I TAKE MY time cleaning myself up in the bathroom, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I have no interest at all in seeing what I look like after a round of sex with Leo. No doubt, the skin on my cheeks and down my chest is flushed, my hair is wild, and my eyes are bright. That’s what he does to me. Every time. He doesn’t just fill me, he owns me. He doesn’t just satisfy me, he possesses me. Even when I should tell him no—I beg him for more, longing for the ecstatic high that I’ve only ever experienced with him.
When I’m somewhat refreshed, my hand on the door handle, my heart and soul dying to be in the next room with him, my mind makes me pause. All day, I’ve been wondering what to expect once I got here. For hours, I’ve relived the short exchange we had this morning, wishing to know what sort of explanation could justify his actions as of late. Now, I doubt that any explanation will be good enough. After what just happened, I’m more confused than ever as to what I mean to him.
I press my forehead against the door, closing my eyes as I draw in a deep breath. As muddled as my mind is, my heart is sure—sure that what I feel for him is real, regardless of what he might feel for me. I know that I’ve missed him, even as I was trying to move on from him. Furthermore, I won’t even feign to pretend that seeing him this morning, then again when he opened the front door this afternoon, it’s left me happier than I’ve felt since the moment he walked into that hotel room back in Nashville. And while it’s true that that same happiness has been coupled with the pain of the strife that currently exists between us—even my sadness exists to bear witness to precisely how much he means to me.
Certain that not a damn thing will ever be resolved so long as I stand hiding behind a closed door, I venture out in search of him. As I travel down the hallway, I’m fully cognizant of the fact that on any other day, I’d be wholly aware and extremely in awe of the fact that I’m not just in any ridiculously spectacular house—I’m in Britton Cortnie’s ridiculously spectacular house, which only amplifies the cool factor. However, today, celebrity owned or not, the house is barely on my radar.
When I peek my head into the kitchen, I find Leo leaning against his palms on the edge of the kitchen island, his chin tucked to his chest. He looks up at me as I take a step into the room. While the irritation I saw in his eyes a few minutes ago is still evident, I can see he’s managed to tamp it down a bit.
“I’m angry.”
Perhaps I spoke too soon…
“All the time,” he goes on to say.
Suddenly realizing that this is the beginning of his explanation, I force my feet to carry me further into the room. He watches me as I slide up on one of the island stools, sitting across from him, and then he continues.
“It is a constant state of being. Understand?”
Not quite sure how this could be possible, I shake my head at him, silently asking for more.
“I wasn’t raised by good people. My mother is weak, and my father—he is less than a man. He is a leech. He sucks the life out of everything—out of everyone. Everything he touches turns to ash. These are my roots. They are where I come from. I am no better. I am not good. I do not deserve anymore than they do.”
“I don’t believe that,” I murmur, frowning at him in disagreement. “Leo, you’re not any of those things.”
“I’m not—I’m not because I won’t allow myself to be. I don’t form attachments. I don’t enter into relationships. I don’t allow myself to care. The last time I did, I learned the hard way that I am just as careless and selfish as them. I don’t deserve the privilege of attachments.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words, but continuously coming up short. Finally, I tell him, “Leo, you’re not making any sense. You’re not careless, you’re vigilant. You protect people for a living, Lee. And Ashley? He’s your friend. You said so yourself. And—”
“I protect because it is my penance. It is my duty. It is my responsibility. I protect because I’ve seen what happens to those who aren’t looked after—those who need looking after. Ashley—he is an exception; a byproduct of years of service; a grace bestowed upon me. And you—fuck—you are a dangerous mistake.”
I don’t understand what he means, but the tortured look in his eyes breaks my heart. Whatever it is that he believes about himself, it’s pulling him apart. I can see it in the way he looks at me—like he wants to be here with me, but also leave me again. Frightened that he’ll do the latter, I stand from the stool and make my way toward him. He doesn’t look at me when I run my hand down his back, but I don’t let that stop me. Taking advantage of my little frame, I duck underneath his arm, forcing my way into the small space between the island and his body. Still standing his ground, he looks down at me as I stare up at him, my body pressed tightly against his.
