Chapter 13: Her House, His Hands
The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds in thin gold stripes, striping the pink duvet and the pale curve of Luna's bare shoulder. Her phone buzzed against the pillowcase, and she didn't have to look to know who it was. She knew the rhythm of him now—the way Leo texted in bursts, three messages in a row when something excited him, a single word when he was trying to play it cool.
She was on her back, one knee bent, the sheets kicked down to her ankles. Her fingers moved in slow circles between her thighs, lazy and unhurried, because this had been going on for an hour now. The photo on her screen was the fifth one he'd sent that morning, a shot of his torso from the chest down, his hand gripping the base of his cock, the veins standing out along his forearm. He'd captioned it thinking about your mouth and she'd nearly dropped her phone.
She'd sent him three of her own since then. The first: her tits, nipples hard, the pink hair spilling over one shoulder. The second: her ass in the mirror, bent over her desk, the curve of her spine catching the light. The third: a close-up of her hand between her legs, two fingers glistening, just to make him lose his mind.
He'd replied with a voice note that she'd listened to four times. His voice low and rough, saying her name, telling her exactly what he wanted to do to her when he got his hands on her. She'd come once already, biting down on her pillow to keep quiet, and she was halfway to a second when the door swung open.
"Luna, sweetheart—"
She yanked the duvet up to her chin in a motion so fast it was almost violent, her phone clattering to the floor. Her mother stood in the doorway, keys in hand, already dressed in a dark blue dress and heels. Luna's heart hammered against her ribs, her cheeks flooding with heat, her fingers still slick and pressed flat against her thigh beneath the covers.
"Mum. Hi. What—what are you doing?"
"Dinner with your father. Some command thing." Her mother's eyes swept the room—the discarded hoodie on the floor, the empty water glass, the flush creeping up her daughter's neck—and something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or recognition.
"Oh." Luna's voice came out strangled. "Okay. Have fun."
"We won't be back until tomorrow." Her mother's hand paused on the doorframe. "The hotel's near the restaurant. Your father doesn't want to drive back late."
Luna nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Her mother smiled, small and knowing, and then she winked. A slow, deliberate wink that said everything and nothing at once, that said I know exactly what you're doing and I'm choosing not to see it, that said you're twenty-two, you're an adult, but please for the love of God change the sheets before we get home.
The door clicked shut.
Luna lay frozen for three full seconds, her pulse roaring in her ears. Then she let out a breath that was half laugh, half groan, and rolled off the bed to retrieve her phone.
Three new messages from Leo.
you still there
everything ok
baby
She typed back with shaking thumbs. my mum walked in.
oh shit
no it's fine. she just told me her and my dad are gone until tomorrow. then she winked at me.
WINKED
yeah
that's either terrifying or the best thing that's ever happened
Luna laughed, the sound bright and startled in the quiet of her room. Then she looked at the wardrobe, at the closed doors where she'd stashed the box from Victoria's Secret three weeks ago, the one she'd bought on a whim and never had the courage to wear.
She crossed the room and pulled the doors open.
---
The lingerie was white. Pure, bridal white, the kind of white that made a statement.
The bra was lace and nothing else—no padding, no underwire, just delicate floral patterns that barely covered her nipples and left the rest of her chest exposed to the cool air of her bedroom. The panties matched, high-cut and sheer, the lace climbing up her hipbones in a way that made her waist look impossibly small. She'd bought them on sale, telling herself she'd wear them for herself, for no one else, just to feel good.
She'd been lying.
She pulled them on in front of the mirror, watching the way the white made her skin glow, the way the pink of her hair looked almost pastel against the brightness. Then she reached for the socks.
The thigh-highs were the same ones she'd worn to the airshow—white, opaque, the kind that stopped just below the cradle of her hips and made her legs look like they went on forever. Leo had stared at them all night. He'd told her, in the dark of that office with his flight suit around his knees, that he wanted to pull them off her with his teeth. She'd laughed then, breathless and wrecked.
She wasn't laughing now.
She arranged herself on the bed with the precision of someone who had taken a hundred selfies and knew exactly what angles worked. On her stomach, legs bent at the knee, socked feet raised behind her head. Her chest pressed into the mattress, pushing her tits together, the lace straining against the weight of them. She turned her head to the side, let her hair spill across the pillow, and lifted her phone.
