Florrie
I wake slowly this time, warm and boneless in a way I've never felt before.
My body feels heavy, sated, like I've been taken apart and put back together in a slightly different configuration. Everything is softer, quieter. Even the panic that's been clawing at my chest since last night has dulled to a distant hum.
Leon's arms are still around me, one hand splayed possessively across my lower back, the other cradling my head against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, feel the rise and fall of his breathing.
He's awake. I can tell by the way his thumb is moving in slow circles against my spine.
"Hi," I whisper against his shirt.
"Hi." His voice is rough, deeper than before. "How do you feel?"
How do I feel?
My thighs ache. My body is still tingling with aftershocks. My mind is spinning with the memory of what he just did to me, how he made me come apart with his mouth and fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"Good," I manage. "Really good."
"Good." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "You should rest more. We have that dinner tonight and—"
"I don't want to rest." The words come out before I can think them through.
His hand stills on my back. "No?"
"No." I push up slightly so I can see his face. His grey eyes are darker now, heavy-lidded, watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. "I want..."
I trail off, suddenly unsure how to say it. How to ask for what I want when I'm not even entirely sure what that is.
Except I do know.
I want him.
I want to feel him, all of him. I want to take back some of that control he talked about. I want to choose this, actively, completely, instead of just letting it happen to me.
"What do you want, Florrie?" His voice is careful, controlled, but I can feel the tension coiled in his body beneath me.
"I want you." I shift, sliding my leg over his hip so I'm straddling him. The movement makes me acutely aware that I'm still completely naked while he's still fully dressed. "I want more."
His hands come to my hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks. "More."
"Yes." I can feel him beneath me, hard and thick even through his pants. A bolt of heat shoots straight through me. "You gave me that, and it was... god, it was amazing. But I want all of it. I want you."
"Florrie." My name sounds strained. "You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." I lean down, my hair falling around us like a curtain. "I want to. There's a difference."
His jaw clenches, and I watch him war with himself. The urge to take versus the need to give me space. Control versus desire.
"Tell me what you want," he says finally. "Specifically."
The demand in his voice makes me shiver.
"I want to feel you inside me." The words come out steadier than I expected. "I want to choose this. I want to be on top so I can... so I have control."
Something flashes in his eyes. Heat and hunger.
"You want to ride me," he says bluntly.
My face flushes, but I nod. "Yes."
"Why?"
The question catches me off guard. "What do you mean, why?"
"Why do you want to be on top?" His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. "Tell me."
I swallow hard, trying to organize my thoughts while his hands are doing very distracting things.
"Because everything that's happened since last night has been... out of my control," I say slowly. "The warehouse. The guns. You ‘claiming’ me. The mandate. All of it just... happened. And I survived it, but I didn't choose any of it."
His expression softens slightly. "And this?"
"This I'm choosing." I roll my hips deliberately, feeling him throb beneath me. "I want you, Leon. I want this. But I need to feel like I'm... like I'm doing it because I want to, not because I have to."
"You never have to," he says quietly. "Not with me."
"I know." And surprisingly, I do know. Despite everything, despite the impossible situation, I believe him. "But I still want to choose it. Want to take it for myself."
His hands tighten on my hips. "Then take it."
The permission in those words makes something bold and reckless rise up in me.
I sit back slightly, my hands going to the buttons of his shirt. He doesn't stop me, just watches with those intense grey eyes as I work each button free, revealing more of his chest.
Ink. So much ink.
Black tattoos cover his chest and shoulders, intricate designs and words made up of letters I don’t understand the shape of. There’s some kind of family crest, maybe. Or gang markings. Whatever they are, they're beautiful in a dangerous, masculine way that piques my curiosity.
I push the shirt off his shoulders, and he sits up enough to shrug out of it completely. Then my hands go to his belt.
"Let me," I say, pulling at the soft black leather.
I unbuckle his belt with shaking fingers, pop the button of his pants, drag down the zipper. He lifts his hips so I can pull them down along with his boxers, and then—
Oh.
He's bigger than I expected. Thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.
My brain helpfully supplies that this is supposed to fit inside me, and a flutter of nervousness joins the heat low in my belly.
"Having second thoughts?" Leon's voice is rough, but there's understanding in it. Not pressure.
"No." I wrap my hand around him tentatively, feeling the weight and heat of him. He hisses through his teeth, his hips jerking slightly. "Just... processing."
"Take your time." His hands are back on my hips, steady and grounding. "We don't have to—"
"I want to." I stroke him experimentally, watching his face. His eyes close, jaw clenching, and a muscle ticks in his cheek. "I want this. Want you."
"Fuck, Florrie." His voice is strained. "You're killing me."
"Good." The word comes out more confident than I feel.
His eyes snap open, dark and hungry, hands still on my hips but not controlling. Just there.
I shift forward, positioning myself over him, and hesitate.
"I've never..." I bite my lip. "I've had sex before, but not like this. Not on top. And you're..."
“Go slow." One hand leaves my hip to cup my face. "You set the pace, moya krasotka. You're in control."
The reassurance steadies me.
I reach down, positioning him at my entrance. Even just the pressure of him there makes me gasp.
"Breathe," Leon murmurs. "Relax. Take as much time as you need."
I lower myself slowly, feeling him start to stretch me. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, teetering on the edge of too much.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "You're doing so good. So fucking good."
I sink down another inch, then pause, adjusting. He fills me completely, stretches me in a way that's almost painful but not quite. His hands flex on my hips, and I can see the restraint in every line of his body.
He wants to thrust up, to take control, to bury himself completely. But he doesn't. He lets me take my time, lets me adjust, lets me have this control I asked for.
