With me.
And the apartment in Chicago that we’re going to move into at the end of the week now that he’s been officially traded.
Leo shakes his head as he settles into the empty seat beside me and pulls me to his side. It’s an immediate response to lean into him and nuzzle my cheek against his shoulder.
“I don’t care if strangers will be there. Not even a bottle of absinthe will get me through half a day of the Jack show.”
I nod in understanding. The threat of getting caught will never be completely gone, but I get where he’s coming from. He’s been forcing himself into uncomfortable situations for too long, and he doesn’t want to do it anymore.
“How long until you need to go?” I wrap my arms around him and glance up at him through my lashes.
There’s a pause before he answers. “Three more hours.”
Before I can get another word out, I’m hauled over his shoulder with a sharp, swift smack to my ass.
“Leo!” I screech, trying to find my balance by pushing myself away from his back. “What are you doing? Put me down.”
He crosses the living room, passes the kitchen, and carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing. “Killing time.”
Huh?
Oh.
I understand his intention loud and clear when his hand slides up the back of my thigh, and his fingers find home at my center, rubbing me through my leggings. I squeal, kicking my legs against his chest because I’m far from mentally prepared for that type of contact.
He unceremoniously throws me onto the bed, and a smile splits across my face as I scramble back, making him grin down at me as a predatory glint lights up his eyes. The lack of physical contact gives my mind a second to come to terms with the amount of skin-on-skin that’s about to happen.
Leo stops, standing too far away for my liking. “Are you sore?” His voice dips with concern.
I shake my head once as the guilt rises up my chest.
“Mina—”
“I’m not. I promise.”
He studies me for a moment, and I repeat my promise. The last thing I want is to start crying mid-sex again.
The mattress dips as he crawls toward me and grips my ankle to draw me closer. I explode into a fit of giggles. He gropes my flesh as he continues up my body until he’s hovering over me, and I playfully try to fight him off.
Moisture pools between my legs when his hard length presses against my sex, and my back arches to feel his chest brush against my nipples.
“Don’t you want to help me get a pump on before my photoshoot?” He yanks my leggings down my legs with surprising ease. “Remember how good you are at working out?” He winks, teasing me about my lame excuse when he called mid–towel ride.
I still. My face flames as I realize he would’ve witnessed the whole thing whether or not I accepted his video request. “What else did you see?”
Mischief dances in his eyes. “Baby, you don’t want to know.”
That’s mildly alarming. I filter through my memory, trying to remember all the weird shit I’ve done in my room, which isa lot. Bad outfits, strange meals, odd poses because I can’t sit still, and don’t even get me started on the countless times I’ve masturbated.
The only feeling I can muster is embarrassment.
Not to mention, there’s video evidence of the one time I saw him without clothes, and I had to go ahead and screw it up.
“I guess that makes up for ruining our first time.” My response doesn’t dampen the mood like I thought it would.
He stills, a coy smile playing along his lips. “That wasn’t our first time.”
What did he just say?
