Oh.
Oh.
“Someone’s enjoying the show,” I murmur.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
His eyes flash. For a second, I think he might actually do it—close the distance between us and put his mouth on mine just to stop me from talking.
He doesn’t. But it’s a near thing. I can see the war playing out across his face.
I slip my hand beneath my waistband properly this time, wrapping my fingers around myself. The touch drags a real moan out of me. It’s unscripted, uncontrolled.
Leo’s breath catches.
I stroke myself slowly, letting my head fall back against the pillows. My pants are still on, just pushed down enough to give myself room to work, and somehow that feels dirtier than if I were completely naked. Like I couldn’t even wait long enough to undress properly.
“You should see yourself,” Leo says roughly.
I open my eyes to meet his gaze. It’s dark and hungry. “What do I look like?”
“Like…” He stops and swallows hard. His hands haven’t unclenched from the sheets. “Like you’re trying to kill me.”
“Is it working?”
“What do you think?”
I glance meaningfully at his lap. “I think you’re enjoying this more than you want to admit.”
“I think you’re enjoying this more than you want to admit,” he counters.
He’s not wrong.
I release myself and reach for the lube again. Leo watches, transfixed, as I coat my fingers more thoroughly this time.
“This is the part,” I say, shifting my hips, spreading my legs slightly, “where you might want to look away.”
“Not a chance.”
I figured.
I reach underneath the waistband and between my legs, past my cock, and press one slick finger against myself.
Leo stops breathing.
I push inside slowly, letting my eyes flutter closed at the familiar stretch. It’s good—it’s always good—but it’s better withLeo watching. Better with the sound of his ragged breathing filling the space between us.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
I open my eyes to find him staring. His face is flushed, his lips parted, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look almost black.
“Okay?” I ask breathlessly.
“No.” He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting its usual perfect neatness. “No, I’m not okay. You’re— This is?—”
“Too much?” I curl my finger inside myself and gasp. “I can stop if you want me to.”
