Chapter 28
LEO
Thursday, May 2
One week after Paris
“Enough about me. Let’s talk about you now. How was Paris? I’ve been dying to hear all about it,” Meredith says, taking a bite of shrimp from the platter we ordered and washing it down with a sip of Pinot Grigio.
I met Meredith at one of my favorite steakhouses in the city for dinner to catch up. We haven’t had a chance to see each other or talk since I got back a week ago. Between lectures, catching up in the office, and spending every other waking moment with Vivian—doing it on every surface of her house—I haven’t had a spare moment.
“It was good,” I say, fighting the urge to smile like a besotted idiot. “It was great, actually.” I say as casually as I can, grabbing a shrimp for myself and taking a bite.
“It was? That’s great. Did Vivian enjoy the art gallery?”
“Yeah. She loved it.” I beam. “It was really cool to watch an artist take in art, actually.”
“And then you rented that yacht for the night?”
I nod as I chew my shrimp and swallow. “The yacht was incredible. You and Piper really need to get to Paris. ”
“We’ll get there. It won’t be the same type of trip that you take,” she says, swirling the wine in her glass. “It must be nice to be filthy rich,” she teases, the corners of her mouth turning up.
“It’s fucking great, you should try it sometime,” I joke back.
I’ve learned that the best way to handle comments about my money is to roll with them. Mer’s one of the few people who never makes me feel weird about it, so I can joke along without feeling self-conscious. She knows she could ask for anything, anytime, and I’d give it to her in a heartbeat.
“Tell me more,” she gestures.
“God, I don’t even know where to start. Everything was great. We reconnected on the plane ride over, laughing and joking like we always do. We did a bike tour, the Louvre, Moulin Rouge, had fantastic food, the whole bit.”
The server brings our entrées—mine, a tomahawk steak, and hers, a lobster tail.
“We went to the art gallery and then to the Seine River for the cruise. The yacht was exquisite, and the chef and dinner were incredible. Vivian looked…” I pause, letting out a slow exhale. “She looked stunning, absolutely beautiful. Um…” I clear my throat, my brows knitting together as my face flushes with heat.
“Oh my God,” she lets out a knowing laugh, shaking her head.
I glare at her. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she says, smothering a laugh. “You’re just acting weird, is all.”
“What do you mean? I’m not acting weird.”
“Yeah, you are.” She smirks and raises a brow.
“What makes you think that?” I ask, knowing I’ve got whipped written all over my face.
Meredith leans back, folding her arms. “You two totally had sex in Paris, didn’t you?” She’s wide-eyed and grinning. “Probably on that goddamn boat.” She takes a sip of her wine, “Oh, excuse me, I mean yacht.” She points to herself. “I mean, even I would have fucked you on that yacht. Well played.” She’s grinning from ear to ear .
How does she always fucking know?
I swear to God the woman is psychic.
She waits patiently for me to comment as I sit, gaping at her.
“Yeah,” I chuckle, “We had sex, okay?” I feel my face reddening as I reflect on all the sex we’ve had. “We’ve had a lot of sex. And it’s been great. She’s just… I don’t know how to describe it. She’s everything I didn’t know I needed.”
“Were you not going to tell me?”
“I was, I swear. But it’s more fun this way,” I admit.
Meredith’s smile softens, her teasing replaced by genuine warmth. “I’m thrilled for you. You deserve this… you deserve her. I take it the EMDR sessions helped then? You’re still seeing each other… this wasn’t just a Paris fling?”
I sigh, unable to hide my smile. “Yes, we’re still seeing each other. The EMDR definitely helped me let go of some of the shit that’s been holding me back. It’s been… incredible. And terrifying. But mostly incredible.”
“So what? Are you two a thing now?” she asks, a look of curiosity painted on her face.
I scrunch my face up in thought. “I don’t know.” The question rattles my nerves, and I quickly sip some water. “I don’t know what we are; I don’t want to define it. I just like whatever it is that we have.” I give her a look of concern. “Is that fucked up of me?”
Meredith frowns, a look of worry crossing her face. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on how Vivian feels about that… Just don’t screw it up, okay? This is a good thing that you have.” She gives me a half-smile and digs into her lobster tail.
We finish our dinner with lighter conversation, but the weight of my feelings for Vivian lingers in the back of my mind.
As we part ways, Meredith gives me one last knowing look. “Hey… just be honest with her. It’s the best way to keep what you have.” She gives me a hug, and I squeeze her tightly.
