Chapter 24 #2
But even as I issue commands, I can’t help noticing the way his forearms flex when he moves. The glimpse of throat visible above the onesie’s neckline. The way he catches my eye between commands, the light-up horn on his hood blinking accusingly at me, giving a look that says this isn’t over.
As always, the party winds down in a blur of sugar-crashed children, leaving Leo and me alone.
“Well,” I say brightly. “That was fun.”
Leo gives me a look that indicates fun is not his verdict on what just transpired.
“Your Sparkle Says game doesn’t even make any sense,” he says as he bends to pick up a rogue party hat. “Shouldn’t I be the one giving the commands? I’m Sparkle.”
“Sparkle is a vessel. I am the voice of Sparkle. It’s very spiritual,” I say. “Besides, you seemed to enjoy all that hopping.”
“I did not enjoy the hopping.”
“Your face said otherwise.”
“My face was plotting your demise.”
“Same energy, really.”
“Archie,” he says quietly, meeting my eyes. “There will be payback.”
Oh fuck.
The way he says it—low, deliberate, his eyes not leaving mine—sends a shiver down my spine. This isn’t the playful banter we usually trade. This is something else. A promise.
The air between us feels suddenly thick. Charged.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” I manage to say.
Leo’s gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers there.
I stop breathing.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. I can see the war playing out across his face—want battling with something else. Caution, maybe? Or common sense.
Common sense wins.
He takes a step back, and it feels like the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
“I’m going to change,” he says abruptly.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I’ll start packing up.”
He disappears into the changing room, and I busy myself gathering balloon remnants and scattered party supplies, using the tip of my crutch to hook a stray balloon toward me, trying not to think about the fact that Leo is currently taking off the unicorn onesie.
That under all that pink fleece is the body I got to see properly last night. And it was definitely worth the wait.
I’m shoving tablecloths into a bag when I hear his voice behind me.
“Archie.”
I turn around to find Leo at the entrance of the changing room.
The onesie is unzipped to his waist, the top half hanging in front of him, leaving his chest bare. His hair is mussed from the hood. He looks rumpled, annoyed, and devastatingly attractive.
My throat immediately goes dry. “What’s wrong?”
“The zipper is stuck,” he says.
I should tell him to figure it out himself. I should maintain distance. I should not walk toward a half-naked Leo Brennan in a confined space.
“You realize this is a cliché,” I say, even as I’m already crossing the room on my crutches. “The stuck zipper. One person conveniently half-undressed. I’ve seen this scene in approximately forty movies, and it never ends with anyone actually fixing the zipper.”
“Then you should have no trouble being the exception.” Leo’s voice is flat, but there’s a challenge underneath it.
“Turn around,” I hear myself say as I follow him into the changing room, propping my crutches against the wall as soon as I’m inside.
He turns. The zipper is caught on fabric near the small of his back. I can see the problem clearly.
But I can also see the planes of his back. The indent of his spine. The way his muscles shift when he breathes.
Focus.
“For the record,” I say, my fingers finding the snag, “if this were a movie, this would be the part where I’d say—”
“Archie.”
“What?”
“Stop narrating and fix the zipper.”
My knuckles brush his bare skin.
Leo makes a sound. Low. Rough.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
The zipper finally gives and the onesie falls open. I stare at the two divots at the base of his spine and have an irrational urge to work out their exact dimensions with my tongue.
Neither of us moves.
“There,” I say. “Fixed.”
But I don’t step back. My hand is still resting against his spine, feeling the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Leo turns slowly. My hand slides around to his hip.
We’re chest to chest now. His mouth is inches from mine.
His hand comes up to cup my jaw, and he tilts my face toward his.
“Should I stop?” he asks.
“Stopping would be the sensible thing to avoid being a cliché,” I manage to get out.
His eyes are deep and dark. “That’s not what I asked.”
“No,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth finds mine.
Oh fuck, it’s just as good as last night.
Better, maybe, because this time I know what his mouth can do and my body is already ahead of me, already leaning in, already greedy for it.
There’s no fumbling, no hesitation, just heat and the slide of his tongue against mine and his hand gripping my hip like he already knows exactly how I fit against him.
