Chapter 15 #3
Leo’s shower is massive. It’s one of those walk-in ones with multiple shower heads and enough space for at least four people.
The first time I saw it, I made a joke about how it was very “mob boss with too much money,” and Leo had just smirked and pulled me inside to show me exactly why it was so large.
Now, as Leo turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, I take a moment to just look at him.
He’s beautiful. I know men aren’t supposed to be called beautiful, but there’s no other word for it.
Leo naked is a work of art with lean muscle and golden skin, every line of him perfectly proportioned.
His shoulders are broad, tapering down to a narrow waist and hips that make my mouth water.
His ass is firm and perfect, and I’ve spent enough time gripping it while he’s inside me to know exactly how it feels under my hands.
When he turns to face me, pulling me toward the water, I let my eyes travel over him slowly. His chest is defined without being overly muscular, with a light dusting of dark hair that trails down his stomach. I force my eyes back up before I get too distracted.
Water streams over Leo’s body, running down the planes of his chest, following the cut of his abs, and I watch a droplet slide from his collarbone down the center of his torso like I’m mesmerized.
His dark hair is plastered to his head, water dripping from the ends.
The water makes his skin gleam, highlighting every muscle, every scar, every perfect inch of him.
“See something interesting?” Leo asks, amusement in his voice, and I drag my eyes back up to his face.
“You,” I reply honestly. “You’re gorgeous.”
Leo’s eyes darken slightly at the compliment, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. “I hate when you catch me off guard like that,” he says, his voice rougher than it was a moment ago as he pulls me to him.
I let him arrange me where he wants me. He dips my hair back to get it wet and then he works shampoo through it with strong, capable fingers.
But I can’t stop watching the way his biceps flex when he raises his arms, how water runs in rivulets down his chest, and how his stomach muscles tighten when I run my fingers over them.
Leo’s hands slide down my body, ostensibly to wash me but lingers in places that make my breath catch. Over my breasts, down my ribs, across my hips. When his soapy hands slide between my thighs, I gasp.
“Just cleaning,” Leo says innocently, but there’s desire in his dark eyes again.
“You’re such a fucking liar,” I accuse, but I spread my legs slightly to give him better access.
Leo’s fingers stroke through my folds, cleaning away the evidence of our earlier activities, but it’s sensual rather than perfunctory. His thumb brushes my clit, and I shiver despite the warm water.
“And you called me insatiable earlier?” I tell him, but my voice comes out breathy.
“Only with you.” Leo leans down to kiss me. He presses me back against the cool tile wall, the contrast between the warm water and the cold tile making me gasp into his mouth. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my face, sliding down my sides.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the solid muscle under wet skin, tracing the scars I’ve memorized.
There’s one on his ribs from a knife fight, another on his shoulder from a bullet that thankfully went clean through.
Each one is a story I’ve made him tell me, lying tangled together in the dark.
My hands slide lower, over the ridges of his abs, following the trail of dark hair that leads down to where he’s already hard again. When I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the weight and smoothness of him, Leo makes a strangled sound that instantly makes me wet.
“My turn,” I say, reaching for the body wash with my free hand.
I soap up my hands and start with his shoulders, working down his arms, appreciating the way his muscles flex under my touch.
Water streams over both of us, making his skin slick and warm, and I take my time exploring every inch of him.
The cut of his hipbones. The hard planes of his chest. The way his abs contract when I trace them.
Leo watches me with those dark eyes, tracking every movement of my hands, and I can see his breathing get faster. His cock is heavy in my hand, and when I stroke him slowly and feel his hips buck into my touch, I feel powerful.
“Emma,” he warns, his voice strained. “If you keep doing that—”
“What?” I ask innocently, twisting my wrist on the upstroke the way I’ve learned he likes. “This?”
“Fuck,” Leo groans, then his hand is covering mine, stopping my movement. “As much as I love what you’re doing, I need to actually shower and get downstairs before Dante sends a search party.”
“Fine,” I say with a theatrical sigh.
We actually wash then, taking turns rinsing off, stealing kisses between rinse cycles and I let myself pretend—just for these few minutes—that this is normal.
That we’re just lovers waking up together and sharing a shower before starting our day.
Not captor and captive. Not mob boss and kidnapped woman.
Just Leo and Emma.