Chapter 9: The Gaming Session
The morning light was a traitor. It sliced through the gap in Kenzie’s blackout curtains, a dusty yellow beam that landed directly on Leo’s sleeping face. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm flung possessively across her waist, his breathing a deep, even rhythm against her shoulder.
Kenzie had been awake for twenty minutes, trapped by the warm weight of him, studying the fan of his dark lashes against his cheek, the slight part of his lips. The marks from the cable were faint lavender bracelets on her wrists. She flexed her fingers, feeling the ghost of the restraint, a secret she carried on her skin.
He stirred, nuzzling into the pillow before his eyes fluttered open. They found hers immediately. No confusion, just a slow, hazy warmth that spread into a smile.
“Hey,” he rasped, his voice sleep-roughened.
“Hey yourself.” She traced the line of his eyebrow with a fingertip. “You snore.”
“Do not.”
“You do. It’s cute. Like a chainsaw idling.”
He groaned, burying his face in her neck, his laugh a vibration against her throat. “You’re mean in the mornings.”
They lay there, tangled in the silence. It was different from the frantic energy of the night. Softer. The reality of him in her bed in the daylight was a new kind of vulnerability.
His stomach growled, loud and insistent. Kenzie giggled.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was grinning. “I burned a lot of calories last night. Multiple times.” He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow. His hair was a glorious mess. “I’m starving. You have any food in this digital fortress, or is it strictly liquid sustenance?”
She gestured vaguely toward the mini-fridge humming in the corner. “There’s probably half a bagel from last Tuesday. And a questionable yogurt.”
“A culinary wasteland.” He sighed dramatically, then slid out of bed. The sight of him, naked and unconcerned, moving through her cluttered space, made her breath catch. He rooted through a pile of her clothes on the floor, plucking up his boxer briefs and jeans. “C’mon. Get dressed. I’m buying you actual breakfast.”
“I have a ten a.m. lecture,” she said, though the protest was weak.
“So we’ll be quick.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Or you can skip. Tell ’em you had a religious experience.”
She threw a pillow at him.
The diner off campus was all cracked vinyl booths and the smell of strong coffee and frying bacon. Kenzie had thrown on her uniform—a massive charcoal hoodie and loose-fit jeans, her hair in its usual ponytail. Sitting across from Leo, who looked effortlessly put together in his leather jacket and a faint five-o’clock shadow, she felt intensely aware of her own disguise.
He watched her drown her pancakes in syrup. “You eat like you’re fueling for a siege.”
“I am. Life is a siege.” She took a huge bite. “These are amazing.”
A comfortable quiet settled between them, filled with the clatter of plates and low chatter from other booths. It was the quiet that unnerved her most. The sex, the intensity, that was a language she was learning. This—the shared syrup, the way his foot found hers under the table—felt like a truth she wasn’t sure she was ready to speak.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, sipping his black coffee.
“Pixel ratios,” she lied.
“Liar.” His smile was knowing. “You get a little line right here.” He reached across and tapped the space between her brows.
She put her fork down. “I’m thinking this is weird.”
“The pancakes?”
“This. Here. After… everything.” She gestured vaguely, encompassing the garage, the cables, the blinding loss of control. “It’s daytime now.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what the rules are.”
Leo leaned back, studying her. The easy charm was still there, but layered over something more solid. “There aren’t any rules, Kenz. Unless you want there to be.” He paused. “Do you want there to be?”
She thought about the text he’d sent her in the middle of her Digital Foundations class yesterday, just three words: Under the dress? She’d spent the entire hour flushed and aching, unable to focus. She’d texted back a single, defiant: No.
“No,” she said aloud, meeting his gaze. “I don’t want rules.”
“Good.” He nodded, satisfied. “Then it’s just breakfast.”
But it wasn’t. It was a negotiation, and they both knew it. He paid the bill, his hand lingering on the small of her back as they walked out into the brisk late-morning air.
Back at her dorm, her lecture forgotten, the dynamic shifted again. The familiar safe chaos of her room welcomed them, but it was charged now, a playground with established boundaries.
“So,” Leo said, toeing off his boots by the door. “You never finished your ranked match last night. On account of my… distracting intervention.”
“You utterly destroyed my K/D ratio,” she said, switching on her PC. The monitors glowed to life.
“Let me make it up to you.” He pulled a six-pack of her favorite caffeinated citrus drink from his backpack, the condensation beading on the cans. “I’ll be quiet. I just want to watch you work.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re going to sit there and not say anything?”
“Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers, his expression absurdly sincere.
She knew it was a trap. She logged in anyway.
He pulled her desk chair back and sat, then guided her to sit between his legs on the floor, her back against his chest. His arms came around her waist, his chin settling on her shoulder. He was everywhere—his warmth, his scent, the steady beat of his heart against her spine.