The first shot was too posed. The second, too dark. The third made her look like she was trying too hard.
The fourth was perfect.
Her back arched just right, the curve of her ass framed by the white lace, the socks stretching up her thighs like something out of a fever dream. Her face was soft, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded. She looked like she'd been waiting for him for hours.
She typed the caption with her heart hammering in her throat. parents are gone until tomorrow. i'm all yours. come over.
She hit send before she could second-guess herself.
The reply came thirty seconds later. already in the truck.
Luna dropped her phone on the bed and pressed both hands to her face, a sound escaping her that was somewhere between a scream and a laugh. The thrill that shot through her was electric, dirty, the kind of anticipation that pooled low in her belly and made her thighs clench together.
She checked her reflection one more time. Fixed a strand of hair. Adjusted the lace so it sat just right.
Then she heard the knock.
---
She took the stairs two at a time, her feet slapping against the hardwood, the socks sliding slightly on the polished surface. The front door loomed in front of her, and she paused for half a second, her hand on the knob, her heart in her throat.
Then she pulled it open.
Leo stood on the porch in a plain grey t-shirt and jeans, his hair still damp from the shower, his jaw shadowed with stubble. His eyes went wide when he saw her—not just wide, but dark, the pupils blowing out as his gaze raked down her body and back up again. He opened his mouth to say something, but Luna didn't give him the chance.
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him inside.
The door slammed shut behind him, and then her mouth was on his, hot and desperate, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt while his arms came around her waist and lifted her clean off the floor. She wrapped her legs around his hips on instinct, the socks sliding against the denim of his jeans, and he groaned into her mouth—a low, rough sound that vibrated through her chest.
"Fuck," he breathed against her lips. "You—fuck, Luna."
She kissed him again, harder, her tongue sliding against his, tasting the mint of his toothpaste and the faint bitterness of coffee underneath. His hands moved down to her ass, gripping the lace-covered flesh through the panties, and she rolled her hips against him without thinking, feeling the hard line of his cock through his jeans.
"Missed you," she mumbled against his mouth.
"It's been three days."
"Too long."
He laughed, low and breathless, and set her down just long enough to kick off his shoes. Then he was on her again, backing her through the foyer, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She gasped, her head falling back, and he took advantage of the exposure to press open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.
"Show me your room," he murmured against her skin.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs.
---
They didn't make it far.
The hallway to her bedroom was lined with family photos—her parents at a gala, Luna in her high school graduation cap, a framed print of a beach at sunset—and Leo paused in front of one, a candid shot of Luna laughing at something off-camera.
"You're cute," he said.
"I was fifteen."
"Still cute."
She tugged him forward, but he caught her around the waist and spun her, pressing her back against the wall. The photos rattled on their hooks. She looked up at him, breathless, and saw the heat in his eyes, the way his gaze kept dropping to her tits like he couldn't help himself.
"You're killing me in this," he said, his voice rough. "You know that?"
"Good."
He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. His hands slid down her sides, over the curve of her hips, and then lower, his fingers finding the edge of her panties. She sucked in a breath against his mouth as he pushed the lace aside and slid two fingers through the wet heat between her legs.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he muttered. "This all for me?"
"All of it." She could barely get the words out. "Been thinking about you all morning."
"Yeah?" His fingers circled her clit, light and teasing. "What were you thinking about?"
"You." She gasped as he pressed down, just right. "Your hands. Your mouth. Your—oh, fuck—"
He'd slid one finger inside her, then two, curling them in a way that made her knees buckle. She grabbed his shoulders for balance, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, and he worked her with slow, deliberate strokes that had her climbing toward the edge far too fast.
"Leo," she whimpered.
"Shh." He kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "I've got you."
She came with a bitten-off cry, her body shuddering against his hand, her forehead pressed to his shoulder. He kept his fingers inside her, feeling the flutter of her walls, until she pushed at his wrist, oversensitive and gasping.
"God," she managed.
He pulled his hand free and brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her, his eyes never leaving hers. Luna felt her cheeks flush, a fresh wave of heat rolling through her.
