I stop, my heart hammering, wondering if I’m about to say too much.
“What?” Leo asks quietly, and his voice has gone softer.
“Another part of me can’t stop thinking about you,” I admit, and the vulnerability makes me uncomfortable. “I can’t stop remembering how you felt. How you looked at me. How right it felt even though it shouldn’t. And I’m done pretending I don’t feel it. I’m done running from it.”
I take a breath and force myself to say the rest, forcing myself to look up at him.
“So here’s what I need from you,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “I need you to stop calling it a mistake. Because it wasn’t. Not for me. And if you can look me in the eye and tell me it was a mistake for you, that you regret it, that you wish it never happened…” I take another deep breath. “Then say it. Say it and I’ll drop this. But if you can’t…”
I trail off, leaving the implication hanging in the air between us.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Leo interrupts, his voice rough. “I can’t stop thinking about you. How you felt. How you sounded.”
My breath catches, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
“I tried,” he continues, and he’s rubbing his chin as he stares out at the grounds. “I tried to stay away. I tried to convince myself it was a mistake and pretend it didn’t change everything. But I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”
“Then stop fighting it,” I whisper, barely breathing. “Stop running from this.”
Leo’s quiet for a moment, and he turns his head to look at me. I hold my breath, my heart thumping so hard I can feel it in my throat. I’m terrified I’ve pushed too hard and said too much. Have I scared him off completely?
But then Leo moves.
He cups my face with both hands and kisses me, and it’s different from the other kisses we’ve shared. The ones in the kitchen were angry and desperate while the one in his office was frantic and wild, three weeks of tension exploding all at once. But this kiss? This is slow and deep.
Leo kisses me like he’s trying to say everything he can’t put into words, like he’s apologizing and confessing all at once. His thumbs brush across my cheekbones and I make this small sound against his mouth that makes him kiss me deeper, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
I grab his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. The kiss deepens further and I can feel myself getting lost in it, in the taste of him, in the way his hands feel on my face. One of his hands slides into my hair, gripping gently, and tilting my head to the angle he wants. I moan into his mouth.
Leo breaks the kiss just long enough to mutter, “Come here,” and then his hands are on my waist and he’s pulling me onto his lap so I’m straddling him on the bench.
The new position makes everything more intense. I can feel him hard against me through our clothes and the sensation makesme gasp. Leo’s hands grip my hips, holding me against him, and when I rock forward slightly we both moan.
“Emma,” Leo groans roughly, and the way he says my name sends sparks of desire through me.
I kiss him again, my hands in his hair, and I grind down against him because I need the friction. I need to feelhim. Leo’s guttural groan is louder this time, and his hands tighten on my hips hard enough that I know I’ll have bruises. The thought makes me even wetter.
“Fuck,” Leo breathes against my mouth, and I grind against him again. His hips buck up to meet me and the pressure against my clit makes me moan.
We find a rhythm without meaning to, me rocking against him while he kisses down my throat, his stubble scratching my sensitive skin. My whole body is on fire, every nerve ending alive and desperate for more. I can feel how hard he is, and my own wetness soaks through my underwear.
“Leo,” I gasp when his mouth finds that spot below my ear. “We need to—people could?—”
“I know,” he mutters against my skin, but his hands slide up my back, pulling me tighter against him. “I know, I just?—”
I grind down hard and he actually moans, his head falling back against the bench, giving me access to his throat. I kiss down the column of it, feeling his pulse racing under my lips, and his hands grip my ass, helping me move against him.
“Your room or mine?” I ask breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at his face. His eyes are dark, almost black withdesire, his lips swollen from my kisses, and he looks completely undone.
“Mine,” Leo says, his voice rough. “Now. Before I fuck you right here in the garden.”
The words send a fresh wave of desire through me and I have to resist the urge to tell him to do exactly that. Instead I climb off his lap on shaking legs, and the loss of contact makes us both curse.
We stand up at the same time, and for a second we just look at each other. Then Leo takes my hand—the first time he’s initiated touch that isn’t sexual—and pulls me toward the house.
We barely make it there.
We’re kissing again before we even reach the door, stumbling up the steps with our hands all over each other. Leo pushes me against the wall in the hallway and kisses down my neck while I work at the buttons on his shirt. We make it maybe ten feet before we have to stop and kiss again, my back pressed against a door, his hands in my hair.