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You absolutely knew how to control a room. Years of pattern recognition and carefully practiced social skills made sure of it.
The glow of the tactical map illuminated the darkened briefing room, casting cool blue light over the faces of the strike team. You clicked to the next slide, your voice steady as you outlined the encrypted security networks of the target facility.
This was your domain. You might not be kicking down doors, but in the digital and strategic realm, you were the architect. Your mask was perfectly in place: poised, reliable, completely untouchable.
"So, the thermal sensors on the east wing," a deep, rough voice rumbled from the back of the room. "If the grid goes down, what's the latency on their backup generators?"
Your breath snagged in your throat.
You didn't need to look to know who it was, but you did anyway, darting to the back corner.
Leon Kennedy was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, stretching the fabric of his black shirt in a way that was entirely unnecessary—and deeply distracting. His blue eyes were fixed on you with that focus that always made you feel like you were under a microscope.
It was entirely unfair. You got along with everyone else on the team. You could joke with the medics, coordinate with field ops, glide through small talk. But Leon was the crack in your armor. He was too intense, too perceptive, and far too attractive for your nervous system to handle.
Your heart started racing. The silence in the room stretched for half a second too long. You forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, fixing your blue-light glasses before tightening your grip on the podium.
“Three seconds,” you said, miraculously steady. “I’ve already written a localized script to loop their previous feed. If you’re fast enough, Agent Kennedy, they won’t even know you’re there.”
A slow smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Copy that.”
You looked away first and rushed through the final slide of the briefing. As the lights flickered back on, the tension released in a collective sigh from the team. You were gathering your files, desperate to escape back to the safety of the server room, when your supervisor clapped his hands together.
"Great work, everyone. Don't forget: O'Malley booked the big table at the steakhouse for eight o'clock tonight. Mandatory team bonding. I expect to see all of you there."
Your stomach dropped. You glanced up, and your eyes collided with Leon's one more time across the emptying room. He was still watching you.
The steakhouse was too loud, too warm, and too small.
You’d placed yourself at the far end of the long wooden table, boxed in by the two chattiest people on the team. Perfect camouflage. You could nod, smile, and let the noise wash over you.
It worked.
Until Leon pulled out the chair diagonally across from you.
Every time you glanced up, he was already looking.
He tracked everything—the polite laughs, the way your fingers peeled the label off your beer bottle, the deliberate way you avoided his gaze.
By the time the check came, your social battery was dead.
“See you tomorrow in the server cave!” your colleague called, waving as he piled into a cab.
You smiled, thin and tired, and waved back, pulling your coat tighter against the cold. Within minutes, the energy bled out of the street, leaving it quiet.
You pulled out your phone, opened the Uber app, and waited.
The loading circle kept spinning.
No drivers available.
“Need a ride?”
The low voice made you jump.
You turned. Leon stood a few feet away, leaning against his car, half-shadowed under a streetlamp. The light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the broad set of his shoulders wearing his jacket.
“I—it’s fine,” you said, already tapping your screen. “It’s just loading. Someone’ll take it.”
He pushed off the car and stepped closer. "You've been standing here shivering for ten minutes. Wait time in this area is thirty-five. Get in."
“Really, Kennedy, it’s fine.” You took a small step back as he closed the distance. Your pulse spiked. “I don’t want to bother you. You live the other way.”
“You’re not a bother. It’s a ride. Get in.”
“No, thank you. I’ll wait.”
You kept your eyes on your phone, clinging to it like a shield.
Leon went still. The silence stretched, heavy, filled only by distant traffic.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Rougher.
“Why do you hate me?”
Your head snapped up.
For the first time since you’d met him, the untouchable aura was gone. His brow was drawn, expression open—confused, almost bruised.
“I—what?”
“You talk to everyone else,” he said, stepping closer. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you. “You laugh with the field ops. You brief command without blinking. But you can’t look at me. You’d rather freeze out here than sit in my car.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching yours. “What did I do?”
“I don’t hate you,” you said quickly. “I don’t. Really.”
Something shifted in his expression. Slow. Intent.
“Oh yeah?”
He stepped into your space, blocking out the cold, the light, and everything else.
“Then prove it,” he said softly. “Come get a drink with me. Right now.”
You didn’t remember agreeing.
Only the click of the passenger door closing behind you, sealing you into the quiet.
The car smelled like him—leather, cedar, something clean and sharp.
Leon slid into the driver’s seat, broad shoulders filling the space, and pulled away from the curb.
And then... he said absolutely nothing.
There was no music. No conversation. Just silence.
It was overwhelming.
