Chapter 23
THE HOLD (LEO)
She doesn’t move as I take a step over the threshold. Just tilts her head, long brown layers cascading down her back and shoulders. The ink on her thigh—the fine lines of wings dark against her golden skin—peeks from beneath the hem of her denim shorts.
I’ve seen it many times.
When she takes off sprinting, when she’s too close one second and gone the next, and I’m left tracking the flash of it as if it’s something that explains her. Wings. Always wings. Escape etched into skin.
Now she’s not moving.
Looking at me like that—like she’s scared but done fighting it.
I’ve been to this apartment before. Helping Eden move in.
Picking her up for trips. The layout is familiar.
The feeling isn’t. High ceilings, tall windows, late-morning light softened by linen curtains.
The space smells of bergamot and paper. Underneath is jasmine, citrus, coconut from her hair.
The scent that’s been haunting me for weeks.
This time, I’m here for a different reason.
And we both know it.
She stays near the door, one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, holding herself together. The light spills in behind her, outlining her hips, the way her top clings after the run. Her skin is flushed, a sheen of sweat along her collarbone.
She looks at me unguarded, as if daring herself not to back out.
“Are you coming in?”
Her voice is rough. Used up. Done pretending this can be rerouted.
I take a step toward her.
This isn’t the moment to crowd her. Every instinct I have is tuned to holding center, to staying exactly where she left me when she invited me in.
I let my gaze move over her slowly. The tension in her shoulders. Her arms finally loosen and fall to her sides, fingers flexing once, twice.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
I think she might still pull away.
She doesn’t.
I don’t take what isn’t offered. But if she looks at me and chooses, there won’t be anything in me that knows how to be casual about it.
Deliberately slow, I lift my hand, giving her time to stop me if she wants. When my fingers brush her arm, she inhales sharply but doesn’t step back. So I keep going—light, unhurried—until my palm rests at her waist.
I wait.
Her hand comes up, fingers curling into my shirt. She gives me the answer without saying it.
I lean in and touch my lips to hers. It’s the barest of kisses. Soft, coaxing rather than claiming. A question in the shape and pressure of my mouth.
She hesitates just long enough for me to know she understands what this means. And that’s why I don’t push. I stay right there, giving her time, tasting her slowly, again and again, reminding her that I’m safe.
Her body shifts closer.
When she finally opens to me, it’s on a shaky exhale, a sound that goes straight through me.
Her tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open my eyes to see hers watching me intently as she goes back for more.
The kiss deepens, heat blooming where restraint had been.
I glide my palms to her back, firm but careful, keeping her steady, not pinned.
She melts into me then, enough to tell me she’s choosing. Me. Us. Her breath hits my skin again, shoulders no longer pulled tight and ready to break away.
Her arms slide up my chest, fisting in my shirt. When she kisses me again, it’s harder. Impatient.
Not asking.
Taking.
I let her set the pace. Let her pull me closer until there’s no space left between us.
Her breath breaks when I slide my hands lower, following the line of her hip until my fingers hover at her thigh. When she doesn’t tense, I allow myself to touch the edge of the tattoo. The ink is warm under my thumb, the fine lines of the wings dark against her skin.
She looks down, then back up at me, an unguarded emotion flickering across her face. Her fingers curl into my shirt again, anchoring herself, like she’s telling herself to be brave.
I rest my palm on the wings for a beat longer, acknowledging what they are—and what they’re not doing.
They’re not flying.
She’s here. And she lets me feel it.
“Last time,” she says against my mouth, “you didn’t—”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to stop now?”
I pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s something else there. A question. Maybe fear.
“Not this time. Not unless you want me to.”
She shakes her head.
“Say it,” I murmur. “Say that you want this. Us.”
“I’m scared, Leo,” she whispers instead.
“I know.” I brush my thumb over her jaw. “You can still run. I won’t stop you.”
She closes her eyes. “I don’t want to.”
“Then stay.”
When she opens her eyes again, I know she understands. My gaze drops to her mouth, to the way her bottom lip is just slightly fuller than the top, the way she’s biting down on it now, nervous, waiting.
I don’t surge forward or take over. I let her feel where I am—solid, unmoving, right here—while her body does the reaching.
Her hips rock into me. I cup her face, fingers warm at her jaw, slowing her just enough to make her breathe.
She drags me closer, taut against me, and there’s nothing uncertain about what she wants.
The effort of restraint turns brutal fast. Her eyes stay open while she explores my mouth with tongue and teeth, taking what she wants. The sound she makes when she presses into me is low and wrecked.
She’s done holding back.
When I slide my hands to her hips to lift her, her legs hook around me, a small sound escaping her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, pressing my mouth to her temple.
“I know,” she says, voice raw.
My lips trail down her jaw, teeth grazing just below her ear. She shudders as I trail my tongue down her neck, tasting salt and warmth.
“You finally let me catch you.”
Then I’m kissing her again, harder, deeper. She’s warm, muscles tight under my hands, her exhale sharp as I skim my thumbs under her top.
“Take me to bed, Leo,” she breathes. “Please.”
I carry her down the hall to her bedroom, her weight perfect against me. The door is open, the room bathed in soft light from narrow windows. The scent of her is stronger here—fresh laundry, warm skin, shea from her lotion.