"You're filthy," she said.
"You love it."
She did. God help her, she did.
---
They made it to the bathroom somehow, a detour that Luna blamed entirely on the fact that Leo couldn't stop touching her long enough for them to walk in a straight line. He had her pressed against the sink before she could protest, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her neck.
"Bend over," he said.
It wasn't a question.
She braced her hands on the cool marble counter and watched him in the mirror as he unzipped his jeans. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the head already slick with precum. He caught her staring and smirked.
"Like what you see?"
"Shut up and fuck me."
He laughed, low and dark, and then he was pushing inside her.
The stretch was immediate, overwhelming, and Luna's mouth fell open in a silent scream as he sank in to the hilt. He paused there, buried to the root, his hips pressed flush against her ass, and just breathed for a moment—like he needed to collect himself.
"Fuck," he said. "You feel—fuck."
"Move." She pushed back against him. "Please."
He did.
The first thrust was slow, deliberate, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Luna's fingers scrabbled against the counter, searching for purchase, and found nothing. The second thrust was harder. The third harder still.
"Look at me," he said, and she opened her eyes.
In the mirror, she watched herself come apart. Watched her tits bounce with every thrust, the white lace barely containing them. Watched her mouth fall open, her eyes glaze over. Watched Leo behind her, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on her face like she was the only thing in the world.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he said. "You know that? So fucking perfect."
She couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but take it, her body rocking forward with every thrust, the edge of the counter digging into her hips. He reached around and found her clit with his fingers, rubbing tight circles while he fucked her, and she felt the orgasm building again, hot and urgent.
"I'm gonna—" she gasped.
"Come for me." His voice was rough, commanding. "Come on my cock, baby."
She did.
The orgasm ripped through her, her vision going white, her mouth open in a scream that she couldn't hear over the blood roaring in her ears. Leo fucked her through it, his rhythm faltering as she clenched around him, and then he was coming too, spilling inside her with a groan that he muffled against her shoulder.
They stood there for a long moment, both of them panting, her forehead pressed to the mirror, his body draped over hers. The reflection showed two people utterly wrecked—sweat-slicked skin, tangled hair, matching expressions of dazed satisfaction.
"Holy shit," Luna whispered.
Leo laughed, breathless. "Yeah."
He pulled out slowly, and she felt the loss immediately. He turned her around and kissed her, soft this time, almost tender. His hands cupped her face like she was something precious.
"Bedroom," he said. "Now."
---
He carried her the rest of the way.
She didn't protest. Her legs felt like jelly, and her brain was still rebooting from the best orgasm she'd had in her entire life. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him take her, the socks sliding against his bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.
Her bedroom was a mess—the duvet tangled, the pillows scattered, her phone still lying wherever she'd dropped it. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the floor. Leo set her down at the foot of the bed and stood back to look at her.
The white lace. The thigh-high socks. The pink hair cascading over her shoulders.
"Fuck," he said again, like he couldn't help himself.
Luna felt a flicker of shyness, something she hadn't felt since the first time he'd seen her naked. She resisted the urge to cover herself, let him look, let herself be seen.
"You promised," she said.
"Promised what?"
"The socks." She lifted one leg, pointing her toe, watching his eyes follow the movement. "You said you'd take them off with your teeth."
Leo's grin was wolfish. "I did say that, didn't I?"
He dropped to his knees in front of her.
The first sock came off slow, his teeth catching the edge of the lace and dragging it down over her thigh, her knee, her calf. His breath was hot against her skin, his mouth grazing the sensitive flesh behind her knee in a way that made her shiver. He peeled it off her foot and tossed it aside, then turned his attention to the other.
By the time both socks were gone, Luna was trembling. Not from cold—from anticipation, from need, from the way he was looking at her like she was a meal he couldn't wait to devour.
He pushed her back onto the bed.
"Spread your legs," he said.
She did.
He settled between them, his mouth finding her inner thigh, kissing and biting a path toward the apex. She could feel his breath against her lace-covered pussy, warm and teasing, and she arched her hips toward him, desperate for contact.
"Please," she whispered.
He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs, slowly, deliberately. Then his mouth was on her.
