we’re standing in the middle of my bedroom, staring at each other like two men on the edge of something that’s been waiting to happen for years.
No titles. No uniforms. No pretence.
Just me. Just him.
“I don’t do casual,” I murmur. My voice feels like it’s caught in my throat. “I can’t afford to.”
“Neither do I.” Rangi takes a step forward, crowding into my space. His hands find my hips, heavy and sure, grounding me. “We start here. With this.”
I breathe out shakily, tilting my chin up. “And if I fall apart?”
“Then I’ll be the one holding you.”
I don’t kiss him this time—he kisses me. Harder than before. Hungrier. No tentative exploration, no room left for hesitation. He kisses like he means it. Like he’s claiming this moment, and me with it.
I reach for his shirt, fingers fumbling with the hem before tugging it upward.
It drags over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, those tattoos I’ve dreamed about tracing now finally exposed to my hands.
I skim my palms over them, reverent. I brush my lips across the ink, relishing his shiver.
He tugs my shirt over my head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind us. My skin is already burning, every nerve awake under his gaze.
“Fuck, Leo.” His voice is gravel. “You’ve always been beautiful. But like this? You’re…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. His mouth finds mine again instead.
We stumble toward the bed, mouths and hands everywhere, tugging at the waistband of my trousers, unbuckling, unzipping. He drops to his knees in front of me.
“Rangi—”
He looks up at me through with burning dark eyes, hands braced on my thighs, lips already parted like a promise.
“Shh,” he says, and there’s that crooked smile. That confident, knowing glint in his eyes. “Let me pleasure my prince.”
My knees nearly buckle the moment he frees me, his hands unfastening my trousers with infuriating precision before tugging them down my hips, dragging briefs with them. The cool air against my skin is a shock—but nothing compared to the heat of his mouth.
He starts slow. Deliberate. Cruelly delicious.
His tongue flicks over the head of my cock, the tip of it circling lazily, teasing. A shudder rolls through me as he sucks me into the wet heat of his mouth inch by inch, and by the time he takes me all the way in, his throat relaxing to accommodate me, I swear I black out for a second.
My hand flies to his shoulder, fisting the fabric of his shirt, desperate for an anchor. “Fuck, Rangi—”
He hums around me like he enjoys the way I fall apart in his mouth, and the vibration of it sends a lightning bolt straight through my spine. His eyes flick up to meet mine—dark, hungry, knowing—and that eye contact alone nearly unravels me. He’s in control, and he knows it.
He doesn’t rush. He fucking worships. Every movement is measured, intentional. One hand anchors me, splayed over my hip with a grip that promises bruises, while the other wraps firmly around the base of me, stroking in a rhythm that matches the slow, wet slide of his mouth.
I’m panting, my hips twitching helplessly as he works me deeper.
“Too much,” I rasp, but my hand doesn’t push him away. It pulls—fingers threading into his hair, hips canting forward despite myself. “I’m—fuck—I’m close.”
He doesn’t stop.
His grip tightens, mouth sucking harder as he takes me deeper still. I feel his throat flex around the head of my cock, and the slick, obscene sound of him sucking me down has heat flooding my body, setting every nerve alight.
He’s devouring me. Like a man starved. And gods, I want him to devour me.
My vision blurs. My legs go tight. I fall into pleasure with his name on my lips, as I spill into his mouth.
He swallows everything. Doesn’t flinch. Just takes it.
When I finally sag against him, shaking, breath coming in ragged gulps, he rises slowly—like a predator who knows he’s won.
His mouth is flushed and wet, and his tongue flicks out to catch a bead at the corner of his lips, and the sight has my cock rising once more.
“You taste better than I imagined,” he murmurs, low and rough. “And I’ve imagined this more than I care to admit.” I pull him into a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue and groaning at the furious rush of desire that hits me.
I push him backward toward the bed, and he goes willingly. I strip the rest of his clothes off as he falls against the mattress, powerful body on full display, cock hard and waiting.
“Your turn,” I say, voice rough as gravel.
His mouth parts—maybe in protest, maybe in warning—but I’m already sinking to my knees, already gripping his thighs, already dragging my tongue up the length of him.
He groans. Loud.
“Leo—”
I suck him into my mouth, deep. He tastes like sweat and salt and something deliciously addictive. His hips jerk, but I press a hand to his stomach, pinning him down.
“I want to learn you,” I whisper. “I want to mark every fucking inch.”
And I do.
I learn the way his breath stutters when I lick the head of his cock just right. I learn how his thighs tense when he’s close. I learn that when he says “fuck” in a growl, it means he’s about five seconds from losing control.
When he does come, it’s with my name on his lips and his hand buried in my hair. I swallow him down, not because I have to—because I want to.
