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Something was very wrong.
I carefully placed one foot in front of the other as I approached him, my heart pounding in my chest with every step. It was clear from the sight in front of me that Leo was hurt. And all I knew for certain was that I would find a way to soothe the ache, to balm over his wounds and do whatever it took to make him smile.
My charismatic, happy Leo.
As soon as he realized I was in the room, his fingers stopped their delicate dance on the ivory keys. He looked up at me with tired eyes, his mouth turned down in the corners. He was exhausted—the proof was written all over his face—and I instantly regretted not being here with him tonight. I should have found a way, should have stayed here where he so clearly needed me.
I positioned myself in front of him, my hip lightly brushing against the edge of the piano behind me. “Leo?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed out a long breath as his gaze fell to my legs. After a moment, he opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again before any sound could escape. He shut his eyes tightly and let his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against my stomach.
My pulse tripped as my hands instinctively rose to his head, my fingers winding through his thick, soft waves. He inhaled, breathing in deeply along my belly as he reached to wrap around my waist. Concern blazed through me. “Leo,” I whispered, “are you okay?”
He shook his head, and then mumbled from somewhere in my shirt. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I let that sink in. “What do you need?”
He tilted his head up, his blue eyes mere shadows in the dark as they fastened themselves to me. A handful of breaths passed between us. Eventually, his lips parted and the word croaked out. “You.”
He swiftly tugged my wrist so I was forced to swing my leg over his lap. His gaze never left my face, watching carefully for any protest. Any sign of hesitation.
But he wasn’t going to get any.
The last thing I wanted to do was hesitate—I wouldn’t. Not for a second. Because while there were probably a million reasons to stop and consider why this might be a bad idea, a million reasons why letting him in again might only hurt me in the long run, the only thing I could focus on was Leo’s broken spirit. I had to find a way to settle his pain, to shine a light into this darkness around him.
So I cupped his face as I lowered myself onto his lap, feeling his stubble beneath my fingertips, and nodded. “I’m here,” I murmured. “I’m right here, baby.”
My words seemed to snap something loose in him and he groaned, his hands adjusting my hips so that I was pressed firmly against his hard stomach. He closed his eyes as my fingers trailed lightly along his face, and before I let my own nerves sputter through me, I leaned in to kiss him.
I pressed my lips tenderly against the right corner of his mouth. “You are brilliant,” I whispered. And then I pressed my lips against the left side. “You are kind and generous,” I continued. I tilted my face to reach for his forehead, pressing a soft kiss there as he took in another deep breath. “You are worthy of love and respect.”
His eyes opened again, full of so much raw emotion that it sent my heart pounding harder in my chest. And then he lifted a hand to grip the back of my neck and pulled my mouth against his.
It was a kiss dripping in need. Leo’s mouth devoured mine with an urgent desperation, a cry to feel anything other than what he’d been feeling. But caught somewhere underneath the surface was also this last week of our crumbling resistance—a different kind of need, born well outside the bounds of what had revealed itself tonight. Whatever it was he’d gone through while I was at work.
The truth was, we both wanted this.
I wanted this . . . more than I cared to admit.
My mouth moved against his as our breaths mixed between us, and Leo groaned again as my fingers tugged at his hair. Our movements became frantic, our desire sticky with torment. Leo stood from the bench, holding me to him with his strong arms as he carefully lowered me down onto the cold, hard surface of the piano. His thighs pressed into the keys and a jostle of notes rang out in the air around us.
My legs wrapped around his waist as he drove his hips between my legs, and I could feel how hard he already was. His tongue dove deep into my mouth, curling against mine before he pulled back to look down at me. “Mara,” he groaned as his eyes greedily roamed my body, his hands gripping my waist tight as if I might disappear if he let go even for a moment.
“I’m right here,” I whispered. “I’m right here, Leo.”
“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice sandpaper. And then he pushed the hem of my shirt up. I curled my body forward to give him better access, lying back once the material had been pulled over my head and discarded
His eyes continued to graze over me as his finger trailed down my chest and between my breasts. “God, Mara, look at you.”
Instantly I was soaring, spinning, weightless.
It was like our first night all over again. He was looking at me like I was . . . real. Like I was real to him, and not just some sexy fantasy or splintered version of who I could be that suited him better. And even more significant was that he needed me. He needed me like this. All of me.
“I’m right here,” I repeated, looking at him intently while also internally relishing the way his hand now gripped lower against my hip, fingers flexing into my skin. “I’m right here, and I’m yours, Leo.”
The words tasted sweet on my tongue, no bitterness to be found. And though I didn’t know what they meant for us, I knew I meant them.
His eyes jumped up to mine, brows knitting together as he took it all in. “Mine?” he asked. As if it couldn’t possibly be.
