Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Erika
Following our poolside heart-to-heart, Leon made us lunch, and for the last two hours, I’ve sat in his living room writing apology letters. I stick the postage stamp on the last envelope.
“Finished?” Leon asks, walking into his living room holding two glasses of red wine.
I push myself off the floor and let out a sigh of relief. My legs feel dead from sitting on my knees around the low coffee table. “Yeah.”
“Laura will be here in an hour,” Leon informs me.
“Perfect timing.” I lift the pile of letters I’ve written to each wedding guest, asking for forgiveness and informing them that their wedding gifts will be returned.
“You didn’t need to do that, you know?” He points to the envelopes as he takes a seat on one of his larger-than-life curved sectional sofas.
His living room is so big, he has two matching cream sofas in the softest leather.
They mirror one another, making them look like a complete circle, with a huge circular wooden coffee table at the heart of them.
My house is cool, but Leon’s is on a different level altogether.
“I know I didn’t, but it’s made me feel better.” I bang the pile of letters on the coffee table to stack them neatly, then wrap an elastic band around them.
“We can mail them before we fly on Monday,” Leon suggests before taking a sip of his wine.
I take a seat opposite him, and tuck my legs under myself on the comfortable sofa that feels like I’m sitting on a giant marshmallow.
“I want to buy a couple of books at the airport before we go if we have time,” I request. I love my Kindle, but there’s nothing better than reading a physical book. The smell of the print, the texture of the paper. And if it has sprayed edges, then I’m in book heaven.
“Have you seen the bookstores recently? Romance books, fucking spicy ones specifically, are like fucking gremlins; they’re multiplying by the day. There’s no space for the classics anymore.”
Amused, I try to keep the entertainment out of my tone, but I fail. “Heathens, the lot of us.”
“Fucking spicy books,” he mutters.
“Those spicy books are amazing. They have great plots, and there is always a happy ending.” I laugh at the double entendre.
“Happy ending? Are you referring to what I think you are?” Leon sounds exasperated.
“I will never yuck someone’s yum. I like what I like,” I reply confidently.
“You love clit literature way more than the classics, that’s what you’re saying. And I thought you had a brilliant mind. I take it all back.”
On the edge of laughter, I blurt out, “Clit literature?”
“Just telling you how it is.”
“Just so you know,” I begin, “those books are my escape from a job that drains the hope out of me some days. There’s something magical about a good romance: boy meets girl, they fall in love.
They allow me to disconnect from the chaos around me.
And for the record, they get me off, which is something no man has ever been able to do.
” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
I clear my throat, heat rushing to my cheeks.
They’re most probably redder than the strawberry I ate at lunch. “Forget I said that.”
His mouth drops open, and he stills as if stunned. “Let’s not forget that. Let’s fucking talk all about that.”
“No,” I punch out.
Without warning, he stands and strides confidently over to me. “Yes.”
“No,” I reply, much louder now, lifting myself from my seat to run away, but I’m too late. Leon wraps his hand around my wrist, stopping me from leaving the awkward conversation I only have myself to blame for.
“You’re a fucking flight risk lately. Don’t ever run away from me.” His voice is firm, but his actions are gentle. He always is with me. Sitting back down on the sofa, he coaxes me to do the same, only this time he pats his lap. “Sit.” The commanding tone he’s using is one I am growing to love.
How can I say no to that?
Reluctantly, I perch on his knee, which we’ve done a million times before in nightclubs and on nights out, but now this feels different. Intimate.
“Explain.”
“Explain what?” I play dumb.
Somehow his chest widens, and his pupils shimmer with intrigue. “Explain to me why a man has never been able to make you come.”
Damn, that was blunt, and this is all new territory for us. I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss this with him. It’s embarrassing, and we don’t talk about sex, ever. That is, until recently.
I suddenly find the cream shaggy rug interesting.
I deal with people and their bodily functions all day, every day, so why can’t I talk about my uncooperative body?
“Erika, baby.” He places his knuckle under my chin to lift my eyes to meet his. “You can trust me.”
“I can’t come.” A strained noise that sounds a lot like frustration escapes my chest as more embarrassment climbs my throat. “It feels good to begin with, but something blocks me from going the distance, and I lock up. I just can’t, have never, come with a man.”
