Chapter 28 #2
I shouldn’t be this skittish.
He’s just a man.
It’s the wanting that’s dangerous. The way I’ve stopped planning exit strategies because leaving would hurt more than staying ever could.
“Shower,” he says. Not a suggestion.
He guides me to the bright ensuite, glass and tile and clean lines. He turns on the water, adjusts the temperature, then pulls me in with him.
The spray hits my shoulders, and I groan at the relief. Steam rises fast, fogging the glass. Leo steps in close, skin to skin, and the whole shower shrinks around us. He’s dense, solid, all controlled strength. Up against him, I feel smaller than I am, and for once it doesn’t read as danger.
I want him, and right behind the wanting comes the fear that I won’t be able to pull away.
Leo holds me at my hip, certain. His breath brushes my temple.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs against my skin.
His hands slide down my sides, over my hips, then around to my back. He squeezes, pulling me flush to him.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, low and quiet.
I look up at him. His blue eyes are softened in a way I rarely see, the fighter’s intensity gentled into something raw and real.
“You’re stealing my line, Brooklyn,” I try for levity.
He doesn’t laugh. His expression flashes once, and his hands release me as he presses them to the wall, leaning down to me. “I am.”
I let my fingers slide down his chest, caressing the hard ridges of his abdomen.
Our eyes connect as he allows me to feel, allows my fingers to skim across him, take him in.
His forearms cage my head as he slides his mouth over my collarbone, then further down, nipping the swell of my breast. He kisses it, his face a delicious sandpaper across my skin.
He keeps kissing me like he can’t stand the idea of space between us.
“I’m in trouble with you,” he murmurs. His mouth hovers at mine. “The real kind.”
Something rises in me to meet his words.
It dies behind my teeth.
Leo catches it. But he doesn’t pull away or ask for anything back.
That almost undoes me more than the words did.
His thumb strokes once along my jaw, gentle. Sure. Giving me an exit.
I hate how badly I want to take it.
I hate more that I don’t.
Something in my chest loosens anyway—the part of me that stays braced, that’s always waiting for the catch.
Not because I’m ready.
Because he’s not making me earn softness by saying the right thing back.
The water runs over us. I stay where I am. Then I slowly kiss his neck, moving down his body, running my tongue along his pecs, over his nipple, and then down his stomach. I glance up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as I slip my fingers around his erection and drop to my knees.
Gripping his thigh, I let my thumb slide inward, watching his arousal twitch, seeking out my touch. I start kissing up his leg, over the V in his hips and his stomach, letting my cheek graze over his length.
The tile is hard under me, water streaming over my shoulders, and I look up at him as I give him a teasing kiss. He’s thick and hot, the skin smooth, and I lean forward to lick a long stripe up the underside.
“Fuck, Liz.” He fists my wet hair, his legs spreading. “I want that mouth.”
I like this part too much—having power over a man built like him. The way he lets me see exactly how close he is to losing control. Slowly, I take him between my lips, sinking down as far as I can.
“Look at me,” he growls, his hand falling to my cheek as he watches me. I do, taking him deeper, the expression on his face raw, open, undone. This is Leo with his guard completely down. This is what trust looks like.
He tastes of salt and skin, and I hollow my cheeks, sucking slowly, letting my tongue work the sensitive head.
Above me, his breath comes faster, his thighs tensing.
His rapture only heightens my arousal. A thrumming sensation between my legs pulses up into my stomach as I bring him deeper, gripping his length and pumping.
“Liz.” His voice is strained. “I’m not coming in your mouth.”
I pull back, smiling. “No?”
Tugging my hair gently, he urges me to stand. “I want to come inside you.”
He turns me toward the tile and presses in behind me, biting down on my neck. The water beats against my back, his arousal hard against me. His palm slides around my hip, down between my thighs, and I whimper when his fingers find my clit.
“So ready,” he murmurs against my ear, and I hate how much I love hearing him know my body this well. He circles my clit slowly, maddeningly, while his other hand comes up to pinch my nipple. I’m trembling now, hips rocking, desperate for more.
“Please.” The word comes out breathy, needy.
He reaches past the shower door, fumbling in the cabinet, and I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper. A moment later, he presses against my back, teasing.
“Hands on the wall.”
I obey, arching my back. He drags his mouth over my shoulder, along my shoulder blade. Slowly, he positions himself at my entrance, then eases inside me—one slow thrust that fills me in the best way possible. I gasp, adjusting to the stretch, the fullness he gives me.
“Okay?” His voice is tight.
“Yes. More.”
He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, setting a rhythm that’s deep and relentless. The wet sounds of our bodies meeting echo off the tile, mixing with the spray of the shower. He grips my hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring me in place as he fucks me.
I’m panting, my body shaking from how turned on I am.
He leans forward, bringing one of his hands to my chest, and starts playing with my nipple.
Kissing my shoulder and neck, his teeth biting down on me while he sucks.
I know this will leave a mark that I will need to cover tomorrow, but I don’t care. I want him marking me.
“God, you feel—” He cuts off, groaning. His pace quickens.
My forearms rest against the tile wall, anchoring me, as I push back to meet him, wanting more, wanting everything. The angle shifts, and suddenly he’s hitting that spot inside me, and I’m seeing stars. My moans bounce off the walls, shameless and desperate.
“Harder,” I manage.
He growls low in his throat and obliges. His hips snap forward, pounding into me, and I’m choosing him. I know that now. One of his hands leaves my breast to reach around and rub my clit, and that’s all it takes to tip me over the edge.
“Leo—”
I come apart with his name on my lips, my whole body clenching and shuddering.
“Flash,” he breathes, following me moments later. A final deep thrust, then he stills, pressing his mouth to my shoulder blade as he comes.
We stay like that for a long moment, water running over us, catching our breath. Then he pulls out carefully, disposes of the condom, and reaches for the soap.
He washes me slowly and thoroughly.
Soap, warm water, his touch deliberate on my skin. He takes his time, making me stand still long enough to feel it.
“Turn,” he says softly.
I do. He rubs my shoulders, my breasts, my abdomen with the same gentle, unhurried touch he uses everywhere else, patient and careful. The steam fogs the glass, shrinking the world to heat, breath, and the quiet certainty of his touch.
When he’s done, he shuts off the water and reaches for a towel from the stack, wrapping it around my shoulders first before taking one for himself.
He dries me the same way—methodical, focused, as if he’s putting me back together. As if he knows I came apart, and he’s taking responsibility for every piece.
“Come on,” he says.
Then he lifts me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even as my arms circle his neck.
“Carrying you to bed.”
I laugh, but I don’t fight it. I let him take me through the cool dimness of his bedroom, and lay me down on the sheets. He climbs in behind me, pulls the covers over us both, and wraps his arms around me.
His chest is warm against my back. His breaths are even in my hair. His arm settles at my waist, heavy and anchoring.
For a little while, I stop thinking about leaving.
For a little while, that doesn’t even scare me.
Then my phone lights up on the nightstand.
I don’t reach for it right away. Leo’s arm is at my waist, the room is cool and I’m not ready to let the outside world back in yet.
But the screen stays lit.
I shift carefully and grab it.
A Google alert. Travis Drake’s name, set up four years ago and mostly silent.
Travis Drake — Brooklyn MMA circuit — underground card — this weekend.
I read it twice. The address is twelve minutes from this apartment.
Leo’s breathing stays even behind me. His arm doesn’t move.
I lock the screen and put the phone face down on the nightstand.
I stay on edge for a long time after that.