He thrusts up, and I lose my train of thought for a second.
Only a second.
“Rude,” I manage. “I was making a point.”
“Your point is noted.” He does it again, harder, and the smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
This is what it’s like with Leo. Every move met with a countermove. I set the pace, and he changes the angle. I try totake him apart, and he rearranges the pieces into something I don’t expect.
I grind down, slow and deliberate, and watch his composure fracture. His head tips back, exposing the line of his throat.
I lean forward and bite the tendon in his neck.
His hands fly to my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“Careful,” he says roughly.
“Where’s the fun in careful?”
He sits up without warning, one arm banding around my waist, and suddenly, we’re face to face, chest to chest, and the new angle drives him deeper.
“Oh—” I clutch at his shoulders. “That’s cheating.”
“It’s strategy.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Only if you’re losing.”
I am. I’m losing. Leo’s found a rhythm that makes my vision blur and his mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, anywhere he can reach. His hands are holding me exactly where he wants me, and I’m supposed to be in charge here, but I can’t remember why that mattered.
But if I’m going down, I’m taking him with me.
I clench around him deliberately. His breath punches out against my shoulder.
“Archie—”
“That’s my name.” I do it again. “Don’t wear it out.”
He retaliates. His hand wraps around my cock and strokes, matching his rhythm, and for a moment, we’re locked in a mutual arms race of sensation where neither of us can gain ground because we’re too busy trying to destroy each other.
“Come on,” I gasp. “Is that all you’ve got?”
His eyes narrow.
In one fluid motion, he lifts me off him and lays me on my back. Before I can protest, he’s repositioned my cast on the pillow, hooked my good leg over his shoulder, and driven back into me at an angle that makes me see entire constellations.
The efficiency is devastating, but it shouldn’t be sexy.
It is indecently sexy.
“Still talking?” he asks, breathless.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out except a sound that I will deny making under oath.
He drives into me, and my head tips back as my hand flies to his arm. I can feel the muscles working under his skin. His rhythm is hard, fast, relentless, and his hand is still on me, and I can’t?—
There’s too much happening at once, his fingers tightening around me, the weight of him driving me into the mattress, and I’m making sounds I can’t control, sounds that bounce off the walls of this room, and I don’t care, I don’t care?—
