He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Are you sure you’re prepared to give what you’re offering?” he growls.
Oh my god, Leo’s low voice, his breath against my skin, is enough to make me go even harder. I’m throbbing now, andmy cock is actually painful, straining against my stomach, slick and neglected and making a fairly compelling argument for attention.
I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the game or who is winning.
All I want is Leo. Now.
“I’m sure,” I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down. “I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m— Leo, please?—”
His mouth mashes against mine. It’s all heat and teeth and hunger. It’s the kiss of someone who is done being patient.
At the same time, his hands tug the waistband of my pajamas, yanking them down with none of the finesse I’d expect from someone usually so controlled. I’ve never seen Leo impatient before. I like it.
But my hands are busy at the same time, running greedily over every inch of Leo that I can reach. His shoulders. His back. The hard planes of his chest through his T-shirt. It’s not enough. I need skin. I yank at the hem of his shirt, then give up and go straight for his waistband, shoving his pants down over his hips like I’m someone unwrapping a present they’ve been staring at for weeks.
His pants catch on his erection, and I have to reach in to free him, which makes Leo jerk and swear against my lips. Good. I want him as wrecked as I am.
He pauses to yank off his T-shirt, then he claims my mouth again. The feeling of his bare chest pressing against mine short-circuits something in my brain. He’s so warm. So solid. I arch against him, and he groans, one hand sliding into my hair to angle my head exactly where he wants it.
His hips rock forward, dragging his cock against mine, and the sound I make is not dignified. He does it again. And again. Each thrust pushes me farther into the mattress and closer to the edge of sanity.
Then suddenly his weight is gone, and I actually whimper. Out loud. I’d be mortified if I weren’t so desperate to get him back.
I feel dazzled, stunned, propping myself on one arm so I can watch Leo frantically rummage in his bag.
“What are you doing?” I sound drunk. Sex-drunk. Is that a thing? It’s a thing now.
“Condom,” he grunts as he turns back toward me, grasping a packet in his hand.
The lamplight catches the planes of his chest, the cut of his hips, the trail of dark hair leading to where he’s hard and leaking and clearly as desperate as I am.
Oh my god, it’s a magnificent sight. Possibly the best sight I’ve ever seen.
You can keep your Sistine Chapels and Taj Mahals as wonders of the world. I’ll take Leo Brennan naked ahead of any of those.
The hungry way his gaze rakes over my body makes me think he’s having similar thoughts about me. Which is flattering. And also extremely motivating.
I spread my legs wider and crook a finger at him. “Are you coming back, or do I need to start without you again?”
Leo crosses the distance in two strides.
He’s on me before I can take another breath, his mouth hot against my throat, my collarbone, the hollow beneath my ear. His hands are everywhere—my hips, my thighs, sliding beneath me to grip my ass and pull me flush against him.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters against my skin.
“But what a way to go, right?”
He laughs, actually laughs, and it vibrates through my chest. Then he’s kissing me again, deep and filthy, before he pulls back to fumble with the condom.
“Let me,” I manage, taking it from his shaking fingers.
I tear it open and reach down to roll it onto him. Leo’s breath stutters when I touch him, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Sensitive?” I ask innocently.
“Archie.” My name sounds like a warning and a prayer.
He pauses to look at me, his pupils blown out by lust. “What position is going to be easiest for your ankle?”