We end up against the wall, Leo’s body pressed against mine in a way that takes most of my weight off my bad ankle—which is good because I’d forgotten the ankle existed entirely. My shirt is somewhere on the floor, his onesie abandoned in a pink puddle at his feet.
“I spent the whole party thinking about this,” he growls. “Every time you made me do something ridiculous, I was imagining what I’d do to you after.”
“Revenge fantasies during children’s entertainment. Very healthy,” I gasp as he kisses my neck.
“You have no idea.” His mouth finds the spot behind my ear that makes me shudder. “Every time you made me hop, I thought about making you beg.”
“That’s—” I lose my train of thought when his hand slides down my stomach. “That’s very inappropriate.”
“You made me whinny, Archie.” He bites my earlobe. “You brought this on yourself.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. There’s a smirk playing at his lips.
“Sparkle says, get on your knees,” he rasps.
I choke on a laugh. “You did not just—”
“I did.” His eyes are dark, challenging.
“That’s a terrible use of Sparkle Says.”
“And yet.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “You’re thinking about it.”
I am. God help me, I am.
“Sparkle’s going to need to say please,” I manage.
Something flickers in his eyes. Heat. Want. A hint of vulnerability beneath the confidence.
“Please,” he says softly.
I hold his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately, I sink to my knees.
“For the record,” I say, looking up at him, “Sparkle is a terrible Dom name.”
He chuckles, stroking down the side of my face, and the tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard. It’s at odds with the filthy thing I’m about to do. With everything about this situation.
For a second, I just lean into his palm, feeling the warmth of his hand, staring up at him.
He’s gazing down at me, those dark eyes full of heat but also something else. Something that makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that I’m on my knees.
Shit.
This is supposed to be fun and hot, not intimate.
Even worse is the fact that, for an insane moment, I almost turn my head and press my lips to his palm. Not to be seductive or as any part of the game. Just because I want to, in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how he’s looking at me right now.
I don’t do it. But the fact that I want to scares me.
I need to get this back on track.
I break eye contact and focus on the task at hand. Literally.
The first touch of my mouth to his cock makes Leo’s whole body jerk.
“Jesus—”
“Just Archie, actually. Easy mistake,” I say before I give his cockhead another teasing lick.
“Will you stop—ah—stop making jokes while you’re—”
“Never.” I pull back to grin up at him. “Consider it multitasking.”
His hand finds my hair again, tugging gently. “Less talking. More…”
“More what? Use your words, Leo.”
The look he gives me is pure murder. But he’s also panting, flushed, completely at my mercy.
I take pity on him. Or maybe I just can’t wait any longer myself.
I get back to work. And it is the good kind of work, the kind where I’m entirely focused on making Leo Brennan fall apart. I love having him in my mouth, learning what makes him groan, what makes his hips stutter, what makes his fingers tighten in my hair until it almost hurts.
But at some point, without deciding to, I wrapped my free hand around his thigh. Not for balance or leverage. I’m just holding on to him, my thumb tracing affectionate circles on his skin, and I don’t know when I started doing that or what it means that I can’t seem to stop.
“Archie—” His voice is wrecked. “I’m going to—”
I pull off just before he tips over the edge.
The sound he makes is deeply satisfying.
“What— Why did you—”
“Sparkle says not yet,” I tell him sweetly.
His eyes fly open. “You’re evil.”
“I’m educational. Delayed gratification builds character.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“After. Right now, you’re going to be patient.”
So I switch to my hand. Light. Teasing. Just enough contact to keep him on the edge without letting him fall over it.
His hips try to push forward. I press them back against the wall with my free hand.
“Stay,” I tell him.
“I’m not a dog, Archie.”
“And yet you respond so well to commands.” I twist my wrist in a way that makes his breath catch. “Good boy.”
“Don’t you dare—”
I do it again. His head hits the wall with a thud.
“Ask me,” I say.
“No.”
I slow my hand even more. His thigh muscles are shaking. There’s a sheen of sweat across his chest and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“Ask. Me.”
“Please.” The word sounds like it physically hurts him to say, which makes it all the more satisfying. “Archie, please, I can’t— I need—”
“That’s all I wanted.”