Chapter 22 #2
“I thought…” I’m panting now, working myself faster. “I thought I was being pretty clear.”
“You’re teasing me. There’s a difference.”
“Am I?” I meet his eyes as I fuck myself on my own fingers, shameless and desperate. My cock is hard and leaking against my stomach, and I’m past the point of caring how I look or sound. “Or am I showing you exactly what I want you to do to me?” I gasp.
Something in Leo snaps.
I see the moment his self-control finally shatters. His hand slides over to cover mine, stilling my movements.
“Stop,” he growls.
He’s over me now, bracing himself on one arm while his other hand tugs mine away from my body. I make a sound of protest at the sudden emptiness.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Are you sure you’re prepared to give what you’re offering?” he growls.
Oh my god, Leo’s low voice, his breath against my skin, is enough to make me go even harder. I’m throbbing now, and my cock is actually painful, straining against my stomach, slick and neglected and making a fairly compelling argument for attention.
I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the game or who is winning.
All I want is Leo. Now.
“I’m sure,” I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down. “I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m— Leo, please—”
His mouth mashes against mine. It’s all heat and teeth and hunger. It’s the kiss of someone who is done being patient.
At the same time, his hands tug the waistband of my pajamas, yanking them down with none of the finesse I’d expect from someone usually so controlled. I’ve never seen Leo impatient before. I like it.
But my hands are busy at the same time, running greedily over every inch of Leo that I can reach.
His shoulders. His back. The hard planes of his chest through his T-shirt.
It’s not enough. I need skin. I yank at the hem of his shirt, then give up and go straight for his waistband, shoving his pants down over his hips like I’m someone unwrapping a present they’ve been staring at for weeks.
His pants catch on his erection, and I have to reach in to free him, which makes Leo jerk and swear against my lips. Good. I want him as wrecked as I am.
He pauses to yank off his T-shirt, then he claims my mouth again. The feeling of his bare chest pressing against mine short-circuits something in my brain. He’s so warm. So solid. I arch against him, and he groans, one hand sliding into my hair to angle my head exactly where he wants it.
His hips rock forward, dragging his cock against mine, and the sound I make is not dignified. He does it again. And again. Each thrust pushes me farther into the mattress and closer to the edge of sanity.
Then suddenly his weight is gone, and I actually whimper. Out loud. I’d be mortified if I weren’t so desperate to get him back.
I feel dazzled, stunned, propping myself on one arm so I can watch Leo frantically rummage in his bag.
“What are you doing?” I sound drunk. Sex-drunk. Is that a thing? It’s a thing now.
“Condom,” he grunts as he turns back toward me, grasping a packet in his hand.
The lamplight catches the planes of his chest, the cut of his hips, the trail of dark hair leading to where he’s hard and leaking and clearly as desperate as I am.
Oh my god, it’s a magnificent sight. Possibly the best sight I’ve ever seen.
You can keep your Sistine Chapels and Taj Mahals as wonders of the world. I’ll take Leo Brennan naked ahead of any of those.
The hungry way his gaze rakes over my body makes me think he’s having similar thoughts about me. Which is flattering. And also extremely motivating.
I spread my legs wider and crook a finger at him. “Are you coming back, or do I need to start without you again?”
Leo crosses the distance in two strides.
He’s on me before I can take another breath, his mouth hot against my throat, my collarbone, the hollow beneath my ear. His hands are everywhere—my hips, my thighs, sliding beneath me to grip my ass and pull me flush against him.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters against my skin.
“But what a way to go, right?”
He laughs, actually laughs, and it vibrates through my chest. Then he’s kissing me again, deep and filthy, before he pulls back to fumble with the condom.
“Let me,” I manage, taking it from his shaking fingers.
I tear it open and reach down to roll it onto him. Leo’s breath stutters when I touch him, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Sensitive?” I ask innocently.
“Archie.” My name sounds like a warning and a prayer.
He pauses to look at me, his pupils blown out by lust. “What position is going to be easiest for your ankle?”
I blink. “What?”
“Your ankle, Archie. The broken one. How do I do this without making it worse?”
“I cannot believe you’re performing a risk assessment right now.”
“I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The fact that you can still form a sentence with that many syllables right now is honestly a bit insulting.”
