At least, I think it did. I’m frozen in uncertainty until he gives me a long, languid kiss, his chest vibrating with a contented hum. He pulls away with a lazy smile and flexes his ass around my finger again and I realize it’s still inside him. I pull it out quickly, my face going molten. He grins.
“That was . . . unexpected.” He falls to the side with a happy, sated sigh, and pulls me close. I’m still too mortified for words.
Finally, I clear my throat. “You’re a kinky bastard, Leo Reyes.”
Leo barks out a laugh that turns into an amused rumble as he turns to me and hooks his leg over mine. “It takes one to know one, ángel.”
I tangle my legs with his, enjoying the warm friction of the way our bodies slide together. He rests his cheek on his upper arm and gazes at me in that way he has that makes me feel like I’m the center of his universe. My insides warm, but the contentment doesn’t untangle the knots of resistance.
“Have you always been this . . . adventurous?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer. We don’t talk about our sexual pasts, mostly because I didn’t really have one before him. He still doesn’t know about the few experiences I’ve had, but he knows every adventurous thing we’ve tried were firsts for me, and he loves that he’s the one who gets to share them with me.
He clears his throat, and his expression darkens. I know I’ve hit a nerve, but I’m not sure why.
“Honestly? No.” He swallows. The introspective look in his eyes is tinged with pain—the way he gets when I know he’s touching recent hurts and is bracing himself for raw honesty.
I love this about him—that he works so hard to bare his secrets even though it isn’t easy. I remain silent and still, as if even a twitch will frighten him back into the dark cave he hid inside for the first few weeks after his brother’s death.
It was during those weeks that we tried the kinkiest things. He bit me a little too hard one night, and I loved it so much I asked him to do it again. Later, he confessed that doing it had made him hotter than he’d ever been, so I tested my limits on other occasions, discovering I liked a little pain mixed with the pleasure. The more I invited, the more he opened up, and the hotter we were when we made love.
This intimacy is more than I could have imagined I’d have, and I’m tempted to tell him he doesn’t have to tell me whatever he’s about to say when he begins to speak.
“It’s like there’s a monster inside me, Celeste.” He looks into my eyes, his expression tinged with pain and fear. He isn’t finished speaking, so I just tilt closer and comb my fingers into the hair at his temple and stroke while he continues. “Ever since Manny was shot, I have this rage that builds and builds every day. Seeing him die, asking myself why . . . why wasn’t it me? Or, why didn’t I get to pull the trigger that put the bullet into Gustavo? I shouldn’t channel it into our bed, but I’m afraid if I put it somewhere else, I’ll self-destruct.”
“I disagree.” I scoot closer until our noses nearly touch. “I love what we do. I love that being with me calms you. I wish I could do more. Besides letting you screw my ass, anyway.”
He snorts and wags his eyebrows. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Clearing my throat, I tilt my head and tease a finger over the dark ink that covers his shoulder, marred now by the pink flare of his bullet scar. “Was that the first time you’ve had someone touch you there?” I ask, keeping my eyes averted from his.
“I was no virgin when you jumped me in Maddox’s bed, but yeah, that’s a new one for me. I’m guessing you were hoping I’d hate it, but your plan backfired.” He smirks at me.
I roll my eyes at his joke, but he sobers.
“Celeste, it’s all right if you don’t want to. I do believe you’re missing out, and I love making you feel good. Not to mention your ass drives me wild. But I’ll drop it.”
I exhale a long breath. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you if you want. Is there anything else I can do? Try me.” I peer up at him, positive he has other ideas—he seems full of them—and wanting to make amends in some way. Most of the things he suggests are well within my comfort zone.
His eyes grow distant, and my anticipation ramps up because he definitely has an idea, and it must be a doozy. After a second, he clears his throat and gives me a tentative look. “You might think it’s crazy, but I want a tattoo of you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You mean of my name? Yeah, it’s crazy but also romantic.” I grin, but he shakes his head.
“Not your name. Your face. Your face at a very specific moment in time. Not that we could recreate the moment without a time machine, but the image is plastered on my brain. The first time we fucked, I will always remember how you looked when you came. I want your O face, ángel.”
I’m sure I heard him wrong because I stare at him for several seconds, uncomprehending. Then I think about how he looks when he comes, and my brows draw down.
Leo laughs. “See, you do think it’s crazy.”
“No!” I insist. “I’m just trying to understand—why? What do I even look like? Ugh!” I cover my face with my hands, positive what he’s asking is for some screwed-up version of my face to be plastered somewhere on his body.
“You’re fucking gorgeous when you come. Trust me.” His tone is gentle
