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“There’s not much to tell, he’s just a really nice person. You know?” he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and that childish action makes my heart melt for him. “He’s too nice, always looking out for others and going out on a limb. He’s always been like that, whereas I’m competitive and not really sociable, he’s the complete opposite to me. He’s all Mum and I’m all…”
“You’re not your father.” Whispering into his ear, I stroke his arm before kissing his cheek and then the little scar he has over his brow. “What’s this scar?”
He smiles, and sheepish looks so fucking gorgeous on him that my chest swells.
“Oh, you have to tell me now.”
“That was an unfortunate encounter with a swing and some dubious climbing skills.” He’s laughing, and I can’t help but chuckle along with him.
I’m trying to think if I’ve ever heard him laugh, and sadly, I don’t think I have, not like this anyway. It’s such a beautiful masculine sound. It makes his already handsome face even more dazzling and Jesus, I want to bury him deep inside me again. Sore or not.
“What happened?”
“We were at our nan’s house and she has this incredible garden with this really old weeping willow. It’s been there so long that it’s like an heirloom. One summer my grandad decided to put up a swing for Kit and I. I think I was about six and Kit was twelve, he was really tall, and climbing was so natural to him. I swear he was a cat in another life…” his breaths falter and when I search his face, his eyes are glassed over and so green that they look like the waters of a deep, mossy lake in the summer sun. “He used the swing to get up into the tree and when I tried to follow, I fell face first to the ground earning myself a knock to the head from the old wooden plank seat.”
My chest warms at the way he fondly retells the story. It makes me wonder how he’ll retell our stories, and that thought makes me giddy. I want to have all the stories with him—good, bad, ugly and perfect. I want them all with this incredible, mercurial man.
Rising up onto my knees, I shuffle forward until the tip of his penis is nudging at my entrance. I lower myself down a fraction and his hands are holding me still, stopping me from taking him completely.
“Cass…” His muffled voice is so gritty that it makes my insides twist with raw need. A need so consuming that if I don’t have him, I might go insane.
Turning my face to find his lips, I beg softly, “Please.”
For a moment I think Leo might deny me, but then he lowers me gently the rest of the way down. Filling me so torturously slowly that my breath pushes out of me in a long languid moan, echoing into his gaping mouth.
With him fully seated inside me, the fresh ache seeps from my core to my extremities, until I’m deliriously drunk on the blissful heat building within me.
Leo’s so fucking beautiful with his wildfire
eyes wide and jaw clenching with abating control as he holds my body still over his. And holding his lips pressed to mine, I relish in our hastening breaths with the frantic need between us blazing.
Licking into my mouth, he pushes me down, so flush to him that pain bursts inside my belly. It awakens every single one of my nerves, making my pores sting at the same time as goose bumps cover my body.
Oh God, I don’t know how much more I can take, but I want it all. I want everything he can give me, and somehow, I can’t see it ever being enough. This hunger inside me is as hot and volatile as him. It knows no boundaries or limits.
Our heaving chests rub, my turgid nipples on his hard chest. I love the way the friction burns my skin. I love the way it pushes down my body and throbs deep in my core.
“My beautiful little flower…” Kissing each of my lips in turn he murmurs the words like a prayer. A poem that echoes in my ears and wraps itself around every last part of me.
I am his. His flower, his buttercup, his girl…whatever he wants me to be. I will be anything he needs me to be, so long as I am Leo’s, I just don’t care.
Swallowing every one of my moans, he pushes up into me and all I can do is wrap my arms around his shoulders as he pulls out slightly and flexes up again.
His thick, hard dick stretches me over and again, and I am incapable of doing anything other than breathing and holding on.
“Leo.” I repeat as he fucks me slow and deep, my hands grappling at his back with my nails clawing for purchase on his slippery skin.
“Fuck, Cassie, your cunt is so tight it feels like I’m ripping you apart.”
I like that. I like the thought of being so full of him that I’m tearing at the seams. And Jesus, I want more. More pain, more pleasure. More of Leo. Deeper, harder, faster, more.
“Harder.” Begging as he fills me again, my tongue laves at that soft spot on his neck that always tastes of him and his scent. The one that I marked on the night he saved me.
The rumble of his groan as he wraps his arms under mine and pulls me down brusquely, has my toes curling. I’m so full of him that I dread the moment he empties me and takes this delicious ache with him.
I don’t want to be empty.
Stuttering in my chest my heart trips over itself, and when his eyes flutter open, meeting mine, I want him to ruin me. I want to feel him inside me, even when he’s gone.