Leon challenges me as if time pauses, his eyes searching the hidden, unlit corners of my soul.
“Never?” he asks.
“Well, I can by myself, but no one else has ever made me come.”
“Why?” His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to figure me out.
“I get too stuck in my head and overthink everything, and just as I’m about to fall over the edge, it suddenly disappears. And it’s like everyone I’ve ever been with; all they want to do is get it over with so they can come themselves.” I can’t believe I’m telling him this, but it’s the truth.
A flicker of thought crosses his face before he says, “Tell me what you like, Erika.”
Oh great, so we’re doing this right now.
If a meteorite was to hit Earth, now would be a good time, universe.
“Tell me.” He tries to push open the door I’ve kept closed and never told anyone about.
Surprising me once more, he repositions me, making me straddle him. My shins squeak against the cream-colored leather of the sofa as my feet dangle off the edge.
“Tell me.” His impatience sharpens his tone, but his actions remain slow and deliberate. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly, his hungry eyes dilating with need.
That small touch alone helps Leon de-escalate my panic levels. I guess that’s what makes him a key negotiator.
Leon lays his hands on top of my bare thighs; my floaty shorts allow him to move his hands to slide inside the fabric. In tiny, hypnotic circles, he brushes his thumb across my skin.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wiggling in his lap, aligning my center with his.
“I’m showing you what it’s like to be with someone who cares about you. This is all for you, beautiful.”
Those big hands of his move further inside the fabric and cup my ass. He squeezes, making me rock my hips into his, sending a rush of arousal through my core.
My head drops forward, my long hair falling around his face in soft waves, concealing us from the rest of the world.
“Leon,” I call out his name when his cock thickens in his shorts and presses firmly against my clit, and I wish we were naked as pleasure weaves its way through my body, wanting more from him. “Don’t start what you can’t stop.”
“I have no plans of stopping, Erika.” His fingers dig into my ass, moving me back and forth, encouraging me to grind against him.
Panting and groaning, sounding like a man on the edge, he pulls away tortuously and asks, “Can I touch you?”
When I was in my twenties, what I wouldn’t have given to have him this way. I much prefer this older version of him, though. The one that’s mature, respectful, and asking for my consent.
“Yes.” I want this, so I sit up slightly to create space between us and give him better access, then lay my forehead against his and run my fingers into his hair at the back of his head.
A billion different thoughts race through my mind because this is the moment where he takes us beyond the horizon.
He accepts my invitation without hesitation, and I gasp when he hooks his fingers inside the sliver of fabric of lace that’s nestled between my ass cheeks, and he pulls it to the side. He slides a thick finger between the folds of my pussy, grazing my throbbing clit, which makes me arch my back.
Then, using all of his fingers, he moves them back and forth, teasing me, working me, and taking his time to awaken my senses, shooting pleasure through my center, my nipples tightening to heavy peaks.
His touch is spellbinding, and I grind against his fingers, wanting him to go faster.
The air becomes heated and swirls around us as my need to come burns deep and achy in my core, which I never would have believed could build so fast.
Unable to control my reaction, I throw my head back when he pushes one of his thick fingers inside of me.
“You’re soaked, beautiful.”
“Only for you.” I’ve never been this wet.
“Fuck my fingers.” He encourages me to move up and down, before inserting another, all the way up to his knuckle, stretching me in pleasurable ways.
Lazily, he moves them in and out of my body at the same time I rock into him. “Tell me what you like,” he prompts, his voice strained and full of longing.
“So, I... uh.” I pause for a few seconds because what he’s doing to me feels so personal, and I feel exposed—completely vulnerable under his control.
We’re not just breaking the boundary that was set between us; we’re shattering it entirely, blowing it to pieces.
“I like what you’re doing to me right now,” I finally say.
He curves his fingers as if beckoning me to come, rubbing my inner walls, reaching a spot so deep that nothing has ever felt like this.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
I close my mouth and let out a soft hum. “Mmm.”
“I need words, beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“Do you like this?” he asks, pressing his thumb on my clit and rubbing it gently as he stares deep into my eyes.