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."
