Page 8 of The Ruckup
Leo lifts one hand, bringing a single finger to trace the line of my jaw. “No one said you were getting naked either.” Heat flares in the depths of his blue eyes. “I’m sure I can get my tongue around anything that tries to get in my way.”
“Oh.” I start to tip backward, head going fuzzy and knees going weak at what he’s implying. What he’s offering.
Leo moves so fast, I don’t have time to register the shift of his powerful form before one wide, warm palm stretches across my lower back, keeping me upright. His chest presses against mine, the pressure sending my feet backward until the backs of my legs hit a bed I’d been too focused on Leo to notice. The momentum of my upper half continues, taking my ass right down to the mattress.
Leo leans forward, one hand pressing into the blankets beside me as his lips brush my ear. “What do you think, Miss Miller? You feel like watching me spend a little time on my knees for you?”
I think I might have stroked out, because no way is Leo ‘The Lion’ Casselini offering to go down on me. In my experience, that’s just not something men enjoy doing. Especially if it’s not going to get them what they really want—their dick being wet.
“You want to do that?” I can’t get the words much louder than a whisper. Between the combination of shock and arousal slamming into me, I can’t believe I’m even upright.
“I’d fuckingloveto do that.” Leo’s gaze darkens as it pins me in place. “But only if you want it too.”
After spending years in a relationship where my wants, needs, and desires didn’t matter, Leo’s statement is a shock to my system. In a good way. A reminder of how much I sacrificed and how much I pretended was acceptable.
How much I gave up and how much was taken from me.
So I decide to grab a little of it back.
Nodding, I whisper. “I want that.”
Even though Leo sounds eager, a part of me still expects him to hesitate. Maybe even rescind his offer.
Neither of those things happen.
Instead, he drops to his knees in front of me, the eyes that were just on my face fixing on the hem of my Christmas tree printed dress. For a split second, my brain registers the state of what he’s going to find under there. But before I can get too panicky about my lack of landscaping, Leo’s palms meet the bare skin of my knees.
His long fingers grasp the hem of my dress, slowly working it up my thighs. He refocuses on my face, expression earnest. “If you change your mind, just tap me on the head and everything stops.”
I manage some semblance of a jerky nod as I watch the path of his hands. It’s been so long since another person got me off, and anticipation is throbbing through me. Making me lightheaded and dizzy.
And very, very nervous.
Leo stops when the tiniest peek of my coordinating Christmas panties is visible. His lips quirk as he smirks at the saying printed across the front. “Santa’s Little Helper, huh?”
A little of my anxiety dissipates at his teasing, reminding me how easy things used to be between us. I give him a shrug. “It was an impulse buy.”
Leo’s hands move again, this time sliding under my dress to trace the narrow straps across my hipbones. “So far I’m a big fan of your impulses.” He follows the elastic edges along the crease of my thighs, tracing a path that leads to where they frame my mound. “One more time, Ms. Miller. Tell me I can taste you.”
It’s probably weird how much I like him calling me that. It sends a throb of heat between my legs and a wave of relief into my chest. The combination is almost like a drug and has every inch of me is humming, primed and ready to receive the long unmet need Leo’s graciously offering to fulfill.
My fingers grip the duvet beneath me as I find enough air to create words. “You can taste me.”
Leo makes a sound that’s a cross between a growl and a groan as his hold on me shifts. “Thank God.”
His wide, calloused hands hook behind my knees, lifting both my feet off the floor. The move sends me tipping backwards, forcing me to brace one hand against the mattress so I don’t fall flat. One thick finger hooks in the crotch of my panties, dragging the already soaked fabric to one side.
“Fuck, you have a pretty pussy, Miss Miller.” As he leans in, draping one leg over his boulder-shaped shoulder, Leo meets my eyes again. “Don’t forget. Tap my head, and everything stops.”
It is a super sweet offer. One I appreciate so much more than he will ever know. But it’s not happening. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in this world that would make me tap out of Leo’s tongue against my clit.
God I hope he knows where the clit is.
When I don’t answer, Leo lifts his brows. “Deal?”
“Deal.” I swear it takes every bit of the oxygen left in my lungs to form the agreement.
It’s been so long since I’ve wanted to be touched, and it’s like I’ve just been storing up all that need. Waiting for the right moment to let it all out.
