Sabrina
Before we reach the threshold, he lifts me, scooping me into his arms like I weigh nothing, his healing leg apparently forgotten, or maybe just overridden by a more powerful force.
I cling to him, burying my face in his neck, inhaling his scent. That intoxicating mix of ozone and fig leaf and his own natural Leo scent.
As we cross the threshold into his palatial master bedroom, it feels like stepping into a new world. A world where fairy tales, even fucked-up, complicated billionaire ones, can actually come true.
He sets me down in front of the massive bed. Our breaths clash as we urgently unravel each other. My sweater hits the carpet first, followed by his tailored shirt. As usual his exquisite chest takes my breath away, looking like marble carved by a fevered god, abs taut as bowstrings, shoulders broad enough to eclipse the sun. I trace the ridges eagerly, hungrily, my nails catching on the sweat-slicked valleys between them, and he growls.
His fingers make quick, possessive work of my jeans,peeling the denim from trembling thighs, while I fumble with his belt, the leather sliding free with a sinful hiss. His trousers drop, and there’s nothing left but the cling of his white boxers, straining against the hard lines of his hips and the stiff outline of his cock. I hook my thumbs into the waistband, savoring the tremor that ripples through him as I drag them down. His cock springs free.
Long. Thick. Vein bulging.
A bead of pre-cum gleams on the tip.
My mouth waters and it’s all I can do not to grab it and start sucking it right there.
God, his body is a living altar... every muscle defined, relentless, a Grecian statue flushed with heat and hunger.
His hands find the clasp of my bra, releasing it with a flick. The lace slithers away, and his gaze burns where it lands, branding my skin.
“You’re perfection,” he rumbles. “Sheer, utter perfection.”
His palm skims my ribcage, down to the lace clinging to my hips. One tug, and it’s gone, pooled around my ankles. I step out of them, and the air hums with electricity as we collide. Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.
The world dissolves into the slide of his lips, the crush of our bodies.
Holy mother, I missed this.
So much.
Missedhim.
Then he’s laying me back on the massive bed. The high-thread-count sheets feel cool against my bare skin. The city lights glitter outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a million distant stars creating a backdrop for our own private universe.
He stands over me for a moment, his gaze worshipful, a look that makes me feel… cherished. Even with the stretch marks and the post-baby softness I’m still so self-conscious about.
“Sabrina,” he whispers. He traces the line of my hip, his fingers sending shivers across my belly. “I missed you so much.”
And then he’s on the bed with me, his body covering mine, warm, solid, reassuring. He kisses me again, slow, deep, exploring. His cock presses against my thighs, and I moan.
His hands roam, mapping every curve, every inch of my skin, with a reverence that makes me tremble. He kisses my stretch marks, the faint, silvery lines on my belly, relics of Mia, of our shared history. He kisses them like they’re precious, like they’re part of what makes me… me.
And in that moment, all my insecurities, all my fears about not being good enough, about not measuring up to whatever women he might have had in his past… the Jen’s and Michelle’s of the world... they just… dissolve.
Leo pulls away for a moment, pinning me with those ridiculous green eyes. They’re so much softer tonight, less Wolf of Wall Street, more Labrador that lost its favorite chew toy for two weeks.
“Are we good?” he asks.
In answer, I kiss him hard enough to bruise.
His groan vibrates through my lips. His broad hands dive into my curls, holding me my head while his tongue sweeps in.
This is happening. Seriously happening.
He kisses down my neck, to the hollow of my throat, and further down my chest. Hismouth covers one nipple, his tongue flicking, and I arch so hard I nearly drown us both in cleavage.
He sucks, bites, licks.