Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
TORI
He says it low and certain—Now take off that bra while I remove these panties with my teeth—and I have never been more free to let go, completely, and obey.
I reach behind my back, the clasp giving under my fingers like it’s been waiting. The sound is tiny, but it echoes in my ears like a door unlocking.
My bra loosens, straps sliding off my shoulders, fabric falling away. Air finds new skin, raising goosebumps across my chest, but before the chill can settle, the heat of his gaze replaces it.
My nipples tighten, bare and sensitive, and I know he sees it. I know he feels the way my body reacts to him without hesitation, without permission.
His breath brushes my stomach a beat before his mouth does, warm against my skin, and the first kiss there lands like a promise kept.
My thoughts scatter. His lips, his tongue trail a path down my body. A path that’s new, untraveled. A pioneer exploring uncharted territory, but he’s in no rush.
Every press of his mouth is deliberate, reverent, as if he’s mapping me for the first and last time. He knows this land belongs to him, but he’s savoring the claim.
He is careful and greedy at once, reverent and sure. Every place his mouth touches becomes the most important place on my body—until the next kiss argues with the last one, each one convincing me it matters more.
I expect him to reach my panties, to bite the edge and drag them down my legs like in so many of my favorite novels.
I brace for it, waiting.
But, no. Of course he doesn’t follow the script.
Leo continues kissing, licking, sucking over the top of my panties.
And I feel it. All of it.
Every vibration through the lace, every drag of his tongue amplified by the thin barrier, every wet slip sharper because of the friction. The fabric clings, already soaked, turning every move into a tease.
Good God, this man.
He buries his face into my pussy, licking, sucking, kissing, using the lace of my panties as added friction against my most sensitive parts.
He finds my clit, sucks it into his mouth—fabric and all—and then bites, and I swear I’m about to explode. My hips jerk, my back arches, a helpless sound tears from my throat.
“Play with your piercings,” he growls, surfacing for a second before burying himself in me again.
I do as I’m told. My hands fly to my breasts, tugging at the silver bars.
Each pull shoots sparks down my body, lightning bolts that converge on my clit where his mouth is working me through the fabric.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. I don’t know how my body can survive both sensations at once, but I don’t want it to stop.
Leo hasn’t even pressed a finger inside me yet and I’m close, so close.
My fingers flick and twist at my nipples, my eyes locked on his as his own gaze follows the motion, hunger burning in him. He watches the way my hips jolt every time I tug, watches the way I can’t keep still under him.
Then he bites down on the crotch of my underwear, tugs back, and—snap.
The wet, elastic fabric snaps against my clit at the exact moment I pull on my piercings, and the double jolt detonates inside me. I scream, the sound ripped from somewhere primal.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up at once. My muscles seize and release, a violent quake I can’t control. I’m shaking, trembling, vibrating apart. My core pulses so hard I think I might break.
Back arched, body taut, I’m not even flat on the bed again before Leo slides two fingers into me, thrusting deep as his mouth latches onto my breast. His tongue circles my piercing, his teeth tug, and the overload is unbearable.
“Leo,” I gasp, every syllable shattered.
“Tell me,” he says, curling his fingers inside me, grinding his palm against my clit. His voice is gravel, wrecked with want.
I ride his hand shamelessly, hips grinding down, chasing every ounce of sensation. I’m still coming, still gasping, and it feels endless.
“More,” I whisper—no, beg. It doesn’t sound like me. It sounds like someone stripped bare, someone who has never wanted more in her life.
His laugh is low and wrecked, undone by my plea. He kisses me, tongue tangling with mine, and then I’m spiraling again, another climax ripping through me on his fingers.
I arch. I tremble. My hands clutch his hair like an anchor, because if I let go, I’ll float away.
He slows our kiss, easing me down, and slides his hand from between my legs. His eyes never leave mine as he lifts those two fingers and slides them into his mouth. His lids flutter, his tongue curling, and he groans—lost in the taste of me.
I watch, spellbound, as he savors every drop.
When his fingers leave his mouth, his smirk is ravenous. He’s had a taste, but it isn’t enough.
I know it. He knows it.
“My cock is jealous, Victoria,” he rasps, dragging his hand down my stomach until he hooks the string of my panties.
Even wrecked and trembling, I find my voice. “We can’t have that.”
