15. Leo
15
LEO
M y dick gets incredibly hard the moment shock and fear register in Stella’s posture.
The beautiful brunette goes from nearly colliding with Genevieve one second to swerving her head so fast that it knocks her off-balance. She stumbles slightly, those doe eyes going wide and glassy as soon as she spots me by the door leading into the viewing room.
Her jaw drops, and I take a quick moment to rake my gaze down the length of her body.
She looks almost exactly the same as she did seven years ago, yet there are subtle differences. The slender curve of her cheeks hollowed out as she aged, and the soft flare of her hips are wider now than before, and obnoxious beneath her light-purple gown.
Back then, her hair was down. It spilled over her shoulders and rained in silken strands across her back, and I’ve dreamed every night of having it wrapped around my fist, tugging until she begged me to stop.
It’s up in some kind of bun now, but I wonder if it’s gotten longer or if she keeps it shorter to spite my fantasies. Maybe to spite her own.
“ Wife ?” Genevieve’s brows furrow, and then she snorts as she looks between us. “Wow, Leo, you’ve been holding out on me.”
“We operate on a need-to-know basis.” I keep my gaze on Stella. She doesn’t move a muscle.
“And you didn’t think I’d need to know you’re married to the woman you told me to lure here?”
My jaw tics. “I didn’t think it necessary, considering I asked you to do a job , not seduce the target.”
Then again, the North American liaison to the Battestis—a Corsican crime family—has a reputation for being a massive flirt. I’m not sure why I didn’t specify, other than perhaps the fact that I was hoping to keep my little wife a secret for a bit longer.
“Look, your target was into it.” Genevieve shrugs, shifting away from Stella. “And it’s not like my husband gives a shit what I do or who I do it with.”
Rocking back on my heels, I still don’t look in her direction. “Sounds like a conversation you should have with him then.”
“What the hell is happening right now?” Stella glances between us, settling on Genevieve. “You work for him?”
A smirk tugs at the corners of my mouth when Stella finally speaks up. “Both fair questions. Perhaps we should delve into them without an audience?”
When I look at Genevieve, it’s only long enough to silently communicate the request for her departure.
Stella huffs. “I see no reason why I should be trapped in here, alone with you?—”
“Mrs. Deveraux,” I snap at Genevieve, irritation simmering in my gut with her continued presence, “see yourself out before I have you forcibly removed.”
She bristles. “No violence on estate property, De Tore, remember?”
My annoyance spikes further. Fucking socialites and their house rules. “Fine. I’ll wait to slit your throat until we’re outside the house gates.”
Genevieve rolls her eyes and moves to slide past Stella. But then she pauses, and I watch her gaze dart to the side, sizing me up before she quickly dives in. Fisting the back of Stella’s head, she drags my wife’s face to her own, and their lips collide in a brief open-mouthed kiss that sets my skin aflame in the worst way possible.
Stella blinks, hard, when Genevieve yanks back. She lifts her hand to my wife’s chin, dabbing at some saliva pooling on her bottom lip, and then flips her hair over one shoulder and saunters to the door.
“What was the point of that?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Pausing at the exit, Genevieve lifts a shoulder. “She wanted it. I figured she should have a little fun before you go and ruin everything.”
The door swings shut as she exits, leaving just Stella and me.
She watches as I cross the room in several slow, purposeful strides. I stop just before the orchid’s case, pinning my hands behind my back, and stare down at the abomination, trying to understand its appeal. It’s not a particularly attractive thing, yet it’s rumored to have medicinal properties that could advance science for decades.
My wife wants it badly , the little humanitarian.
The question is, how badly?
How much will she break for me in order to get it?
“What are you…?” She trails off, then tries again. “Why are you here , Leo?”
“What, disappointed that I ruined your rendezvous?”
“I came here to see?—”
“Is it true?”
Stella frowns, pausing. “What?”
“Did you want it?” I turn and step closer to her, my blood thrumming at our proximity after so long of only watching from afar. “Genevieve’s kiss, I mean.”
