“Jesus, Celeste,” Leo says on a gasp.
“Tell me.” I lean in to whisper in his ear, taking it up a notch by teasing my tongue around the shell and nipping at his earlobe while I stroke him just enough to drive him crazy. “Can you picture him with me, all those hard, tattooed muscles wrapped around me while he fucks me? Because I can picture him fucking you, and it’s so fucking hot. Instead of my fingers inside you, it’s him. Then I turn around and show you your favorite part of me . . .” I reach for the laptop, which still displays the black and white art shot of my ass spread and poised over Leo’s cock as he drives deep into my pussy. “This is all yours if you can take him. Do it for me, Leo.”
“That’s so unfair,” he growls, throwing me down on the bed and looming over me. His eyes flash but he doesn’t look angry. He looks hungry. Ravenous. He tears off my pajama bottoms and pushes my legs wide. I’ve been wet for ages, ever since we started our tour of the photos, and I ache for his touch, but at the same time, I’m a little afraid he’ll take it too far tonight.
He kneels between my legs, then leans forward and pushes my tank top up over my breasts and pinches both nipples hard.
“You like a little pain. That’s why I think you’ll like having my dick pounding into your ass.” He drops his hands to my inner thighs and spreads me open, slicking his fingers through the wetness until I squirm. He presses one thumb to my clit and rubs while he teases his other thumb against my opening. Then he grips me behind the knees and pushes my legs higher. My ass is on display, and he slides both thumbs lower, grazing parentheses around my rear opening. The pads of his thumbs slide up and down, closer and closer to the center, all the while I’m clenching hard. I have a protest on the tip of my tongue and am starting to squirm when he moves his thumbs away and returns them to my pussy and meets my eyes. “You promise you’ll follow through?”
He’s teasing my clit again, and I realize he’s turned the tables on me, teasing me to wear down my defenses. But I meant every word. “Yes,” I breathe, and it turns into a moan as he slides three fingers into me and starts pumping. When I’m at the verge, he moves above me, removing his fingers and sliding his cock in, stretching me so gloriously I can only moan and cling to him.
Our eyes lock, and he says, “Then I guess we have a deal, ángel.”
27
Leo
After Celeste’s proposal, I think I understand the concept of cognitive dissonance for the first time in my life.
For the next few days, I’m engaged in a kind of mental battle over the entire idea. I’m not gay. I’ve never even checked out other men beyond a mild appreciation for their ink or how cut they are from hitting the weights. It’s always been an ego thing—comparing their looks to mine. I do it with Mad Dog too, and have done it ever since the first day we met right after he opened his shop and I cruised in, cocky as fuck, scoping out the joint as if I were some expert on tattoos.
His complete nonreaction sobered me, and when he focused on my ink, identifying Toni’s work instantly, I knew he was the real deal. It took no time at all to start thinking of him as a friend and fellow connoisseur of ink. For the first few months, I kept a healthy level of paranoia around him, which is required where we live, but that faded fast the more he shared about his history and the easier it got to open up to him. Putting myself at his mercy on a regular basis required a certain level of trust, which he earned by always being straight with me.
I guess he really isn’t as straight as I always thought, though the idea that he might actually agree to Celeste’s kinky proposal doesn’t make it easier to approach him. It makes it infinitely harder.
I round the block for the third time in the Bentley on a rainy Saturday night a week after our photo shoot. I’m working up the courage to go in and talk to him, and for some ungodly reason my dick is hard. Half my brain keeps trying to rationalize it as looking forward to Celeste fulfilling her promise at the end of it all, but the other half whispers the insidious suggestion that I really must be jonesing to have Maddox fuck me.
It doesn’t make me gay. But would that be bad? I’m open-minded. Other than the night Maddox told me he was bi, I never even flinch around the mention of alternative sexualities. It was just a shock with him because it didn’t jive at all with my first impression of what kind of man he was.
It’s just sex. It’s just for fun, and I win a pretty sweet prize for going through with it.
But it isn’t just sex, that second half of my brain proclaims. I’ve never been able to carry on a purely physical relationship with any woman. If I’m not emotionally invested, I just can’t remain physically invested either. I love Celeste. I would literally do anything for her. She’s wormed her way into my head so deep I’m starting to wonder whether she somehow