We fall onto her bed in a tangle of limbs and heat and something that feels too big to name. Her fingers shake as she pulls my shirt over my head. For a second, we just look at each other.
“Hi,” she whispers.
I almost laugh. “Hi.”
The fear is still there, but it isn’t winning. She’s here because she decided to be.
I kiss her again, slow and deep, and there’s no more hesitation. No more space between us. Just skin and the quiet sound of her saying my name.
“You’re so unfair,” she whispers, tracing my abs.
I laugh and drag her top over her head.
Her breasts spill out. They’re perfect—small but full, her nipples dark and already hard, begging for my mouth. I groan, my palms finding them, squeezing gently, rolling them between my fingers. She whimpers, her back arching off the bed, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“Leo—”
I dip my head, taking one tight peak into my mouth, my tongue swirling around it before I suck hard.
She cries out, her arms flying to my head, holding me there as I work her, my teeth grazing, my lips sealing around her nipple as I pull back just enough to make her ache.
Her other breast gets the same treatment, my free hand kneading, pinching, driving her wild.
“More. Please.”
I take my time. Learn the curve of her hip, the place at her throat that makes her gasp. The way she responds when I kiss down her collarbone.
She’s impatient. Pulling me closer. Nails scraping down my back.
“Easy,” I murmur. “We have time.”
“I don’t want easy.” Her voice breaks. “I need you.”
I groan against her skin, kiss my way down her stomach, my tongue dipping into her navel, teasing the little silver ring there before I pull down her zipper and hook my fingers into the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down her legs, taking her underwear with them.
She lifts her hips to help me, and then she’s bare, spread out before me, her thighs glistening with arousal.
“Christ, Liz.”
She doesn’t answer, just watches me with dark, hungry eyes as I settle between her legs, my palms sliding up her thighs, pushing them apart.
The scent of her is intoxicating—musky, sweet, hers—and I groan, my mouth watering as I dip my head, my tongue dragging through her folds in one long, slow lick.
The first taste of her destroys me. She jerks, hands flying to my hair, hips rocking up.
I devour her, my fingers sliding inside her, curling just right to hit that spot that makes her moan.
She’s so fucking ready, slick, her walls clenching around me as I fuck her with my tongue, my mouth never leaving her clit.
She moans, her thighs trembling around my head, her hips rocking up.
“Leo, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” I growl against her, my voice vibrating through her. “Come on my tongue, Flash. Let me hear you.”
She shatters with a cry, her back arching off the bed, her thighs locking around my head as her walls pulse around me, her release soaking my chin, my lips. I don’t stop, licking her through it, greedily drawing out every last shudder, every gasp, until she’s boneless beneath me, her chest heaving.
I look up at her, skin flushed, eyes half lidded. “You good?” I ask, voice rough.
She lets out a breathless laugh. “Fuck you.”
I grin, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “We’re getting there.”
She reaches for me, pulling me up, her lips crashing against mine. She tastes herself on my tongue, moaning, kissing me deeper, fumbling with my shorts.
“Condom,” I manage. “You got one?”
“Yes, drawer.”
I reach for the nightstand, grabbing one, then kick off my shorts and boxers. Her eyes drop, lips parting, and for a second she just stares.
“Leo,” she breathes, reaching for me. “I want you in my mouth—”
“Yeah?” I groan as I slide on the condom, while she watches, biting her lip. “Next time, Flash.”
I’m aching, my body screaming at me to bury myself inside her and never come up for air. I lean over her and cup her chin, brushing my lips to hers.
“You want me?” I rasp, my tip playing at her entrance, teasing her. “Say it.”
“Yes,” she gasps, arching into me.
I guide myself into her, pushing forward in one slow, deep stroke. Her breath catches, body tensing, then softening, opening for me.
“Okay?” I manage.
“Yes,” she breathes.
I move slow at first, letting her adjust, watching her face. The way her eyes flutter closed. The way her mouth parts. The way she digs into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself.
Then it hits me—the trust this takes. After everything she went through.
Choosing this. Me.
Us.
She rocks her hips, and everything inside me ignites.
“Liz—”
“Ohhh,” she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets, her body stretching to take me, so fucking tight and hot and perfect. “More,” she pants. “Please, Leo.”
I give her what she’s asking for. Give her everything. Hard. Fast. Her body rises to meet mine, breath coming in gasps, chanting my name like a prayer.
The world narrows to just this—just us—the way she feels, the sound of her voice.
She falls apart with a broken cry, clamping around me, pulling me over the edge with her. I groan, burying myself deep, my release hitting in violent pulses. She whimpers, trembling as I empty myself into her.
I fold over her and stay there, stunned. She’s boneless beneath me, skin slick with sweat.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Her lips find mine in a slow, deep kiss, lazy and satisfied.
“Goddamnit,” she murmurs. “That was—”
“Yeah,” I agree, voice rough.
We stay tangled up in the quiet.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Mm-hm. You?”
“Yeah.” I press my forehead to hers. “Better than okay.”
Her fingers trace patterns on my back. Slow. Claiming. The wings on her thigh pressed against my hip.
Still. Not moving.
I keep my hand where it is and don’t say a word about it.