The first lick was long and slow, from her entrance to her clit, and Luna's back arched off the bed. He groaned against her, the vibration sending sparks through her nervous system, and then he was eating her like she was the best thing he'd ever tasted, his tongue working her clit in tight circles while his fingers slid inside her.
"Fuck, Leo—"
He didn't stop. Didn't slow down. He fucked her with his fingers and his tongue, relentless, and Luna grabbed fistfuls of the duvet and held on for dear life. The orgasm built fast this time, a freight train she couldn't stop, and when it hit she screamed his name, her thighs clamping around his head.
He kept going until she pushed him away, gasping, oversensitive and shaking.
"Too much," she managed.
He crawled up her body, kissing her stomach, her chest, the hollow of her throat. His cock was hard again, pressed against her hip, leaving a wet trail on her skin.
"You good?" he asked.
"Yeah." She pulled him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. "Fuck me. Slow this time."
He did.
He slid inside her with a groan, filling her inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. Then he stayed there, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath warm against her mouth.
"I could stay here forever," he said.
Luna's heart clenched. "Me too."
He started to move, slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that had her climbing again almost immediately. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper.
"You feel so good," she breathed. "So fucking good."
"Yeah?" He kissed her, messy and soft. "You like that?"
"I love it."
The words hung in the air between them, heavier than she'd intended. But she didn't take them back. Didn't want to.
Leo's rhythm faltered for just a second, something shifting in his eyes. Then he kissed her again, deeper, and picked up the pace.
"I love it too," he murmured against her mouth.
Luna came first, her body arching up to meet his, a sob catching in her throat. Leo followed a few thrusts later, his hips stuttering, his face buried in her neck. He said her name—her real name, not Luna, but Leah—and she felt something crack open in her chest.
They lay there afterward, tangled together, the sheets damp with sweat. The room smelled like sex and his cologne, and outside the window the sky was turning orange and pink with the sunset.
The words sat heavy in the air, bigger than either of them had intended. Luna felt the weight of them pressing against her ribs, her heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the way he was looking at her.
Leo rolled onto his side, his hand finding her waist, pulling her close. His thumb traced lazy circles on her hip, the sweat cooling on their skin. "You meant that," he said. Not a question.
"I did."
He was quiet for a moment. Outside, a car passed, the sound distant and unimportant. The orange light spilling through her blinds painted him in gold, and Luna thought she'd never seen anything so beautiful.
"Good," he said finally. "Because I meant it too."
She kissed him then, soft and slow, her hands sliding up his chest. His heartbeat was steady under her palm, grounding her. When she pulled back, his eyes were still closed, like he was memorizing the feeling of her mouth.
"I need a bath," she whispered.
He opened his eyes. Didn't say a word. Just climbed off the bed and walked naked into her bathroom.
She heard the water start, the rush of it filling the tub. Through the open door, she watched him move—the way he checked the temperature with his wrist, the way he found the bottle of lavender bubble bath on the shelf without asking. He poured a capful in, watched the foam rise, then turned back to her.
"Come here," he said.
Her legs were still unsteady. He didn't make her walk. He crossed the room in four strides and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself be carried.
The bathroom was warm, steam curling toward the ceiling. He lowered her into the water slowly, his hands gentle on her back, and the heat seeped into her muscles. She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.
"Better?" he asked.
She opened her eyes to find him turning toward the door.
"Stay."
He looked back, one eyebrow raised.
"I want you in here." She let her knees fall open under the water, just enough for him to see. "With me."
He didn't need to be asked twice.
The water rose dangerously high when he climbed in, spilling over the porcelain lip and pooling on the floor. The tub was big—her parents had remodeled the bathroom two years ago, had chosen something deep and wide enough for two—but Leo was tall, his knees bent, his shoulders broad.
"Fuck, you're going to flood the floor," Luna laughed.
"Worth it."
He pulled her against him, her back to his chest, and for a moment they just sat there. His hands moved over her shoulders, her arms, her stomach, washing away the sweat and the evidence of everything they'd done.
Then she turned around.
Facing him, straddling his hips, the water lapping at her waist. His cock was already hard, pressed against her inner thigh, and she ground against it deliberately. He groaned, his hands finding her ass under the water.
