Page 57 of The Gentleman

Leo kicked off his shoes with violent impatience. When he reached for her again, his hands shook.

She was here.

Finally his. And he wasn’t letting her go.

26

Heat blasted Kat’s skin.Steam rose thick and fast, curling between them like smoke from a fire long overdue. The night faded. The risks. All the lies.

For the first time in years, she let herself stop calculating. No exit strategy. No contingency plan. Just Leonid.

Leo stood inches away, chest bare, his dress pants soaked and clinging low on his hips. Water streaked in rivulets down his torso, carving through silvered scars like rivers through a battlefield.

This moment had been waiting too long. For both of them.

When he reached for her, she stepped into him, her body finding his like it had always known the way.

Her palms slid over his ribs and abdomen, learning him by touch—taut muscle, marred skin. She paused at a jagged line above his hip, her fingertips resting there.

He shuddered—an involuntary reaction, pulled from some place deeper than desire—then kissed her like he needed to silence a scream. She opened to him without hesitation—greedy for the taste, the truth and heat of him.

He gripped her waist, pulled her flush against him. His body was hard, hot, restrained only by fabric. Her breath caught, a pulse tightening deep in her belly.

She needed more—his weight, his breath, the fierce way he anchored her to the present. Every inch of her hungered for him, for the part of herself she’d always held back.

She’d built her life on silence and control—walls that had protected her for years. But those walls had become a cage.

Here, in the heat and steam and reckless closeness of him—she didn’t want distance.

She wantedhim.

Calloused hands stroked down her body, and she bowed into his touch. He cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple, and a low moan tumbled from her lips. His hand moved to her arm and found the bruise.

Dark, already blooming. Faint fingerprints where Korolov’s man had grabbed her.

His touch gentled. A barely there stroke over the mark. A growl vibrated through his chest.

The bruise wasn’t deep. She’d had far worse. She hadn’t even flinched when it happened or registered the pain in the moment. But now, with Leo’s gaze pinned to her skin, she felt the echo of it. What it had cost her to walk into that club. What she’d risked—for the truth. With Leonid.

Something flickered in his eyes. It wasn’t protectiveness, guilt or rage, but older and deeper.

She covered his hand with hers. “It’s nothing.”

His gazesnapped to hers, sharp.Like he wanted to take it all—the bruise, the past, the ache—and burn it out of existence.

He walked her backward until her spine hit cold tile.

Dropping to his knees, he hooked his thumbs into her waistband and looked up.

That look leveled her—not with desire, but recognition.

He shoved her underwear down and buried his mouth between her thighs.

Heat. Tongue. Pressure.Fuck.

Her head rapped back, and she groaned, the rhythm of her breathing destroyed.

Her eyes fluttered closed, the trust implicit in that simple act stealing her breath. She’d trained herself to never look away during intimacy. But with Leo she was safe enough to let go.

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