“Pull your top up so I can see your tits.”
At this point, I don’t know what the point of my brain is. I do it without thinking or caring that the phone follows my movement.
“You like that? Tell me you like it.”
I nod, squirming. “Kiss me, Leo.”
For a second, I think he won’t. That one tortuous second feels like everything hangs in the balance and leaves a door open for all the doubts and fears to come barreling through—that this is a way to get back at me, and he’ll have it all on video.
Then that one second passes, and the door slams shut. There is nothing gentle about the way his lips meet mine. He doesn’t kiss me like I’m delicate. No, he kisses me like he wants his desperation to break me—that he’s happy to bleed from the shards because it means he’ll get a taste of me.
The air crackles and comes alive, brushing my exposed skin like a live wire. We swallow every one of each other’s breaths, moving our lips with unpracticed familiarity. It’s messy yet precise, fueled by intention and need. It’s everything to me.
I claw at his back as if it’s humanly possible to get him closer to me, but he pulls away, sitting back on his heels and slowing his thrusts. I have to blink a few times to gather my axis, and I really wish I did it sooner, so I could’ve witnessed Leo tugging his sweats down to free his dick.
I can tell the exact moment he wraps his hand around himself because the hiss he lets out is pure sin.
The light from his phone dusts the ceiling; it’s concealed behind a blanket so I still can’t see jack shit beyond the silhouette of Leo fisting his cock, and byGodis it frustrating.
Maybe it’s the lust playing tricks on me, but I could swear on my special edition collection that something glints along the underside of his shaft. I’d question it further if he didn’t start grunting and leaning over me, pulling the hockey stick all the way out.
My jaw drops when hot liquid spurts across my sex, mixing in with the lube and my wetness. His cum keeps dripping over my core, on my mound, and trickling down my thigh as he curses.
I’m fucking speechless, and holy fucking shit—Leo’s using his fingers to push his cum into me. I know Idefinitelyneed to book an appointment with that psychiatrist when my first thought is that maybe a baby isn’t such a bad idea.
My legs start shaking—they’d keep shaking if he didn’t stop. In a flash, I nearly scream bloody murder and fall right off the bed when the hockey stick slides in, hitting thatspotas it goes.
The light of his phone is back on me—Hell, we could have a live, in-person audience right now, and I don’t think I could give two shits because knowing he’s fucking his cum into me with his hockey stick is absolutely mind consuming.
I don’t get any warning before the climax hits, and life as I know it ceases to exist. I think I black out. Fuck, I think my body has a mini seizure because my lungs refuse to pull in air while the rest of me is trembling like I’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning.
I’ve never felt anything like it, and I doubt I will again. Even the fall from the high seems to take forever and leaves me a twitching, panting mess on the bed. I’m too consumed to register that I’m crying until the wet sheet sticks to my cheeks.
“So perfect,” Leo murmurs, showering my flesh with kisses: my neck, breasts, the inside of my wrists, thighs, hip bone.
I’m too wrung out to return the notion or relish in the sensations, but my heart swells until there’s no way to miss the tears streaming down my face. He captures one with his lips, making a sound of approval and pressing his forehead to mine.
“I’ll only be gone a few days.”
I whimper because my mind and body have resorted to their baser instincts; I don’t think I can string together a full sentence.
“It’s only three days, baby. I’ll come back to you, I promise.”
I sniffle. He must think it’s in response to him temporarily abandoning me for his career, because he scoops me up in his arms, tucking me beneath his head, and covers me with the blankets.
If I wasn’t seconds away from falling asleep, I’d fight him off to wash the sensory nightmare between my thighs, but as it stands, my brain is too quiet to cause a fuss.
“We’ll talk every day, okay?” Leo grabs my hand and kisses every knuckle and the tips of my fingers.
None of this feels real, and I hope to God I don’t wake up in the morning to find out it wasn’t.
“I expect you to be staying at my house while I’m away.”
That stirs me. “Leo . . .”
“I thought you might object. It’s fine. I took care of it.”
Alarm bells ring. “Took care of what?” He says nothing. “Leo, took care of what?”