“This is not ‘sitting quietly over there,’” she pointed out, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“I’m spectating. This is the optimal spectating position.”
She queued up. The familiar sounds of the game lobby filled her headset. She tried to focus on her champion select, on the strategy, but all her awareness was narrowed to the points of contact where his body met hers. His thumb was tracing slow circles on her stomach, just above the waistband of her jeans.
The match loaded. She moved her character to lane.
“Your CS is off,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.
“Shut up.”
“You’re missing last hits. Thinking about something else?”
She was. She was thinking about the pressure of his lips there, right below her ear. She made an aggressive, stupid play and died in a flash of enemy spells.
A low chuckle vibrated through him. “Losing your touch, Kenz?”
She whipped the headset off. “You are a massive distraction. You’re like a… a sexy barnacle.”
He laughed, the sound rich and full in the small room. “Good.”
He took the headset from her hand and placed it on the desk. In one smooth motion, he spun her chair around so she was facing him. He slid off the chair and onto his knees on the carpet, his hands settling on her thighs. His gaze was dark, intent.
“Let me make it up to you,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that liquefied her bones.
His hands pushed her baggy shorts up her legs, his palms rough against her skin. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her cotton underwear and pulled them down just enough. He didn’t look away from her face as he lowered his mouth.
The first touch of his tongue, slow and deliberate through the damp fabric, made her gasp, her hands flying to grip the edges of the chair. He hummed against her, the sensation vibrating straight to her core. He worked her with a focused expertise that had nothing to do with teasing and everything to do with a promised outcome. He used his tongue, the flat of it, the tip, building a ruthless, steady rhythm. Then his fingers were there, slipping underneath, parting her, stroking her directly while his mouth continued its devastating work.
“Leo…” His name was a broken thing.
He looked up, his amber eyes blazing. “Watch me,” he commanded, his voice thick.
She forced her head down, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. The sight of him between her legs, his eyes locked on hers, his mouth on her, was the most obscenely intimate thing she’d ever seen. The coil wound tighter, unbearably tight. Her grip on the chair turned her knuckles white. A high, desperate sound escaped her.
He increased the pressure, the speed, his fingers curling inside her just so.
She shattered. The climax ripped through her with silent, breath-stealing force, her body bowing as waves of pure sensation crashed over her. A ragged cry finally broke free, echoing off the cinderblock walls.
He eased her through it, his touches gentling, until she slumped back in the chair, boneless and panting. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A slow, cocky grin spread across his face.
“Now,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You can focus.”
A reckless, giddy power surged through her exhaustion. She reached out, fisted her hands in the front of his shirt, and pulled him forward, off balance. He stumbled, catching himself on the arms of her chair, caging her in.
“Your turn,” she whispered, and kissed him, deep and slow, tasting herself on his lips.
He groaned into her mouth, letting her guide him backwards, toward the waiting bed. They fell onto it in a tangle of limbs and soft laughter, the forgotten game casting its frantic, silent light across their skin.
They fell onto it in a tangle of limbs and soft laughter, the forgotten game casting its frantic, silent light across their skin.
She rolled on top of him, the denim of his jeans rough against her thighs, and kissed him again. This kiss wasn’t soft. It was claiming. She poured every spark of the power he’d just given her back into it, her tongue tracing his lips before diving deep. He met her hunger with his own, his hands coming up to cradle her face, but she caught his wrists and pinned them to the mattress beside his head.
She broke the kiss, breathing hard. "My turn, Rev."
The old nickname sounded entirely new in this context. His eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise giving way to eager submission. She released his wrists only to start pulling at his clothes. The leather jacket thumped to the floor, then his shirt. His jeans and boxers followed in a hurried push. He helped, lifting his hips, his gaze never leaving hers.
Naked now, he looked up at her, all lean muscle and trust. The cables from her controller charger were coiled on the nightstand. She reached for them, the plastic smooth and cool in her hand.
"Okay?" she asked, the word a quiet checkpoint in the charged air.
"God, yes," he breathed, his voice already ragged.
She looped one cable around his left wrist, tying it securely but not cruelly to the vertical metal bar of her headboard. He tested the bond, the movement making the bedframe groan a familiar protest. The sound sent a thrill through her. She repeated the process with his right wrist, then moved down to his ankles, using a second cable to secure them to the footboard’s legs. He was spread open before her, completely vulnerable, his cock straining against his stomach.
"Kenz," he whispered, a shiver running through him.
