He smiled then, a wicked grin. “I figured you for a no on the honey thing. Your only worry is someone watching.”
I sputtered because he was right. I hadn’t said no. But, he was also scrambling my brain cells, making my nipples go hard and my pussy was thinking about being licked clean of the sticky sweetness.
“If anyone walks in, I’ll just shoot them.”
I laughed. “Even if your head’s between my legs?”
He looked down my body, most likely imagining. “That’s where you picture me, sugar? I was thinking about sucking on those nipples and making you come first. But if that’s what you want…”
He dropped to his knees.
“Oh shit.”
Right there in my work kitchen.
Good thing I was ruthless about cleaning, for the floor was probably cleaner here than in my own apartment.
He plunked the plastic bottle down on the table by my hip, tugged on the apron.
“Take this off.”
I lifted it over my head, let it drop to the floor.
“I like how you do as I say. Let’s see if you’ll do it again.”
Taking off the apron was a no-brainer. But when he said, “Take off the shirt, sugar. Let me see what kind of bra’s covering those gorgeous breasts,” I stalled.
I reached back, wrapped my hands around the edge of the table, perhaps to keep me up, perhaps as something to anchor me so I didn’t float away. Glancing at the door, I knew no one could see in. The only windows were high up, one transom over the door, the others equally high. It worked for me so no one could see in at my supplies and decide to break in. Now, it worked for an entirely different reason. When he tucked his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants and tugged them down over my hips, no one was going to see it.
“Holy shit, sugar. Where are your panties?”
He was looking at me right there, and I rubbed my thighs together.
“In my drawer?” I squeaked.
He looked up at me, his green eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. The smile on his face now held heat, promise. Desire. “Are you bare for me?”
I gave a slight head nod. How could a guy like him be on his knees before me? I mean, I was wearing my work clogs. My hair was pulled back for cooking, I had flour on the sleeves of my shirt and I smelled like garlic. And yet he looked like he wanted to eat me right up. Or at least pour honey on me.
Oh God.
“For me and Dane,” he clarified.
I stilled. “Oh. Um. Dane. God, is this cheating?”
He put his warm, calloused hands on my bare thighs, my pants down about my knees. “You’re ours, sugar. Mine and Dane’s. Sometimes we’ll take you together, like last night. Sometimes, you’ll be all mine. And sometimes you’ll be just for Dane. All right?”
“Ours?” I asked, but it came out breathy since his palms slid upward, igniting every nerve ending on the way.
“Mmmhmm,” he replied.
I was going to have him clarify further, but his thumbs brushed over me, then parted me for his mouth.
Oh God.
Having Leo’s head between my thighs was...shit...incredible. Dark. Naughty. Wicked. I was in my work kitchen!
He wasn’t gentle, or tender. Or slow. He was ruthless and precise in nature, and that applied as well with his tongue. Most guys couldn’t find a clit without a headlamp and a road map, but Leo? He honed right in on it and got busy. Seriously busy.