“No,” he agrees, pulling the panties down my legs and over each foot, tossing them aside. He reaches for the drawer, pulls a condom, and rolls it on with practiced ease.
“We can’t have that.”
“I thought you said you were going to take those off with your teeth?” I nod toward the discarded scrap of lace. My grin is weak, but it’s there.
Leo doesn’t answer.
Instead, he prowls up my body, slow and deliberate, kissing every inch of exposed skin on his way.
My stomach. My ribs. Each breast, where he pauses to suck, lick, and tug, nipping at my piercings until I gasp.
Only then does he grip my thigh, pinning it high against my chest, and slams into me in one long, relentless thrust.
“Give me your hands,” he orders.
I give them. Both arms stretching above my head, fingers intertwining with his as he holds me down, utterly his.
He moves. Slowly. Deliberately. Possessively.
I rock my hips to meet him, every thrust dragging fire through me. My eyes flutter shut, but I force them open, needing to see him—this man above me, chest heaving, jaw tight, gaze locked on mine like he’s drowning in me.
With my leg pinned high, my hips tilt at the perfect angle, his pelvis grinding my clit each time he rolls into me.
And he rolls. Not mere thrusts. Not just in, then out. Leo grinds, dips, drags, like he’s embedding himself deeper with each stroke. Like he wants to fuse us together.
“Tori,” he whispers, breaking me open with just my name.
“Leo,” I whisper back, our eyes locked.
His grip on my fingers tightens. I squeeze back, needing the anchor.
“Do you love me?” His voice cracks with need, raw and certain all at once.
I smile through the heat and the ache.
“Is pi irrational?”
His laugh bursts free, breaking his rhythm, and then he kisses me hard, mouth bruising mine. When he pulls back, his whole face is alight.
I didn’t just answer his question. I answered it in his language.
“I fucking love you, woman.”
“I love you too, fuckboy.”
And then it’s chaos. His thrusts snap sharper, faster, harder. His grip on my thigh unrelenting. His hold on my hands like iron.
“Leo…” I pant, strung tight, seconds away from shattering.
“I know, baby.” His forehead presses to mine, his breath ragged.
And then his mouth is on my breast again, sucking my nipple deep, teeth clamping on my piercing—
—and I shatter.
My core squeezes around his cock, pulling him deeper, refusing to let go. My free leg locks around his, binding us closer. My nails dig crescents into his skin, desperate to anchor myself as the orgasm rips through me, raw and unrelenting.
And the craziest part? The pleasure is so overwhelming, so brutal, so beyond words that instead of screaming, instead of crying out—
I bite my tongue.
You read that right.
I bite down. As hard as I can.
Straight. Through. My. Fucking. Tongue.
He’s still inside me when it happens.
The last pulse of my orgasm is still fluttering around him, my body stretched and trembling beneath his, when I cough. Just a little—just enough to clear my throat.
But it’s not air that comes out.
It’s blood.
A hot, wet spray splashes over his chest, bright red against his skin. Droplets scatter across his collarbone, his throat, even his cheek.
For a second, I don’t even register it. My brain is still humming from release, still melted around the feel of him inside me, heavy and perfect.
Leo freezes. Entirely. Every muscle in him goes tight. His eyes go wide, staring down at me like he’s just witnessed a homicide.
“Tori!” His voice breaks. “What the hell—are you—oh my God, are you okay? Do you need a doctor? Do I call an ambulance?”
I try to answer, but the words slur around my swollen tongue.
“Bithh my tonghhehh.”
Which, of course, sprays even more blood across his chest.
He flinches but doesn’t move away, gripping my face, trying to peer into my mouth while I’m choking on laughter.
“Baby, you have to stop giggling. Tori, I’m serious—are you choking? Are you bleeding out? Tell me if you’re dying right now!”
“Not—dyin’thhh,” I manage, but the garbled mess only shoots another mist across his jaw.
Leo bolts off the bed, scanning the room like a man possessed.
“Fuck, fuck, towel—where the hell—”
He flings open the closet. Nothing. Yanks a drawer. Socks.
“Goddammit!” He snatches the nearest pillow, tears the case off in one hard pull, and shoves the cotton into my hands.
“Here. Press it. Press it hard.”