When I finally crawl up beside him, he grabs me, pulls me into his chest like a man starving for touch. I press my face into the crook of his neck, heart thudding in time with his.
We lie there for a long time, tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin. No words needed.
This is where I want to be.
After a while, Rangi shifts a little, voice still thick with sleep and satisfaction. “So, is this the part where I get knighted for services to the Crown?”
I snort, lips curling against his skin. “You wish.”
“What? You don’t think Captain of Covert Royal Affairs would work?”
I kiss his shoulder. “More like Lord of Very Good Decisions.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”
“I could see you as a Duke,” I muse. “Duke of Dicks, perhaps?”
His laugh is deep and lazy, rumbling through his chest where my head rests. “That’s got potential. Do I get a sash? Or maybe a ceremonial sword?”
“No,” I reply, dragging my hand slowly down the plane of his stomach. “But it might come with breakfast, if you behave.”
“Mmm. I am extremely well-behaved.” His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, and for a while, we just lie there, our limbs tangled beneath soft sheets.
It’s quiet, but not empty. It’s a peaceful quiet. A rare thing between the two of us.
“Did you ever imagine this back then?” he says eventually, voice softer now.
I press a kiss to his chest. “All the time.”
“Mm.” His fingers trace lazy patterns against my back. “I wanted it. Gods, I wanted you. But wanting and having are two very different things.”
“You could’ve had me,” I murmur.
“You weren’t ready,” he says simply. No judgment. Just truth.
I lift my head, just enough to meet his eyes. “I think I’m ready now.”
He smiles. “Yeah. I think you are.”
We lie like that for a while, just breathing. Touching. Letting the world exist somewhere else for once.
Then Rangi shifts slightly beneath me, adjusting so our legs tangle more comfortably. He hums, low and content, and I feel it vibrate in his chest under my cheek.
“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you hadn’t been born into all this?” he asks quietly.
“All the time.”
“And?”
“I’d be a florist.”
“A florist?” he coughs out a laugh.
“Sure.” I lift a hand to lazily paint a picture of the idyllic life I’ve always wanted. “Own a little shop by the ocean. Wake up with the sun, drink too much tea, scold the roses.”
He grins. “Would you wear the pressed shirts and tragic little brooches?”
“Obviously. I’d just accessorize with pollen and plaid.”
He shifts slightly beneath me, stroking a hand down my back, more tender now. “You’d be good at it. Tending the flowers. Enjoying the quiet.”
I glance up at him. “What about you? If you could go back would you do something different?”
He hesitates. “No. But I’d like to train the next generation. Like my father. Help the boys who don’t know where they belonged. Give them something solid to hold onto.”
“You do that now,” I say softly.
He doesn’t answer right away, just runs his fingers up and down my back slowly as he considers my words. “Yeah. But sometimes I wonder if there’s more I could be. If I could… choose something for myself instead of just inheriting a path.”
I press a kiss to his chest. “Maybe we both deserve a little choosing.”
He goes quiet at that, but his grip around me tightens. And I feel it again—that possibility. That tentative reaching for a future neither of us thought we could have.
“You always slept on your side in the field,” he murmurs after a while.
I smile against his skin. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything.”
“You always made the tea too strong,” I tease.
“You liked it that way.”
Our gazes catch. “You let me pretend I wasn’t in control.”
His lips twist into a knowing grin. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Far more than I should have.” I settle back into him. “What do we do now?”
He brushes his thumb along my jaw. “Let’s take it one day at a time. There’s no rush, Leo.”
The knot in my chest loosens, just a little. He doesn’t push for more, just stays beside me, offering quiet support.
Needing to lighten the mood, I poke his side. “I’m not giving you a sash.”
“Not even one shaped like a—”
“Don’t.”
His grin is wicked. “A ceremonial sword, Leo. I was going to say sword.”
I lift a brow. “Oh, I’ll give you a sword.” Then I roll on top of him.
He laughs as I straddle his hips, the movement sending sheets tumbling. “Is this how knights are forged now?”
I pin his wrists to the bed. “It is if you want the fast-track to noble honours.”
He bucks beneath me, play-wrestling until we’re tangled in limbs and laughter. I end up kissing him mid-laugh, silencing him with my mouth as our bodies fall back into perfect, heated rhythm.
I shift down, pressing kisses along his chest and down toward his abdomen, slow and purposeful.
“Leo…”
I look up at him, wicked now. “Let me show you my favourite position.” My hand snakes between us to fist his cock. “I call it... the Royal Salute.”
He groans, one hand fisting in my hair to shove me down.
Chuckling, I pause to nip at his hipbone, the inside of his thigh—making him squirm. By the time I reach his cock, he’s already hard.
And I take my time. Cause what’s pleasure without a little pain?