Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Erika
I wake up on my side with a grunt that sounds almost wild, like the noise a hibernating animal makes when someone dares to wake it. My eyelids crack open, slam shut, then flutter again as the morning light stings and my brain tries to reboot.
But I don’t need full consciousness to know one thing: I am sweltering.
Not warm—volcanic.
Molten.
And I can’t move because a pair of thick, impossibly powerful arms are locked around my waist from behind, holding me tight against a furnace of a man.
I glance around the room, and as soon as recognition hits, last night comes barreling into my mind: chaotic, overwhelming. Beautifully life-changing.
I’m in Leon’s bed.
And Leon’s entire body is wrapped around mine like he’s been craving this.
Which explains why the large, hot hand currently cupping my breast is… his.
And the thigh thrown over my hip? His.
The breath warming my neck? His.
And the… very eager length nestled between my ass cheeks?
Definitely his.
My body freezes, but my heart sprints, pounding so hard it feels like it might bruise my ribs.
This—this exact position—is something I used to fantasize about before shutting the image down for my own sanity.
And now it’s real.
Real and ridiculously perfect.
I stay still, savoring every second. Leon’s warmth seeps into me like he’s branding me, claiming me. Everything about being held by him feels natural, inevitable.
A tiny, involuntary whimper escapes me right as my hips shift back against him. Leon’s groan vibrates through my spine, low and sinful, and I swear I feel him thicken against my panties.
Last night, he looked and felt big.
Somehow, this morning, he feels bigger.
“Morning, baby,” he rasps into my neck, voice gravelly and deep enough to drag goosebumps across my skin. “Keep moving like that, and I’m not gonna be able to let you out of this bed.”
“Morning,” I squeak, because I can’t get a real word out. Part of me is nervous about waking up here, and the other part is shamelessly curious about what he’ll do the moment he realizes he’s still holding my tit like it belongs to him. Because it does.
His fingers squeeze, slow and deliberate, before going still.
“That’s my breast,” I whisper, breathy, like I’m confessing something scandalous.
“So it is.” And instead of letting go, he squeezes again, thumb brushing across my nipple just enough to make my breath stutter.
“You have perfect tits,” he mumbles against my neck, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Do you… like them?” I ask, shockingly needy.
“Obsessed,” he answers without hesitation, like he didn’t have to give it any thought.
Heat floods through me.
“And your legs,” he adds, his nose brushing through my hair. “And your dimples. When you smile at me, the rest of the world fades away. You’re beautiful.”
He’s always called me beautiful, but now I see it differently. Raw, unfiltered truth instead of just casual affection.
“I’m not beautiful,” I argue softly, every nerve tingling under his palm as he moves his hand down the curve of my waist.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had in my bed, Erika.”
I huff out a snort because, come on—Eleanor Vigoro, the Eagles’ assistant coach, exists, and she’s flawless.
“What about Eleanor Vigoro?” I ask, jealousy slipping off my tongue before I can stop it.
“I wouldn’t know what her bed looks like,” he says simply. “Never had her in mine. Haven’t been with anyone in a very”—his fingers flex on my hip—“very long time.”
I wiggle my ass deliberately, testing him, and he reacts instantly, gripping my hips with a low warning growl.
“Don’t,” he mutters.
“Something is poking me,” I say, far too innocently.
“He’s thrilled you’re here,” he deadpans.
I turn my head, arching into him, pressing back deliberately into the hard heat nudging me. “It’s just morning testosterone. Physiological reflex,” I mumble, trying, and failing, to sound clinical. “It’s not me.”
“It’s absolutely you,” he says, voice so sure, so intense, it sends a shiver down my spine.
Then he sighs like it physically pains him. “I need to get up to take my parents to the airport.”
“You should probably get moving then,” I tease, because he hasn’t shifted at all. “And maybe handle your… situation in the shower.”
His grip on my hip tightens. “Now that I know how soft you are, and how good your tits feel in my hands…” His voice drops to something wicked enough to melt steel. “I will imagine it’s your hand instead of mine when I jerk off this morning.”
My pulse races. “You’ll think about me?” I breathe.
He cups my face, fingers threading into the back of my hair, tilting me toward him. His eyes are dark, hungry, unguarded.
“I think about you constantly,” he says, voice low and rough with honesty.
I’m certain he’s going to kiss me again. My heart readies for it, but instead he presses a slow, devastating kiss to the tip of my nose before abruptly pulling away and getting out of bed as if he’s seconds from losing control.
And wow. Shamelessly naked, he struts toward his ensuite. Every line of his body is cut, hard, and powerful. I drink him in, eyes trailing without apology.
I call out, “Nice ass.”
He glances back with a grin made of sin. “It’s all yours.”
“As tempting as that is, I’m going to need a closer inspection before claiming anything,” I tease.
He clicks his tongue. “Patience, beautiful.”
I look away because the grin trying to break across my face is ridiculous.
What a way to start a day.
I couldn’t have written a better new beginning if I’d tried.
And damn—it’s a good one.
A really, really good one.