"You're going to be the death of me," he said.
"What a way to go."
She rose up on her knees, reached between them, guided him inside her. The water made everything slick, easy, and she sank down onto him in one slow motion until he was fully buried.
"Fuck," he breathed.
"Shhh."
She didn't want to be quiet. She wanted to be loud, wanted him to hear every sound she made. The bathroom had high ceilings and tile floors—the acoustics were excellent.
She started to move.
His hands gripped her ass, helping her ride him, and the water sloshed against the sides of the tub with every thrust. She planted her hands on his shoulders for leverage, her nails digging into his skin, and he leaned forward to take one of her nipples in his mouth.
"You feel so fucking good," she gasped. "So deep, oh my God—"
"Ride me," he said, his voice muffled against her breast. "Fucking ride me, baby."
She did.
The water surged over the edge in waves, soaking the bathmat, the floor, probably seeping under the door. She didn't care. All she cared about was the way he felt inside her, filling her, stretching her, hitting a spot that made her vision blur.
"You like that?" she asked, breathless. "You like fucking me in my parents' bathtub?"
"Yeah." He bit down on her shoulder. "Fuck yes."
"Naughty boy."
"Your fault."
He moved his hands from her ass to her hips, guiding her faster, harder. His mouth found her other breast, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Luna threw her head back and moaned, the sound echoing off the tile.
"Leo—"
"I know. Me too."
"I'm going to come."
"Come on my cock." He looked up at her, his eyes dark and needy. "Give it to me."
The orgasm built low in her belly, coiled tight and ready to snap. She rode him harder, faster, chasing the feeling. He bit her nipple. She clenched around him.
And then she was coming, her body convulsing, her mouth open in a scream that had no words. The water splashed over the sides in earnest now, a wave that soaked both of them and the floor and probably everything in a five-foot radius.
"Fucking hell," Leo groaned, and then he was coming too, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise.
They collapsed together, the water still settling, their breath mingling in the steam. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder, his hand stroking up and down her back.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too."
She stayed there for a long moment, just breathing him in. Then she climbed off him, climbed out of the tub, and grabbed a towel from the rack.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I need to get dressed."
"Into what?"
She smiled over her shoulder. "You'll see."
---
She dripped her way into her bedroom, the towel wrapped around her body, her wet hair leaving a trail on the hardwood floor. The room smelled like what they'd done in it—sex and sweat and his cologne—and the thought made her grin.
She went to the back of her closet.
The box was behind her winter coats, pushed to the darkest corner. She hadn't touched it in almost two years. Hadn't wanted to. Ethan had bought it for her during one of their last attempts at being a couple, a last-ditch effort to fix something that had never been fixable.
"You'll look so hot in this," he'd said. "Wear it for me."
She'd never worn it.
She opened the lid now and stared down at the black lace. The bodysuit was delicate, dangerous, cut high on the hips and low on the chest. The nylons were sheer and black, so thin they'd feel like nothing against her skin. The choker was velvet, with a small silver ring at the center.
She pulled the towel off and reached for the lingerie.
The bodysuit fit like it had been made for her. The lace hugged every curve, revealing more than it hid, the black somehow making her skin look even paler. The nylons slid up her legs like water, sheer and elegant. She fastened the choker around her neck and looked at herself in the mirror.
Different.
Her hair was wet, plastered to her shoulders, darker than usual. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat and the sex. Her lips were swollen. But the black against her skin, the evidence of what she'd just done—it made her look like someone else.
Someone who wasn't afraid of what she wanted.
She heard Leo step out of the bathroom and turned.
He stood in the doorway, a towel slung low around his waist, his chest still glistening with water. He took one look at her—the lace, the nylons, the choker—and the towel hit the floor.
"Fuck," he said.
She offered him a small, coy smile.
"House tour offer still stands?" she asked. "I could give you the tour."
He was across the room before she finished the sentence, his hands finding her waist, his mouth finding her neck.
"Better be a damn good tour," he murmured against her skin. "Because I'm not sure I'm going to make it past this room."
She laughed, took his hand, and led him toward the stairs.
"Better keep up then."