Page 139 of How to Prevent a Fumble

“Leo, please,” I beg, unsure what to do.

“Please what?”

“I just need you.”

“You have me,” he says with a note of almost… concern? As if he thought I meant anything other than needing him sexually.

If I’m being honest with myself, I think I do, but I shake the thought from my head, my eyes squeezing closed as I admit, “I need you to fuck me. Now, Leo.”

A small smile forms on his stupid perfect lips as his eyes light up, his tongue peeking out to run along his lip.

“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

I scowl at him as his fingers hook, running along a spot that makes my eyes roll to the back of my head, my back arching off the bed.

“Take your fucking clothes off, Leo,” I grit through clenched teeth, praying he decides that he should actually listen to me.

But of course he doesn’t.

“I don’t know, I kind of?—”

“Leo, shut the fuck up and take off your fucking pants,” I demand. There’s a time for fooling around, but right now isn’t it.

For a second I think I’ve upset him as he freezes, but when the smirk creeps onto his lips, I know things are okay.

Getting up, Leo peels his shirt off in one swift movement,the muscles in his arms flexing in the most mouthwatering way.

Watching me, he pulls his pants down, his dick springing free, harder than a god damn flagpole.

My skin heats as I think about the fact that I’m the reason for it.

“What do you want, Briar?” he asks, his eyes darkening as his large palm wraps around himself, stroking it slowly.

I don’t have it within me to look away.

“C—condom,” I mumble out, nearly choking on the words.

Reaching into the bedside table, Leo pulls out a condom, ripping the foil and yanking it out. I hadn’t rummaged through the bedside tables before, and add asking him about why they’re there to my mental checklist.

Slipping it on, he looks at me. “I’m clean by the way. I haven’t been with anyone since I was last tested.”

Addwhen were you last with someone?to my list of questions.

I nod. “I haven’t been either—” I tell him even though it’s a given.

“Now what do you want?” he asks. And I know he’s trying to be a gentleman. I know he’s trying to be careful with me because of the circumstances.

But it’s infuriating.

“I—” I stop, not knowing what I want.

“Use your words, Crosby.”

Biting my cheek, I work up the nerve to spit it out. “I want you to fuck me,” I tell him, taking a deep breath.

I’ve never been this fucking awkward before. But then again, I’ve never had someone ask me what I wanted in bed.

It was always about what the other person wanted.

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