"Shhh." She shed her hoodie and shorts, then her underwear, taking her time. The cool air kissed her skin, but the heat in his stare was a tangible warmth. She climbed back onto the bed, settling her knees on either side of his hips, but not touching him where he ached. She leaned forward, her hair creating a private curtain around their faces. "You begged so pretty last night," she murmured, tracing the line of his jaw. "I want to hear it again."
She lowered herself, letting her body just barely ghost over his. The tip of him brushed her inner thigh. He bucked up instinctively, a frustrated groan tearing from his throat. "Kenzie, please. Just... fuck me. Please."
She smiled, a slow, wicked thing. "But you have such a talented mouth, Rev." She shifted forward, rising up on her knees, and positioned herself over his face. "Earn it."
She lowered herself onto his mouth. His struggles were immediate, a delicious tensing of his bound body, a muffled sound of pure want against her. He couldn't move far, but his tongue found her, lashing and devoted. She rode the rhythm, one hand braced on the headboard, the other twisting in his hair. "That's it," she coaxed, her head falling back. "Just like that."
When she was shuddering and close, she pulled away, ignoring his broken sound of protest. She found his discarded bandana on the floor. She unfolded the black cotton and held it up. "Trust me?"
He nodded, his chest heaving. "Always."
She tied it tight around his eyes, plunging him into darkness. His other senses seemed to magnify instantly; his hearing sharpened to her every breath, his skin hyper-aware of the dip in the mattress as she moved.
Now blindfolded, he was adrift. She started with her mouth on his neck, his collarbone, his chest, tasting salt and skin. She took her time, trailing down his stomach, avoiding where he needed her most. He was trembling, every muscle coiled.
"Kenzie... fucking hell..."
"Patience," she sang softly, her breath a hot tease along his length.
Finally, she took him into her mouth, slow and torturously shallow. She used only her lips and tongue, a maddening, swirling attention that had him arching off the bed. Just as he would tense, nearing the edge, she’d pull back completely, letting the cool air hit his wet skin. She did it again. And again. His begging dissolved into a ragged, continuous stream.
"Please, I need... let me come, just let me, I can't—"
She released him with a soft pop and straddled his hips. Not taking him inside yet. Just hovering. "You need what, exactly? Use your words, engineer."
"Need you. Need to be in you. Need to come in you. Please, Kenz, I'm begging you."
That was what she wanted. She sank down onto him in one fluid, breathtaking motion, taking him deep. A punched-out groan tore from both of them. She set a punishing pace from the start, using the leverage of his bound body to drive him up into her. The dirty words she usually typed in game chat fell from her lips now, filthy and low and commanding. "You're mine like this. All mine. You come when I say. Not before."
He was pleading, chanting her name, his hips straining against the cables to meet her every thrust. She could feel the tension coiling to breaking point within him. Leaning forward, she snatched her discarded panties from the sheets. "Quiet now," she whispered, and gently stuffed the soft cotton into his open, pleading mouth.
His moan was muffled, desperate. The vibration traveled straight through her. She rode him harder, watching the cords stand out in his neck, feeling his body tighten. When he came, it was with a silent, shuddering convulsion, his back bowing off the bed.
She didn't stop. She kept moving, milking him through the aftershocks, and felt him harden again inside her almost immediately. "Good boy," she breathed, adjusting her angle. His muffled cries beneath the gag were a constant, needy soundtrack. She brought him to a second, then a wrenching third climax, each one wrenched from him until he was shaking and spent beneath her.
The door handle rattled, then turned.
The door swung open. Maya, her roommate, stood frozen in the doorway, backpack slipping from her shoulder. Her eyes widened, taking in the scene: Kenzie, sweat-sheened and triumphant, riding the tied-up, blindfolded, gagged campus heartthrob.
Kenzie didn't falter. She met Maya's stunned gaze over her shoulder, her rhythm never breaking. A defiant, unspoken challenge flashed in her hazel eyes. Leo, lost in sensation, moaned deeply around the gag, his body responding anew to her relentless pace.
Maya’s mouth opened, then closed. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. She gave a tiny, sharp nod of acknowledgment, stepped back silently, and pulled the door shut with a soft, definitive click.
The sound seemed to unleash something final in Leo. Kenzie leaned down, her lips at his ear. "One more, Rev. For me."
He broke. A fourth, staggering wave took him, a full-bodied surrender that left him utterly still but for the frantic pulse she felt within her. She followed him this time, her own climax a sharp, bright shock that melted her bones.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, her face against his pounding heart. She carefully pulled the damp panties from his mouth and untied the bandana. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, but they found hers. Awe was etched into every exhausted line of his face.
She unhooked the cables from his ankles and wrists, rubbing the marks left behind. He couldn’t speak. He just wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if she were the only solid thing in a spinning world, his gentle laugh finally escaping, breathless and shattered against her hair.