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“Do you want to hurt my shoulder worse after you saved my life?” I tut.

She won’t drop her hands from her face; an action that makes me smile, because she’s so fucking bashful, but her pussy is bucking into the titillation my mouth dangles like a carrot.

“Don’t you want to help me? Be a good girl and pull your pretty panties aside, Meera. Let me taste you?” I croon, tongue flicking over her nub through thin cotton, tempting her with what could be without the barrier.

“Oh my God,” she whines in a little voice, her head tipping toward the ceiling. As if she needs the buffer when her hands acquiesce, tremulous fingertips dragging cotton aside to unveil her creamy cunt to me.

I reward her with a kiss to her pelvis, and then between soaked folds that beg for my tongue. And who the fuck am I to deny her?

Any pain from the weight of her on my chest is burned up by adrenaline that amps up with every lap of my tongue over her cleft. I swirl it over her offering, parting swollen lips to tease up to her clit and then back to taste the wet, scorching center of her pussy. The thick taste of her has my own body shuddering, savoring her.

It takes every ounce of my willpower to force my eyes open. The sight they open to has me practically whimpering into her core.

Jesus fucking Christ, the view of her is something to write home about. Poised over me, she’s gotten rid of the bra I hadn’t spent time on removing for her—and now, those tits pour into her palms, fingers kneading full breasts that can’t keep all that soft flesh from spilling out of her hold. Taut nipples peak between her fingers, and I have to tamp down the need to flip her onto her back and feast on it.

One thing at a time, I have to remind myself. Pace myself. She deserves that. It isn’t impossible to do, not when there’s a reason—nothing I’m thrilled about—she doesn’t know what the fuck to do with this. She’s a fucking queen. Why shouldn’t she have a throne every day of her goddamn life?

She’s gorgeous. She’s just fucking gorgeous. She’s so soft, soft all over, from the weight of those voluptuous breasts to the lush roundness of her belly to the delicious decadence of her flaring hips, her solid thighs, her—fuck.

I dig my nails into the palm of my hand and give her sweet clit another suck. Needing to brace myself before I can shift the hand to my chin, letting my palm rest atop it as I press fingers inside of her. The sounds Meera makes are enough to push a saint over the fucking edge, and I’m no saint.

Two fingers, curved just so, pressing into the slick, clenching heat of her. She is so wet and so tight it takes my breath away. I groan against her, letting her feel the vibration, and her entire body jolts.

“Leo—” she chokes, and her hand falls from her breast to my head, gripping hard where there’s no hair to use as reins. Her hips begin to roll, involuntarily and instinctive, giving in to desire. Choosing it, instead of falling prey to whatever keeps her trapped in her head, self-conscious and squirming.

I pump my fingers in a slow, forceful rhythm, crooking them forward until I find the spot that makes her thighs clamp around my ears. There it is. I press into it, and she keens—a raw, animal cry that doesn’t belong to the composed woman who fights her basest urges. This sound belongs to the woman underneath all of that. The one who’s been starved of this. Who didn’t even know what she was missing, because no one ever bothered to show her.

I’m going to fucking show her.

My tongue works her clit in tight, relentless circles while my fingers maintain their rhythm inside of her. I can feel her walls fluttering, clenching around me in spasms that grow tighter with every pass. She’s close. I know she’s close because her thighs are trembling violently against either side of my face, and her breathing has gone from erratic to nearly nonexistent—she’s holding it in, bracing, like she’s afraid of what’ll happen when she lets go.

I pull my mouth back just enough to speak against her swollen flesh. “You taste so sweet, Meera,” I urge, kissing the dripping pout of her pussy. “Taste even sweeter when you come for me—Let it go.”

“I can’t,” she whimpers, her head shaking frantically.

But she looks down on me, looks at me looking up at her, all my naked want for her all over my face, and it turns her breaths shallow.

My mouth returns to her with feverish intent. I flatten my tongue and drag it the full length of her before sealing my lips around her clit and sucking with a pressure that’s no longer teasing. My fingers drive deeper, keeping the pace, driving her toward ruination she has earned. That she’ll wear, so stunningly, I just fucking know it.

When she breaks, the orgasm tears through her mythic body like a seismic event. She cries out my name: Leo, Leo, Leo, wrenched from her throat in a sob that ricochets off every soulless surface in this fucking penthouse and leaves it sacred, like I’d known it would.

Her spine arches, and she tries her damnedest to squirm off of me, except her thighs lock and her walls crush my fingers in rhythmic, pulsing waves that I make her ride out with my mouth still on her, coaxing every last tremor from her body until she’s pushing at my forehead, whimpering, her whole frame shuddering with aftershocks.

My cock is so hard it’s fucking agony. It’s torture. It’s hell.

But Meera, flushed and glowing and still shaking, is the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be.

Chapter 14 - Meera

Every nerve ending in my body is singing. There’s a tremor slashing up the apex of my thighs that won’t relent. Mindlessly, my palms stroke the stubble of his buzzcut, somehow anchored by the velvet feel of it. It’s impossible to catch my breath when I can still feel Leonid’s—hot and uneven, panted against the inside of my thigh where his cheek rests.

“Okay,” I say to a distorted spot on the wall. “Okay, that was—”

I can’t finish. So, “I know, sweetheart,” he finishes for me, with a smugness I should probably find more insufferable than I have the capacity to. Currently, I’m having trouble finding the ability to move my legs.

It’s less willpower and more concern for his wound that eventually forces me upright. My arms shake with the effort. But, when my stomach drops, it’s only because of the sight of him beneath me, sprawled out, looking up at me with those slate-dark eyes. His mouth, wet and swollen.

It’s a view that shoots a fresh bolt of heat through my body. A life-ruining view.