She doesn’t reply.
As I inhale, I note that she still smells like blueberries and mint, though with a hint of something new and citrusy. “It’s okay if you did.”
It isn’t. Not really. But the principle of the matter—if she thinks I care that she kissed a woman—that part makes no difference. She’s mine regardless of who she desires.
“Are you asking because you think I’m here to cheat on you?” she mutters.
“ Are you?”
“What difference does it make? You didn’t come after me anyway. After all this time, shouldn’t I be allowed to kiss whoever I want and explore my options? Maybe I’m here tonight to embrace the fact that I’m bisexual, and you’re ruining everything like you always do.”
Her words are defensive, like she thinks I’m going to use that information against her. And like she thinks I was abandoning her. It makes my chest ache. “I’m not here to crucify you for liking more than just men. I couldn’t care less about that, and you shouldn’t either. This was just my poor attempt at gauging what all we have in common, stellina . Pardon me for trying to get to know my wife a little better after our time apart.”
She goes quiet again, leaving me to wonder where her head’s at. If she thinks I’ve been with anyone since or if she’s considering her own missed opportunities.
“You’re bisexual,” she says softly. It isn’t a question, but she still seems unsure. Like she needs verbal confirmation to prove something.
I wonder if this is the first time she’s admitted her own sexuality out loud to another. If that’s why she hesitates.
“You don’t have to whisper. It isn’t a secret, not that anyone’s listening now anyway.”
“Have you—” She cuts herself off this time, those elegant brows knitting together in a frown above her nose.
Sighing, I stop just shy of half a foot away, reveling in the sensation of being in her orbit again. Back then, I failed to see how much I had grown to crave her in such a short time, until it was already too late.
Finally, she refocuses, shaking her head. “Why. Are. You. Here?” Frustration laces her tone, and my dick pulses madly.
“I’ve thought about this moment for years. How you might react to seeing me again. Though I always imagined your hair would be down so I could run my fingers through it, like I did the night we married.”
Stella just stares up at me, her expression hard and guarded.
My hand lifts, aching to touch her. It drops at the last second, my fingers flicking a piece of lint from my jacket. “I heard your parents are dead.”
“Did you come here to gloat?”
I cock my head to the side, studying the lack of emotion in her gaze. Other than annoyance, that is. “You don’t seem too torn up about it.”
“Were you sad when your dad died?”
One of my brows lifts. “Keeping tabs on the husband you hate, stellina ?”
“My sisters talk.”
“I see. And how are they enjoying their happily ever afters?”
“They talk. I don’t.”
My smirk grows, and I inch even closer. Warmth wafts from her body into mine in soft, cascading waves that buzz along my nerve endings. “That’s what I like about you. Everything that comes from those beautiful lips is so brutally honest. Like you simply can’t help yourself.”
“Yeah, well, growing up in a household that doesn’t let you speak your mind will sometimes do that to a person.”
“Indeed.” I lift my arm, my fingers tingling beneath the leather glove as I force myself to cradle her jaw. She flinches, and pain scorches my body, but she doesn’t pull away. “Now, for some more honesty. Did you enjoy Genevieve’s kiss?”
Jealousy licks up and down my spine at the still-fresh memory of their passion. How, despite the kiss being sudden and unexpected, Stella gave herself over to it so easily, unlike the memories I have of our own shared moments—kisses soaked in violence and power struggles.
A part of me is curious how different they felt and which she prefers: passion or aggression.
I’m not sure which I’m able to offer or if I’m capable of anything outside the latter.
Her eyes flip back and forth between mine, and I wonder what she’s looking for—or if she’s able to find it.
“Can you please just tell me what you’re doing here? I don’t… I should probably get to my room before someone realizes I’m not out mingling.”
The redirection is purposeful, and it only fuels the envy spiraling into a web in my chest. How can she possibly not realize I’ve come for her?
So, rather than answer, I decide to fix both my problems at once, and bending down to press my lips to hers.