He doesn’t seem to notice how unpracticed I am—how bad at this I must be—and it makes my head spin.
I swallow down his first moan as I try to match the movement of his tongue, and when I get it right, he rewards me with a second.
As I pull him closer, his legs tighten around my torso, and my dick kicks hard in my jeans like it’s trying to break free. God, I’ve never been touched like this. Never been held like this, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to give it up now that I have it.
My cock starts to leak as I feel a sudden, powerful urge to come. I breathe through it as I break the kiss, trying to pull more air into my lungs, but he doesn’t let me get far.
“Leo,” I murmur. I have no idea what I’m doing. I have no idea what’s meant to come next. All I know is that he wants me and that he fist-fought his own brain to admit it.
And I don’t think the moment will last if I hesitate for even a second.
This is my first and only chance with him.
“Lean back,” I tell him. I have no idea where any of this is coming from, but the way he obeys me is fucking heady. It’s going to ruin me for the rest of my life, for any other person I ever sleep with after this.
I’m going to leave most of my heart and part of my soul on this bedroom floor, and I won’t be coming back for it.
Leo stares up at me under his long, dark lashes. He’s the same man I’ve always seen: shattered, exhausted, shaped by injury and grief. The man who doesn’t believe he deserves a second happily ever after. But he’s also something else now.
Not quite mine, but I’m allowing myself to say he is, only for this moment.
Lifting higher onto my knees, I creep my hands along his thighs and begin to tug the robe open. He doesn’t stop me. He watches with fevered eyes, one turned in slightly, but still so fucking focused on the way I’m touching him.
I’m terrified something I say or do is going to break this spell and he’s going to banish me from this space, so I take my time drawing the tie on his robe open so I can see all of him.
And every inch is fucking gorgeous.
His dick is smaller than mine, and it’s fat, cut, and leaking at the head, so thick it dribbles down his shaft. I have to bite the inside of my cheek and curl my fingers into fists to keep from tasting or touching him there.
I know I have him spread out for me, but I need to be sure he wants this. I don’t think I can live with myself if I become one of his regrets.
Leo swallows thickly as I try to find the words I want to ask him. It clicks in the back of his throat. Then he exhales, and his breath trembles. “Am I…not what you expected?”
“No.” He stiffens before I can finish, so I quickly add, “You’re so much better. Tell me if you want me to stop. Tell me if I should?—”
“I want it. It’s been so long.” His words are simple, but his tone is shattered. “Please?”
I don’t want him to beg. Not this time. If the gods of the universe grant me another shot at this, maybe it’ll be different. Maybe I’ll tease a little and play a lot.
But not this time.
I have one singular focus tonight, and that’s making him feel good.
Steadying my hand as much as I’m able, I trail fingers up his thigh, then graze them over his balls. They’re hanging fat and heavy between his spread legs, and just for a moment, I wonder what the wrinkled skin on them would taste like.
Closing my eyes, I bow my head and then put my hand where I want to touch most. Where he wants it. He gasps loudly as I squeeze him in my fist, and then a broken moan rips from his throat as I begin to jerk him off.
“Uh,uh,” he says, the sound involuntary, “Uh, god, fuck.North.”
Christ, the way he says my name. My own dick is pressing hard against the zipper of my jeans, and the pressure of the too-tight fabric is torment. I spread my knees a little wider, making the pants more taut, and then I start rocking my hips.
I can’t help it. I need to feel some kind of friction as I do this. Pressing my forearm to the top of Leo’s thigh, I tilt my hips forward and dry hump the air as my arm moves faster. I stroke him harder, his dick getting just a little longer as it hardens completely.
“North, please,” he whispers again. He reaches out with trembling fingers, searching, and his hand lands on my shoulder before moving down over my arm. My ink mostly covers up the scars there, but the way his touch stutters tells me he can feel them.
For a moment, I feel a rush of terror, like he’s going to interrupt this to ask about that.
But he doesn’t. He grabs my hand instead, fingers linking with mine. The gesture is so intimate, so odd in this moment. I don’t know what the fuck to make of it.