Hesitantly, I circle my arms around his waist and confess, “I’m trying to understand. I am. But I don’t.”
Lowering his head until his forehead presses against mine, he mutters, “Everyday, I’m reminded of what they took from me—I’m reminded of what I wasn’t equipped to fight for. Everyday—I’m angry. At them. At myself. You don’t deserve that.”
Pressing up on my tiptoes, I slide my hands up his back, holding onto him tighter as I whisper, “Lee, I don’t know what haunts you—but whatever it is, you don’t deserve this either.”
“I do.”
“No. No one does. You can’t let your past rob you of your future. You can’t let other people’s shortcomings define who you are. As for me—you know how I feel. It’s not up to you to tell me what it is that I deserve. I want you, Lee…and I think you want me, too.”
He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, and I study him. His hands are still holding onto the counter behind me, and I can sense his fight in a way I’ve never sensed it before. I want to know what he’s thinking; what it is that he’s feeling; what it is that has such a tight grip around his heart that he won’t allow himself to just be—but instinct instructs me to keep my mouth shut. He’s giving me more now than he ever has. He has his limits. This I know all too well. The last thing I want to do is push him, so I don’t. Rather, I take all that he’s seen fit to give, and I wait. I watch.
“I let you get too close,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper. “You were more—more than I expected. Fuck, you were better.” He leans into me, and I curl my fingers around his shirt, arching my back around the surface behind me. “You got under my skin, baby, and I got too close.”
His eyes still closed, his forehead still pressed against mine, he mutters, “I walked away because that’s what I do.” He slams his fist against the counter top, and I jump. He doesn’t seem to notice as he growls, “Goddammit.”
“Lee,” I whisper, sliding a hand to his chest. I rest my palm over his heart, willing him to open his eyes and look at me. His pulse is racing, and I want so desperately to comfort him.
“They poisoned me—they made me this way. And the fucked up part is, a better man would have let it all go. A better man wouldn’t let anyone chose his fate. A fucking stronger man would rise above.”
“Lee—Lee, look at me,” I plead.
When he finally opens his eyes, giving me his piercing blue-green gaze, it takes everything in me not to flinch. The ire the swirls around in his stare is frightening. Even still, he doesn’t scare me—only the demons he battles within him.
“I am not that man,” he tells me. “I’m not better. I’m not stronger. I’m fucked up.” He pauses, staring at me intently for a moment before he whispers, “I walked away, and my rage was all I had left. I have no one to blame but myself—I know that—but I know no other way. Fourteen goddamn years, Jill—I’ve known no other way. But you,” he shakes his head at me, the look in his eyes softening a little. “I can’t escape you.”
It’s certainly not the apology I was expecting, but as I stand pressed against him—his huge frame dwarfing my little one—I’m sure that I’ve never experienced a moment as raw and sincere as this one with any other person before. In spite of all that still remains unsaid, I feel more drawn to him than ever. This is who we are together. Nothing is stoic or charmingly romantic. It’s rough, and raw, and real—it’s vulnerability unlike any I’ve ever known, and it’s all that I want. More than whispered sweet nothings, more than light, tender promises, I want this.
With both of my hands, I reach up and hold the back of his neck, gently beckoning him closer. When he resists, I use him as the leverage I need to lift up onto the very tip of my tiptoes, tilting my head back in offering as I murmur, “Kiss me. Kiss me, Lee—I’m yours.”
Regardless of my plea, it shocks me when he crashes his lips against mine. The sensation only lasts but a second, and then he consumes me completely. He grips my waist tightly and lifts me up onto the island, making room for himself between my thighs. I hook my legs around him, clinging to him as he leans into me. He’s not gentle, his hold around me so firm that I’m sure he’ll leave bruises. I don’t even care, too overwhelmed by the way it makes me feel—like he’s finally staking his claim over me—like he’s not going to let me go anywhere.
