David withdrew his fingers slowly, the sudden emptiness a shock. Leo whimpered, his body instinctively clenching around nothing. Before Leo could protest, David shifted lower. His hands gripped Leo's thighs, spreading him wider, holding him utterly exposed. David's gaze was fiercely possessive, locked onto Leo's most intimate place, slick and glistening from the oil and his own arousal. He didn't hesitate. He leaned in and pressed his mouth firmly against Leo's entrance. A low, shocked groan tore from Leo's throat. David's tongue was broad, flat, lapping firmly, possessively, cleaning away the oil and sweat with deliberate, thorough strokes. The sensation was raw, primal, and intensely intimate – a claiming deeper than any kiss. David licked with slow, deliberate sweeps, his tongue circling, pressing insistently against the sensitive rim. He explored every fold, every trace of slickness, his movements unhurried and reverent. He licked *deeply*, his tongue probing inward with shocking intimacy, mimicking the penetration of his fingers but softer, wetter, unbearably intimate. Leo trembled violently, overwhelmed by the sheer vulnerability and the shocking pleasure of being so thoroughly tasted, claimed, and cleansed. His fingers tangled helplessly in the silk sheets.
David pulled back only when Leo's trembling threatened to become convulsions. He pressed a final, lingering kiss against the quivering muscle before rising. His own arousal was evident, thick and heavy, but he ignored it. Instead, he gently gathered Leo, whose limbs felt like water, into his arms. Leo offered no resistance, utterly spent. David carried him effortlessly to the vast, decadent bathroom. The shower was a warm cascade of steam. David stepped in with Leo still cradled against his chest. He washed Leo with meticulous care, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they smoothed soap over the bruises forming on Leo's hips, the faint scratches on his back. He washed Leo's hair, massaging his scalp, rinsing away every trace of sweat, oil, and David himself. The water sluiced over them, warm and soothing. David's touch was tender, almost worshipful, a stark contrast to the earlier intensity. He dried Leo with a plush towel, patting him dry with the same focused care. Leo's eyes were heavy, his body boneless. David wrapped him in a thick, soft robe and guided him back to the bed. He pulled back the covers, settled Leo onto the cool sheets, and tucked the duvet around him. Leo's eyes fluttered shut before David had even turned off the bedside lamp. The last thing he registered was the soft click of the light and the deep, enveloping darkness.
Leo awoke to soft morning light filtering through sheer curtains. He was alone in the vast bed, the silk sheets cool against his skin where the robe had fallen open. He blinked, disoriented, memories of the night flooding back in a vivid, overwhelming rush. He turned his head. David lay beside him, deeply asleep, naked under the duvet. His face, usually so composed and watchful, was relaxed in sleep, the sharp angles softened. Dark lashes fanned against his cheekbones, his lips slightly parted. One arm was thrown carelessly above his head, the other resting near Leo's hip. He looked younger, vulnerable, utterly at peace. The predatory intensity was gone, replaced by a profound stillness. Leo watched the slow, steady rise and fall of David's chest, the faint dusting of dark hair across his pectorals. Sunlight caught the silver strands at his temples. He looked exhausted, a deep weariness etched into his relaxed features. Leo felt a strange pang, a mix of tenderness and lingering shock. He carefully shifted, trying not to disturb him, and that's when he saw it.
A folded piece of thick, cream-colored paper rested on the nightstand on David's side. Leo's name was scrawled across it in elegant, looping script. He reached over, his fingers brushing David's bare shoulder as he retrieved it. The note was written with a fountain pen, the ink a deep, rich blue.
*Leo,*
*I am a deep sleeper, and after yesterday, I was very tired. Thank you for yesterday. I hope I didn't force you too much or get carried away! I don't know whether you feel the same, but I think I love you and want to know you more. See you soon? Stay safe, little Leo.*
The words blurred as Leo's breath caught. *Love*. The word felt too vast, too sudden, echoing in the quiet room like a struck bell. He stared at David's sleeping face – the vulnerable curve of his mouth, the exhaustion etched into his relaxed brow. This wasn't the controlled predator, the man who'd orchestrated every touch, every gasp. This was someone laid bare, stripped of armor, confessing something raw and terrifying in its sincerity. Leo's fingers trembled against the expensive paper. Had David written this in the quiet dark, watching him sleep? The tenderness of the gesture warred violently with the memory of David's possessive intensity, the way he'd mapped Leo's body like territory to be claimed. *Force you too much*. The phrasing was careful, almost hesitant. Had David sensed Leo's moments of overwhelmed retreat beneath the pleasure? The note felt like a key offered to a door Leo hadn't dared approach.
