I don’t let myself overthink it. I wrap my hands behind his neck and pull him down, meeting him with my lips halfway.
There’s no hesitation or awkward fumbling. Leo kisses me like out of everything in this world, every lifetime, this is what we were made to do. He tastes of dinner and every depraved thing we’ve done for each other.
My core tightens around the toy from his demanding touches, soaking my panties, but the dull ache remains that starts in the center of my core and radiates outward like a shock of electricity.
My muscles tense at the pain and what it signals, but I ignore it. The sensation dampens my desire but doesn’t quash my need for him.
He grasps my hips and gropes my ass as he eases me onto the bed. Having his imposing frame hovering over me ratchets up the believability. I almost convince myself this isn’t a dream. I feel his weight dipping the bed, the heat emanating from his body, every heated breath that passes through my lips.
When he reaches down to pull my panties off, my body complies without my brain’s input, raising my hips and lifting my legs so he can throw the flimsy fabric somewhere.
Nerves race through me as I dare to find the buckle of his pants and give his belt a single tug to make my intentions clear. He doesn’t stop me. For some reason, that rockets my anxiety because what if I’m not good enough for him?
I have some experience in bed, but not much past the basics. And my health issues have posed a problem in previous relationships. I don’t want to disappoint him or have him think I’m lacking because of it as well.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I kiss him harder, so he doesn’t notice the tremble in my hand as I cup his cock through the layers of fabric. The moment I make contact, he hisses, pushing himself into my grip.
My mind is too detached from my body to do anything but remain still. I knew he’d be big—I’ve seen this man in a great many pairs of sweatpants to be comfortable with that knowledge. That’s not what has made me short-circuit.
There’s something there.
On his cock, or by his cock, I don’t know. Something... hard.Solid.Something that’s definitely machine-made.
I curl my fingers around his shaft, grinding my palm against him through the fabric, and it’s there. There’s no mistaking it. I’d bet money on it, because it sure as hell isn’t the zipper that I’m feeling.
Curiosity overtakes my anxiety. Leo chuckles against my lips at my frantic attempt at unbuckling his belt. It takes two tries to undo it, and far longer than I’d like to unbutton his pants. He makes no move to help me; instead, he cups the nape of my skull and pulls my bottom lip between his teeth.
My core flutters, and that just makes me more desperate to get him out of his clothes.
Leo puts me out of my misery—or into it, depending on how I look at it—by leaning back, taking his kisses with him. His pants come off first, and I hold my breath when he hitches his briefs lower to pull out his cock, then shucks them off and to the side.
He kneels between my legs in all his glory, fisting his length as he stares down at me, a smug grin in place as he watches me gawk at him.
A Jacob’s Ladder.
At least six barbells are spaced along the underside of his shaft.
Leo fucking Duval has a pierced cock.
How that’s allowed for an NHL player, I don’t know, and, frankly, I don’t care. All I’m concerned about is how that’s going to feel inside me.
He closes the distance again, muttering against my ear in amusement, “Don’t be shy, baby. It’ll feel so good.”
His words are paired with a drag of his length along my sex. Each piercing rubs my clit unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
I can’t decide whether I’m excited or fucking frightened. He’s big. Everywhere. Length, girth, and he’s addingpiercingsto the mix.
RIP to my vagina.
He grinds his cock along my pussy again, bumping the toy as he goes—by God, he might not be in me yet, but he sure as shit isn’t wrong. I might come just from this.
“I got it for you.”
I blink in shock. Excuse me, what?
“When you first messaged during the off-season,” he says, as if that’s a sufficient explanation. At my silence, he elaborates. “I read your book.”
The color drains from my face at the same time my skin heats. He’s read my books? He... Oh... I swallow.