I sit up and do as I’m told, pressing the pillowcase to my mouth. Blood blooms instantly, soaking it dark.
My head starts bopping back and forth before I even realize it—Whip it! now playing on repeat in my brain like a bad jukebox.
Maybe I really am losing too much blood.
“What’s happening? Are you having a seizure?!” Leo’s back on the bed in an instant, hovering close, eyes wild.
I shake my head, laughing into the pillowcase, still jamming to the music in my head.
“Whip it!” I try to say, but it comes out muffled, garbled, and bloody. His expression goes from panic to sheer horror.
I decide the explanation isn’t worth his anxiety, so I stop my dance and shrug.
Leo watches me for a beat longer, eyeing me like I might start convulsing at any second.
When he’s convinced I am not, in fact, seizing, he mutters, “Fucking hell, woman…” and steadies his breath.
Then, a few moments later: “Let me see. Maybe it’s slowed down a bit.”
He peels the fabric back just enough to check the damage.
I tilt my head back, open wide, but the blood starts to drain down my throat. The second he leans in, I start to choke, cough, and then—splat.
A spray of blood shoots forward, covering his face and chest in crimson freckles.
He freezes, blinking at me through the mess.
And I laugh. Oh God, I laugh so hard I can’t breathe, clutching the pillowcase back over my mouth, shaking with it.
“Stop. Laughing!” he yells, swiping at his face, which only smears the blood worse.
“You’re turning my bedroom into a Quentin Tarantino set!”
I can’t stop. Physically, absolutely cannot stop laughing.
“Unfuckingbelievable,” he mutters.
The knock on the front door interrupts him.
“Leopold?” Lois’s voice filters through. “I’ve been hearing very loud noises. At first they sounded… enthusiastic, but now they sound angry? Or… afraid? Are you all right in there?”
Leo’s head whips toward the sound, naked, bloody, and panicked.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, blood dripping down his collarbone. “Does she sit by my front door and eavesdrop?”
“Lois! We’re fine!” he yells back, frantic.
A pause. Then: “Leopold, you sound upset. I’m coming in.”
“What? No—Lois, do NOT come in here!”
His voice cracks in a way I’ve never heard before.
“I already told you, dear,” she says calmly, keys jingling. “I’ve seen everything before. Nothing will surprise me.”
The master bedroom only has a sliding barn door for ‘privacy,’ so he doesn’t even attempt to shut it.
Knowing resistance is futile, Leo lets out a string of curses. He grabs a pillow and slams it over his junk, then tosses another at me. I clutch it to my chest, still completely naked, blood-smeared, and shaking with laughter.
The doorknob turns. The door swings open. Light, childlike footsteps pad down the hall.
And in walks the most adorable four-foot-ten (on a good day), blue-eyed old woman—dressed in a bathrobe, fluffy bunny slippers, and a neon orange hunting balaclava—with a shotgun cocked against her shoulder.
I swear on my life, you cannot make this shit up.
Lois pauses just long enough to take in the scene: blood splattered literally everywhere, Leo clutching a pillow to his groin, me holding one across my chest, and a bloody pillowcase stuffed between my teeth.
She blinks. Lowers the gun. Then nods.
“Blood play? Kinky.”
Leo thumps his head against the wall and groans. I’m laughing so hard I’m crying, still biting down on the fabric.
Lois is completely unfazed. Not one bit.
“I’m glad no one is trying to murder you, Leopold.” She peels off the balaclava, her wispy white curls sticking up every which way with static.
“But listen here, kids,” she continues, tone serious. “You have to be careful with these kinks, or things can get out of hand quickly.”
She clucks her tongue, entirely unbothered. “As you experienced tonight.”
Then she looks at me, her gaze softening. “Let me get you some ice, dear.”
Before she can fully step out of the room, Leo blurts, “Lois, how the hell did you even get in here when that door was locked?”
She smiles at him, all innocence, as if she isn’t holding a shotgun in a bathrobe.
“My key, of course. You gave me a spare in case you ever got locked out.”
Leo stares at her. Horrified. And I collapse onto my side, laughing so hard I nearly roll off the bed.
Lois, still unfazed, shuffles toward the kitchen. “You two take a shower and clean that blood off your naked bodies while I make you some tea.”
So, we do. Because what other option is there?