Leo carefully folded the note, the crisp paper a tangible weight against his palm. He eased out of the vast bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin. He needed space, air, distance to untangle the knot in his chest. The penthouse was silent, bathed in the pale gold of early morning. He padded across the plush carpet to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawling below like a circuit board. Yesterday's sanctuary now felt charged, the opulence suddenly stifling. David's confession hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. *I think I love you*. It wasn't just lust, not anymore. It was a claim far deeper, far more dangerous. Leo leaned his forehead against the cool glass. What did he feel? Gratitude, yes. Arousal, undeniably. But love? It felt too soon, too tangled with the intensity of the encounter, the sheer shock of being desired so completely by someone like David. He felt adrift, caught between the ghost of Leo Lust and this raw, exposed version of himself David seemed to crave knowing.
He dressed silently in the clothes he'd worn yesterday, the fabric carrying the faint scent of David's expensive cologne and the kitchen. He didn't wake the sleeping man. Leaving felt cowardly, but staying felt like stepping onto quicksand. He scribbled a quick, awkward note on the back of David's: *Had to go. Thank you. Leo.* He slipped out the door, the quiet click echoing in the silent hallway. The drive back to the forested hills felt longer this time, the city's grip reluctant to release him. The imposing iron gates swung open, the crunch of gravel under the tires a familiar sound now, but devoid of yesterday's tentative hope. He parked near the entrance, the mansion's solid stone facade seeming colder in the grey morning light. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before pushing open the heavy oak door.
The silence inside was thick, charged. Thorne stood in the center of the grand hallway, facing the entrance. He wasn't lounging; he was planted. Dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater, he radiated coiled tension. His grey eyes, usually coolly assessing, were chips of flint. The air crackled with unspoken fury. Leo froze just inside the doorway, the scent of pine and old wood suddenly sharp and oppressive.
"You vanished." Thorne's voice was low, dangerously controlled, each word clipped. "For eighteen hours. No call. No text." He took a single step forward, the movement deliberate, predatory. "My calls went unanswered. Repeatedly." The accusation hung heavy. It wasn't concern; it was possession challenged. Leo felt the weight of Thorne's gaze pinning him, stripping away any excuse. The penthouse luxury, David's confession, the tenderness – it all shriveled under that cold, furious stare.
Leo swallowed, the taste of David's expensive whiskey suddenly sour. "I... needed air," he managed, his voice sounding thin in the cavernous hall. "After everything." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the mansion, the office confrontation, the unsettling sounds of the night. The excuse felt flimsy even to him. Thorne didn't move, didn't react beyond a tightening around his eyes. The silence stretched, thick with accusation and Leo's rising panic.
"Air?" Thorne finally echoed, the word dripping with icy contempt. He took another step closer, the distance shrinking alarmingly. The controlled fury radiating from him was palpable, a physical pressure against Leo's skin. "You took my car. Disappeared into the city. Ignored every attempt I made to locate you." His gaze raked over Leo, taking in the slightly rumpled clothes – David's clothes, Leo realized with a jolt of dread – the faint scent of unfamiliar cologne clinging to him. "Did you find your *air* satisfying?" The question was a blade, probing for the wound.
Leo flinched. He couldn't mention David. Not Laurent. Not the penthouse. Not the note. "I just... drove," he stammered, backing up instinctively until his shoulders hit the cold wood of the front door. "Cleared my head." The lie tasted like ash. Thorne's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the minute tremor in Leo's hands, the flicker of panic he couldn't suppress. He saw too much.
"Cleared your head," Thorne repeated, his voice dangerously low. He closed the final distance, looming over Leo, trapping him against the door. The scent of expensive wool and something darker, metallic, filled Leo's nostrils. Thorne's hand shot out, not striking, but gripping Leo's jaw with bruising force, forcing his head up. "With Laurent's scent all over you?" Thorne hissed, his breath hot against Leo's face. Recognition flared in those pale grey eyes, sharp and furious. "Did you crawl back to him? To Azure? After everything?"
Leo tried to wrench his head away, panic flaring. "No! I just... I needed..." The denial died on his lips as Thorne leaned impossibly closer, his nostrils flaring subtly. Leo hadn't showered since leaving David's penthouse. The faint, lingering traces of sex – the musk of sweat, the sharp tang of semen, the sweet, earthy scent of olive oil David had used – clung stubbornly to his skin and hair beneath the borrowed clothes. To Leo, it was a fading memory. To Thorne, with his unnervingly acute senses honed by years of tracking and violence, it was a glaring, undeniable signature.
Thorne inhaled deeply, deliberately, his grip tightening on Leo's jaw. The fury in his grey eyes crystallized into something colder, sharper. Recognition. Possession violently challenged. "You reek of SEX," Thorne growled, the low rumble vibrating through Leo's bones. "sweat. seed." His gaze dropped pointedly to Leo's throat, then lower, as if he could see the phantom marks David's mouth had left. "oil." The last word was spat out like poison. "You went straight from my bed to another. You let whoever *use* you."
Leo flinched, the accusation twisting like a knife. "It wasn't like that!" The protest was weak, drowned by the overwhelming sensory evidence Thorne had cataloged.
*
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