He huffs out a laugh as I reach over for a pillow and chuck it under my hips.
“This will work,” I say, grabbing him and yanking him down on top of me.
Fuck, I love having his warmth against mine, his chest hair scraping my skin.
I guide him into position, feeling the blunt pressure of him against my entrance. “Now stop thinking about my ankle and start—”
He pushes inside, and the rest of my sentence dissolves into a moan.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Leo’s forehead drops to mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I can feel him trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Okay?” he manages.
“More than okay.” I wrap my good leg around his waist and pull him deeper. “Move. Please move.”
He does.
The first thrust punches the air out of my lungs. The second makes me see stars. By the third, I’ve forgotten my own name.
“God, you feel—” Leo’s voice breaks off. He’s moving faster now, harder, each thrust driving me deeper into the mattress. “Archie, you feel so—”
“I know.” I’m clinging to his shoulders, his back, anything I can reach. “I know, I know, don’t stop—”
He shifts his angle and hits something, making me cry out. His hand clamps over my mouth immediately.
“Elizabeth,” he reminds me, but his voice is wrecked.
Oh shit, that’s right. We’re not alone in this apartment. But I don’t care. All I want is Leo moving inside me.
I bite his palm, and he groans.
“Then make me be quiet,” I gasp against his hand.
He kisses me, swallowing every sound I make as he drives into me again and again.
I should have realized Leo would fuck like this. All competence and intensity and laser focus, like making me fall apart is a task on his to-do list, and Leo Brennan does not leave tasks incomplete.
He seems to be closely watching my every response. Every gasp, every shiver, every involuntary clench. Filing away what makes me moan, what makes me writhe, what makes me dig my nails into his back hard enough to leave marks.
Data collection, but make it sexy.
“There,” I manage when he hits that spot again. “Right there, don’t you dare—”
He doesn’t dare. He keeps the angle exactly where I need it, driving into me with devastating precision.
The buttoned-up control freak who arranges his shoes by color has completely unraveled, and the man underneath is hungry, demanding, and absolutely relentless.
I created this monster.
I’m so proud of myself.
“Harder,” I demand because I apparently have a death wish.
Leo obliges. The new pace is punishing, exactly what I wanted, and I have to sink my teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming.
He hisses at the bite, then retaliates by wrapping a hand around my cock.
“Oh fuck—” My hips buck involuntarily. “Leo, I can’t— If you do that, I’m going to—”
“That’s the idea.” His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. “Come for me, Archie.”
Well. When he asks so nicely.
His hand twists on the upstroke at the same moment he drives into me.
“Come, Archie. I’ve got you.”
And somehow, stupidly, that’s what tips me over the edge.
I come harder than I have in years. Maybe ever. It tears through me like wildfire, blanking out everything except the feeling of Leo’s hand on me, Leo inside me, Leo everywhere.
He follows seconds later with a groan that sounds like it’s been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. I feel him pulse inside me, his hips stuttering, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
We stay like that for a while. Tangled together. Breathing hard. Slowly coming back to earth.
“Well,” I say eventually because someone has to break the silence. “That happened.”
Leo huffs a laugh against my skin. “That happened.”
He pulls out carefully, and I make a small sound of protest at the emptiness. He disappears briefly to deal with the condom, and I use the time to attempt to remember how to be a functioning human being.
Results: inconclusive.
When he returns, he has a damp cloth. He cleans me with a tenderness that makes something twist in my chest.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I want to.”
Then he settles back down beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I agree.
Eventually, Leo turns to look at me. His hair is a disaster. There’s a bite mark on his shoulder that’s already turning red. He looks thoroughly debauched.
By me.
I feel unreasonably smug about this.
I think this version of Leo is now my favorite.
His hand twitches on the mattress between us like he’s not sure what the protocol is here. Like there’s no spreadsheet for post-sex etiquette and he’s lost without one.
Then he seems to make a decision. His arm slides around my waist and he tugs me toward him a bit stiffly, like he’s handling something fragile.
“Is this okay?” he asks, not quite meeting my eyes.
“No, I hate physical affection after mind-blowing sex. Get away from me.”
He huffs, and I feel some of the tension leave his body.
“That was almost as good as the Destroyer,” I say as I settle into his arms, and he laughs.