“I will, Mer. Thanks for everything.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Two Weeks Later
I wake up in Vivian’s bed alone, having slept in. After pulling on boxers and joggers, I head downstairs and make a cappuccino with her espresso machine—the same machine I have at home. She ordered it after falling in love with mine. The rich aroma of the coffee fills the kitchen, grounding me in the familiar routine.
With my cappuccino in hand, I take the stairs to the rooftop and step outside. It’s sunny, and though the morning air is cool, the sun’s heat cuts through the chill. She’s not here, but I see a light on in her art studio. I walk around the patio to the back where her studio is, the faint smell of paint growing stronger with each step. The door is open, and I slip inside quietly.
I find her sitting on her stool painting, her back to me, completely lost in her work. She has a picture displayed upright next to her canvas, showing what looks like a Utah mountain landscape: pine trees and a lake with snowcapped mountain peaks. Her painting is an exact replica of the picture, and she’s adding small strokes of detail to the lake.
I prop myself against the door, one arm crossed and the other holding my coffee. Intrigued, I watch her work. She looks sexy in a black satin pajama set. The flowy shorts are short, and the top is revealing in the best possible way, with one of the thin straps hanging off her shoulder. Her hair is pulled into a clip, with strands brushing her shoulders. Her coffee sits next to her on an empty stool, a space heater is on in the corner, and music plays in the background.
Grinning, I clear my throat, not wanting to scare her but making enough noise for her to turn around.
She doesn’t. “How long have you been there?” she asks without losing focus.
“A few minutes,” I say, my eyes laser-focused on her back, as if she can feel them .
I cross the room, stopping just behind her. Brushing my fingers on her shoulder to avoid messing up her brush strokes, she stops. I grip her shoulders and press my lips on her neck. “Morning,” I murmur into her ear, and she grins.
“Morning,” she turns just enough to kiss my lips, letting it linger for a moment.
I stand behind her for a few minutes, planting soft kisses on her shoulders, kissing her butterfly tattoo, which I now know is for Ben and Evie.
I move toward the wall across from her and lean against it, so I can watch her face while she works. There is something extremely intimate about watching Vivian paint or draw. You can almost feel what she is working on from the intensity in her eyes and the emotions that show on her face. She pulls back to look at her work, tilting her head slightly and biting her bottom lip, her eyes scanning her painting before she dips her brush and continues.
The song changes and as its melody starts to play, a smile creeps over her face.
“What are you smiling about?” I ask. A smile spreading over my face as well.
A soft laugh escapes her lips. “You wanted to know what was on my sexy playlist,” she says. “This song is on it.”
I don’t recognize the song, but its familiar, slow rhythm definitely has a sexy vibe. The music fills the studio.
“I was in the car with Ben one day when this song came on. Niall Horan sings it.” She breaks focus for a moment to see if there is a flicker of recognition. “Slow Hands?” she asks. I shake my head. She furrows her brows in concentration and continues, “Anyway, I told Ben I thought this would be a great song to have sex to. After that, anytime he was in the mood, he’d blast this song throughout the house”—she glances up—"summoning me.” She lets out a laugh. “So, let’s just say I’ve had a lot of sex to this song… A lot.”
“Have you?” I ask with a smirk, holding her gaze as I slowly close the gap between us. The chorus starts to play in the background, amplifying the pull between us .
“Yeah,” she says softly, a smile playing on her lips.
I pull her up, wrapping my arms around her waist, and stare intently into her bright-green eyes. Her hands rest on my chest.
“Do you wish that Ben were here?” I ask—a fucked-up question, but I have to know.
“I always wish Ben were here,” she says honestly, “but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want you here too.”
I search her eyes, hoping she’s not just saying what she thinks I want to hear.
“Leo,” she whispers, her hands skimming down my bare chest as she leans in to give me a soft kiss, her lips brushing against mine. “Fuck me… Right here. Right now.” Her eyes lock onto mine, bittersweet and filled with longing.
Fuck yes .
She doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I slowly meet her lips with a hunger that I can’t suppress, a craving that I can’t get enough of. I slant my mouth to hers, my tongue stroking inside it.
Her fingers weave into my hair, fists clenching, as she softly moans into my mouth.
It starts slow—our kisses tentative, like a spark fanning a flame. But the heat builds, a steady burn turning into something hotter, more demanding.
In a flash, it’s urgent and wild. I grip her hips, lifting her as her legs lock around me, our mouths colliding over and over, chasing the fire that’s caught us both.
I walk over to her supply table, pushing paint, brushes, and canvases out of the way as I set her ass on it.
Heat sears inside of me as her nails trace down my back, leaving a trail of tingling pleasure. She whimpers and moans, a chorus of carnal sounds that drive me wild.