I can feel myself growing wet again as our tongues twist together in unrefined urgency. He nips at my lips, and I moan before tugging his between my teeth. When I let him go, he captures my mouth once more in a bruising kiss before he abandons my lips altogether. He tilts his head, sweeping my hair out of his way so that he can suck on my neck. He grazes his teeth across my flesh, and a shiver races down my spine. Now, although he was inside of me less than an hour ago, I feel wrecked with desire for him.
He bites the skin between my neck and my shoulder, and I sigh contentedly as I claw at his shirt, needing him to be rid of it. Following my lead, he pulls away from me as he reaches behind his head, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt and yanking it off of him. I don’t even attempt to stifle my whimper at the sight of his magnificent bare chest. Before his shirt hits the floor, my lips are pressed against one of his nipples. I lick the small, hardened flesh and then catch it between my teeth. He grunts as I bite and suck simultaneously, letting him go only to show the same affection to the other side. He indulges me, allowing me to kiss and nibble on him until he can’t stand it any longer.
I know I’m finished when he fists a handful of my hair and pulls me off of him. Except, he doesn’t kiss me, like I expect. When I hear a loud rip, I gasp, staring at him wide-eyed as my shirt falls in pieces onto the counter. He doesn’t even acknowledge my shock, too busy working to unhook my bra. Before I can voice any sort of protest, his mouth is on me, and I forget that I was ever wearing a shirt at all.
By the time he’s done with my breasts, I’m on my back, panting unashamedly for him. I’m so wet, I feel uncomfortable in my panties. When he finally rids me of the rest of my clothing, leaving me completely naked on the kitchen counter, I’m so turned on—burning from the inside out—I don’t care one bit that I’m now dripping my arousal all over a surface that’s meant for food.
That in mind, when Leo cups his hands behind my knees, pressing them up against my chest and spreading them wide, I can’t help but giggle as he puts his mouth on me—licking and sucking me like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. My amusement lasts but a moment, then he thrusts his tongue inside of me. Instantly, I’m lost in the glorious way he touches me. He works fast, bringing me to the edge of bliss before he moves to suck my clit between his lips. He sucks me greedily, and I bury my fingers in his hair, squirming beneath him as I feel my orgasm start to bloom. When he bites down on me, I cry out loudly, pure ecstasy racing throughout my entire body as it pumps through my veins.
I barely have a chance to recover before he pulls me toward him and flips me onto my stomach, leaving me bent at the waist, my legs dangling down to the floor. My toes barely graze the ground’s surface, and I prop myself up on my forearms as I look back at him from over my shoulder. Unlike before, he takes the time to strip down completely, and I appreciate the sight.
Once he’s naked, I watch as he strokes himself, his focus directed on my ass. I feel a blush warm my cheeks, my whole body yearning for him to put his hands on me. As if he can read my mind, he looks away from my backside and into my eyes, smirking at me as he shakes his head. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth in an attempt to hide my disappointment. Though, my disappointment is soon forgotten when he takes hold of my hips and finds my slick entrance with the tip of his cock.
“Brace yourself, baby,” he growls.
I don’t know what I could possibly brace myself with, folded across a smooth, empty surface, but I spread my fingers wide and close my eyes, anxiously waiting for the moment of impact. It comes a second later, and as he pummels in and out of me, I free a long groan. He feels amazing—his warm, solid length gliding in and out of me with ease. I’ve never had sex without a condom before, and I won’t deny how much I love it.
When his hand comes down hard on my ass, it takes me by surprise. My fingers curl in a failed attempt to grip hold of something, and I arch my back as I mewl in delight. He slaps me again, on the opposite cheek, and my swollen clit pulses, my core fluttering around him. I know that if he landed just one more blow, I’d come.
