Page 61 of Enticing

What takes a little longer is working up the nerve to go back out there, and when I do, Leo isn’t on the bed. He’s in the closet, putting away clothes. What the hell?

“Leo?”

“These drawers were empty.” He looks up from a big, black leather bag, and beautiful blue eyes darken as a hunger sets in. “Adelaide. You’re not making this easy.”

“What?” I ask, having no idea what he’s talking about but emboldened by that look. I take a few steps into the closet and grab the next piece of clothing from his bag to hand to him. And of course they’re boxer shorts. Why would they be anything else? “What am I not making easy, Leo? I cleared out drawers for you.”

Leo takes the shorts from my hands and lays them on top of the square built-in dresser that’s nearly as big as the island in the center of the kitchen. With the same beautiful white marble and pale-blue cabinetry Gran had installed a few years ago in the kitchen, I guess she redid this closet then too.

He turns me to the full-length mirror in the corner. Standing behind me, he pulls my hair off my shoulders and wraps anarm around my waist, resting his hand just above the waistband of my blue fleece shorts and just below the edge of my white and blue Bay Hawks tank top. His heat sears my skin, branding me. “Sweetheart, I’m trying to be good here. I’m trying to give you time. I’m trying not to rush you. I’m trying to be a fucking gentleman.”

“I don’t understand, Leo . . .”

He runs his nose along my neck and around my ear, sending goosebumps dancing down my skin.

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, sending shockwaves down to the tips of my toes. “You’re taking my name. And you’re standing here in another team’s colors again. Only this time I can’t take them off you.”

“Oh...” I lean my head back against his bare chest, and suddenly I want it off.

The tank. The shorts.

I want them gone.

I want to feel his hands and his lips and his cock.

I want them on me. In me. I want him everywhere.

Him. I want him everywhere.

Leo brushes the underside of my bare breast, and I swear that touch... I can feel it down to my core.

His other hand grips my hips as his lips graze my neck, driving me wild.

We look so fucking hot. Like the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

He towers over me. His big frame drowning me.

His crystalline eyes hot and hungry. And fuck me, I need more.

I cover his hand with mine and slide it under my shorts and over my lace panties. “Touch me, Leo, please,” I plead, absolutely desperate for him.

“Take off their colors, and I’ll give you everything you need,” he growls against my skin, and my clit throbs. “But I’m not giving you want you want while you’re wearing their colors.”

I lift my arms and keep my eyes locked on his, scared if I lose that connection, I’ll lose the strength he gives me. “Then take them off me.”

He pulls it off me slowly, savoring every new inch of skin as it’s revealed in the reflection before he tosses it to the floor. And before I can get scared that this body has carried two babies and doesn’t look the same as it did a few years ago, Leo runs his palms over all the newly exposed skin, then cups both breasts in his big hands.

“Oh God . . .”

“Are you sensitive, sweetheart?” He rolls my nipples between his fingers, and I moan and tip my head up, desperate for his lips on mine.

“Leo...” I whimper, and he boosts me up and sits me down on the oversized dresser, taking my mouth with his.

The look in those eyes is possessive and greedy, and I can feel them touching me everywhere... But it’s not enough. I want more. And as if he reads my mind, Leo drags his tongue down my neck and over my collarbones, grazing his teeth along my thrumming pulse, teasing me.

It’s been so long since anything has felt this good...

I arch my back, needy for more as my breasts brush his chest, creating the most delicious friction. My nipples are tight little peaks, straining and desperate... and when he pulls one into his mouth, I cry out and sink my hands in his hair, holding him to me. His teeth tug on my nipple as his other hand kneads my breast. The rough pad of his thumb pinching and teasing until I don’t think I can take anymore.

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