I sink down further, taking more of him, until finally I'm seated completely in his lap with him buried deep inside me.
We both freeze, breathing hard.
"Fuck," Leon grits out. "Florrie, you feel... fuck."
I feel it too. The fullness. The stretch. The strange intimacy of being connected like this, of having him inside me while I'm on top looking down at him.
He looks wrecked. Hair mussed, pupils blown, jaw clenched with restraint.
I did that to him. The knowledge of that gives me courage.
I roll my hips slowly before I lift up slightly, then sink back down. The friction makes us both gasp.
"That's it," Leon encourages, his hands guiding but not controlling. "Find your rhythm. Take what you need." His eyes are taking every inch of me in. Lingering on my tits, the marks on my thighs he put there, the space where we’re connected.
I start moving in a slow rhythm, learning the angle, the depth, what feels good. His hands help support me, but I'm the one setting the pace, the one in control.
And it feels so good. Better than good.
Every time I sink down, he hits something deep inside me that makes sparks shoot up my spine. Every time I lift up, the drag of him against my walls makes me shudder.
"Leon," I gasp, moving faster now, chasing that feeling.
"I've got you." His hands tighten on my hips. "I've got you, moya krasotka. Take what you need."
I brace my hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscle twitch beneath my palms, the rapid beat of his heart. His tattoos shift under my fingers as I move, riding him harder now, faster, losing myself in the sensation.
This is what I needed. This control. This choice. This feeling of taking instead of being taken.
"Touch yourself," Leon commands suddenly, and the authority in his voice makes me clench around him. "I want to watch you come on my cock."
His words send a jolt straight through me, dirty and commanding in a way that should embarrass me but only heightens the heat building low in my belly.
My fingers circle my clit faster, slick from where we're joined, and the dual sensation of him filling me so deeply while I touch myself, pushes me closer to the edge with every roll of my hips.
I can feel it coming, that coiling tension winding tighter and tighter inside me, like a spring about to snap.
My breaths come in short, ragged gasps, my body moving on instinct now, grinding down harder, lifting up just enough to feel the exquisite drag of him before slamming back.
The room fills with the lewd sounds of us: the wet slap of skin on skin, my whimpers turning into desperate moans, his low growls rumbling from his chest.
My eyes flutter open, locking onto his face, but his gaze isn't on mine.
It's fixed lower, right where my hand works frantically between my legs, where his cock disappears into me over and over.
The intensity in those grey eyes, dark and feral, like he's memorizing every slick inch, every quiver, makes my core clench around him involuntarily.
He likes this. He loves watching me take him, watching me chase my own pleasure while he's buried deep.
Knowing that makes everything sharper, hotter.
"Oh god—Leon—" My voice breaks, high and desperate, as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak.
My thighs tremble uncontrollably, muscles burning from the effort, but I can't stop.
Won't stop. My free hand digs into his chest, nails scraping over his tattoos, leaving faint red trails on his skin.
He hisses, but his hands on my hips urge me on, steady and unyielding.
The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, sudden and all-consuming. It starts deep inside, where he hits that perfect spot with every thrust of my hips, radiating out in pulsing waves that make my whole body seize.
I cry out loud, raw, a shattered "Leon!" that echoes off the walls as my inner walls clamp down around him like a vice, spasming in frantic rhythms. Heat floods through me, liquid fire spreading from my core to my fingertips, my toes, making my back arch sharply and my head fall back.
And then, oh fuck, something releases, a gush of warmth between us, wet and unexpected.
I squirt, the sensation intense and overwhelming, soaking his cock, his thighs, the sheets beneath us.
It prolongs the climax, drawing it out in shuddering aftershocks that leave me gasping, my body jerking involuntarily with each pulse.
The moment it happens, when that sudden, overwhelming rush tears through me and I feel myself gush around him, Leon’s entire body locks beneath me.
His hands clamp down on my hips so hard I know I’ll have bruises, fingers digging in like he’s anchoring himself to the earth.
A low, guttural sound rips out of his throat, something between a growl and a broken moan, raw and unrestrained.
His head tips back against the pillows, the strong column of his throat working as he swallows hard, jaw clenched so tight the muscle there jumps.
I can feel him swell inside me, thicker, harder, impossibly fuller, right before the first hot pulse hits.
He comes hard, violently, each thick spurt flooding me in time with the frantic clenching of my own release.
It’s like he’s trying to match me, to meet every shuddering wave of my orgasm with one of his own.
His cock throbs and jerks deep inside, over and over, filling me until I can feel the warmth of him spilling out where we’re joined, mixing with my own wetness, making everything slicker, messier, more intimate.
His abs contract in sharp, involuntary ripples. The tattoos across his chest and shoulders seem to shift with every ragged breath he drags in. His hips snap up in short, helpless thrusts that bury him even deeper as he empties himself completely.
“Florrie—” My name is torn out of him, hoarse and wrecked, almost reverent. His brows are drawn tight like he’s in pain and bliss at the same time. Then they snap open, finding mine, and the look he gives me is so unguarded, so raw, it steals what little breath I have left.
He’s beautiful like this. Completely undone. The controlled, dangerous man from the warehouse is gone; in his place is someone who looks like he’s just been cracked open, like I’ve reached inside and touched something he keeps locked away from everyone else.
My fingers slip from my too sensitive clit, and I collapse forward onto his chest, trembling, my breaths coming in pants as the waves finally start to ebb.
I'm boneless, spent, floating in a haze of pleasure so profound it borders on pain. But underneath it all, there's a fierce satisfaction, I did this. I took this. And it was everything I needed.