One hand cups the back of her neck while I slide my other hand under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin. I grope her boob and pinch her nipple, making her gasp .
She meets me with the same eagerness, sliding her hand over my pants to my cock, grasping it as she pulls me down closer. Something about sweat and dirty laundry is being sung in the background, and between the music and her touch, my need for her brews inside of me, ready to tear through us like a tornado.
My pulse is pounding so hard I can feel it in my veins, and my vision blurs, thoughts clouded by how fucking hard I am. Every bit of judgment and spatial awareness is lost to pure need, so without thinking, I shove everything aside, knocking whatever’s left to the floor. The crashing and banging only stoke the greedy desire between us. Her breath quickens as I clear the last bit. I need her naked, now. I tear her shirt off, tossing it aside with a roughness that matches the hunger between us. She leans back, and in one swift motion, I hook my fingers around her shorts and yank them off, leaving her bare on the cold table.
Her hands move to my waistband, desperately trying to pull my pants down.
I pull back, standing upright, simultaneously gripping her hips and pulling her to the edge of the table.
Lowering myself, I skim my mouth over her navel, placing kisses and licks as I move down between her legs. Splaying my hands on her thighs, I pin them down to worship her, sending a combination of light and needy flicks of my tongue to her clit, savoring each sensation. Her taste, her scent, everything about her makes it impossible to think clearly. She gasps and arches her back, her hands tangling in my hair as I relish every moment.
She thrashes on the table before me, a slur of curse words and my name being called out savagely, making this all the more intoxicating, and urging me on.
A new song comes on, something I’ve never heard before, but I keep teasing her, dipping my fingers inside her while maintaining the rhythm of my tongue as she squirms.
She climaxes, her back arching and her fingers gripping my hair. The sounds she makes resonate through me, sending waves of pleasure to my very core. She comes again before I move upward, ready to ravish her whole—one sweeping lick and kiss at a time .
As I move closer, she aggressively tugs at my pants and boxers, pulling them down. I step out of them, kicking them aside.
She pulls my tongue into her mouth, the faint taste of herself mixing with our shared desire, while my hands roam over her, feeling her nipples harden under my touch as she gets more turned on.
Her hands clutch my ass, then slide forward, wrapping around my shaft. She squeezes and strokes with a desperate urgency. “Fuck,” I groan into her ear.
She cradles my balls in her hand and whispers, “Fuck me, Leo,” and the demanding way she says it is almost enough to make me come right then and there.
She bites my shoulder blade. “God, Vivian,” I cry out, possessively taking her mouth into mine. I nip and suck on her bottom lip, and she meets my kisses with the same demanding force. My hand gets lost in her thick hair, and I tug gently, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. I scrape my teeth against her smooth skin, and she purrs, begging me to fuck her.
I yank her close, my arms encircling her tightly. Hoisting her by the ass, I press her against the nearest wall with a rough yet careful touch. I don’t have a condom on me, and I know it’s careless, but I cannot wait one more second. My legs quiver as I thrust inside her, and oh my God, it feels so good on my bare cock as my thirst for her deepens with urgency. She grips her thighs around me, squeezing my sides as she tightens around my cock. I propel myself into her, pressing deeply, banging her carefully up against the wall, over and over, losing track of time.
“God,” she cries out, her tongue urgently meeting mine. It becomes too much: the feel of my bare cock inside her, the heat of her pussy, the desperate pleas for me to fuck her. The scorching friction building inside me erupts. I pull out, gripping my cock as I stroke myself to completion. She plants soft kisses along my chest and shoulders, her fingers massaging my scalp. I groan loudly, releasing the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced onto her naked body.
I slowly lower her to the ground and rest my head against the wall, my entire body shaking. She smooths my cheek with her hand and turns my face toward her, bringing her mouth to mine. She kisses me long and deep. Bringing her other hand up, she cups my face, continuing to kiss me slowly. We thank each other the only way we know how right now, as words escape us, our breathing ragged and shallow. She rests the back of her head against the wall and shuts her eyes, her chest rising and falling with each gasp for breath.
I brush my thumb against her cheek, and she leans into the touch. A lump forms in my throat as I admire her beauty, realizing that I fucking love her with every ounce of my being, despite my efforts to prevent this. My stomach twists in knots as a dreaded fear sinks in.
Unable to voice it, afraid to make it real, I smile, kiss her forehead, and pull her close to me. She tenderly kisses my chest and then leans her ear against it, her damp hair sticking to the sweat formed on my skin. She squeezes tightly, and we catch our breath together, holding each other. God, I need her more than I’ve ever needed anyone.