When he does no such thing—I’m sure he knows it, too.
He grunts, pumping his hips faster, and I grow short of breath, my skin now slick with a thin layer of sweat. As much as I want to come, I like this, too. I’ve missed this—all that he is capable of giving me. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we were last together, but I thought our separation would be forever. Now that he’s inside of me again, I won’t whine at him for withholding my orgasm from me. Instead, I’ll relish his endurance and enjoy the ride.
The sweat from his chest drips onto my back as he leans over me. I turn my head, thinking maybe I could steal a kiss; but then he forces his arm between me and the counter, holding me just below my pelvis. On his next thrust, I gasp loudly, the pressure of my weight bearing down on his arm causing me to bend just enough for him to hit my—
“Oh—shit!” I moan, dropping my head until my forehead touches the cool surface beneath me.
He pinpoints the spot again and again, and I can barely breathe, my mind too consumed to concentrate on anything but the sensational feeling he’s giving me. I whimper when he uses his free hand to tug on my hair, causing me to arch back a little. He holds my thick strands tightly, and the sting on my scalp in conjunction with his dick—it’s too much. It’s too much, and yet it feels so unbelievably good!
“Lee—oh, god—Lee! I can’t—I—”
It hits me before I can speak another word, my orgasm so overwhelming, I feel out of control. When Leo bellows from behind me, I know that I’m out of control. He pulls out abruptly, and I can feel it as my arousal gushes from my core, spilling onto my legs. Even after it stops, I still ride the wave of my bliss. I’m so distracted by it, I don’t realize that Leo hasn’t come yet. It isn’t until he sinks back inside of me that it registers.
Still hyper sensitive, he barely gets started before I’m coming again—forcing his dick out as I spill more of my release. He whispers a curse, and I sob when he thrusts into me again. This time, as he rams in and out of me with abandon, my sensitivity brings about a rush of pain with every unrelenting stroke. My body, exhausted from the last three orgasms he’s just given me, is almost completely limp in his hold. Nevertheless, spurred on by the pleasure and the pain, he manages to build me up all over again.
I sense that he’s getting close when he lets go of my hair. With a growl, he yanks my body away from the counter, gripping me tightly around my hips. Using his other arm, he pulls my back against his chest, holding me under my breasts. Both of us slightly bent, he forces me onto his cock at the same time that he drives it into me. It hurts so good, I come again—this time, my walls clamping down around him, drawing out his climax. He groans, his arms locking around me even tighter, and I’m completely and utterly spent.
Thankfully, as he slips out of me, both of us working to catch our breath, he doesn’t let me go. After a short reprieve, he repositions me, cradling me against his chest, and I circle my arms around his shoulders. Neither of us speaks a word when our gazes lock, as if all that our bodies have just experienced is all the conversation this moment calls for. When he starts to carry me out of the kitchen, I look at him in silent question before glancing back over his shoulder. Now that I’m not lost in the throes of passion, I cringe at the thought of how much disinfectant I’m going to need to buy in order to clean that kitchen.
Burying my face in Leo’s neck, I mumble, “I’m officially the worst house guest ever.”
Chuckling, he replies, “I’m here for a week, baby. We’re just getting started.”
I pop my head up, surprised to hear that he’ll be in town for so long. I then have a fleeting thought that the polite thing to do would be to pack up his things and bring him back to my apartment—and when I mean polite, I’m referring to Britton’s housekeepers—but I stow away that thought for later.
“A week?” I whisper, cognizant of the fact that I’ve never had him to myself for so long.
He dips his chin in a curt nod, and I smile, holding him tighter.
Whatever’s going on between us may still feel complicated and undefined, but I know what just happened in the kitchen was a huge step forward. Knowing he’ll be here for the week, it fills me with so much hope and anticipation, I feel downright giddy.
He’s here—with me—for the next seven days.
My Lee is here.