You pressed yourself toward the door, hyper-aware of everything—the engine, the shifting streetlights across his face, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He drove one-handed, relaxed, while you were anything but.
Every small movement—the creak of leather, the shift of his arm—sent heat straight up your chest.
Ten minutes later, the car stopped outside a bar. Silence dropped hard after the engine cut out.
Leon turned his head, the faint light from the bar catching in his eyes. "Ready?"
Inside, the noise hit all at once—voices, music, the smell of beer and old wood thick in the air.
Leon guided you to a booth in the back, sliding in across from you. A waitress appeared almost immediately. He ordered a beer, and you blurted out an order for a bourbon on the rocks before thinking.
As the waitress nodded and walked away, Leon leaned back, one arm resting on the table, a faint smirk pulling at his mouth.
“Are you always this easy to kidnap,” he asked, “or is this new?”
You flinched, hands dropping to your lap. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I’m… socializing.”
“Right.”
When the drinks came, you wrapped both hands around the glass. Ice clinked softly as you stared down at the amber liquid, trying to rebuild the wall you’d already lost.
“You’ve been holding your breath since we left the restaurant.”
His voice cut effortlessly through the noise of the bar.
You flinched, looking up.
Leon hadn’t touched his drink. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, closing the distance between you. The dim lighting carved shadows across his face, but it didn’t hide the intense focus in his eyes.
“I’m breathing,” you said.
“Barely.”
He tilted his head, studying you like you were something he hadn’t figured out yet.
“I’m not trying to torture you,” he said, softer now. “I just want to know why you look at me like a live grenade.”
That did it.
If he’d been smug, you could’ve handled it. If he’d teased, you could’ve deflected.
But he didn’t. He was being sincere.
Your people-pleasing instincts collided with the tension of his proximity. You had to fix this. You had to talk to him, to be normal.
But looking at the broad expanse of his chest, the sharp line of his jaw, and the quiet demand in his eyes... you knew sober logic wasn't going to get you through it.
You lifted your glass and knocked back half the bourbon in one swallow. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down your throat.
Leon frowned immediately, reaching across the table to stop you before you could go again.
“Hey,” he said, low and firm. “You don’t need to do that.”
You looked at his hand. Then at him.
“It’s the only way I’ll answer honestly.”
He went still.
Then, slowly, he leaned back, watching you with something darker than concern.
“Alright,” he said, tapping his thumb against the side of his beer. “Then answer this.” He held your gaze. “When I walk into the server cave, why do you suddenly find a dead monitor fascinating?”
You tightened your grip on your glass. “I don’t do that. I’m busy. Usually analyzing data.”
“You were staring at a screensaver on Monday,” he said. A faint smirk pulled at his mouth. “For three minutes.”
Heat crept up your neck—nothing to do with the alcohol.
You lifted your glass and drained it, already raising two fingers to flag the waitress.
Over the next hour, a dangerous rhythm settled in. Leon asked the questions—calm, precise, impossible to dodge—and you would buy time with a fresh drink to formulate a safe answer.
But with every glass, the professional posture you maintained at the office began to melt away.
And the worst part: you stopped looking away.
The more you drank, the easier it became to hold his gaze. Until it wasn’t a choice anymore. The world narrowed to the table between you… and the man across from you.
“Alright,” Leon said quietly.
The bar had thinned out. His second beer sat barely touched.
He leaned forward slightly, all of his focus locked on you.
“So if you don’t hate me…” he murmured, “why won’t you talk to me like everyone else?”
You stared at him.
The filter was gone, drowned somewhere between your second and third glass. What came out now wasn’t careful, but dangerously honest.
“Because it’s impossible,” you said, your words just slightly slurred as you rested your chin in your hand.
Leon’s brows pulled together. “What is?”
“Thinking.”
You let out a slow breath, your gaze drifting to trace the broad line of his chest without even trying to hide it.
“I can’t think when you’re around. You’re too big. You take up all the air in the room.”
Leon went still.
“And you wear those stupidly tight black shirts,” you went on, your hand lifting in a loose, dismissive gesture. “And the harness. It’s completely unfair. I’m trying to explain malware encryption, and you’re just—”
You gestured vaguely at him. “—there. With your shoulders. Looking like that.”
The noise of the bar seemed to drop out.
“Looking like what?” Leon asked. His voice had changed—lower, rougher. A demand.
You exhaled, slow and helpless.
“Like someone who could ruin my entire life.”
The words slipped out before you could catch them.
You let your head tilt, eyes heavy. “You’re too attractive, Kennedy. It’s a workplace hazard. I’m just…practicing safety protocol for our workplace.”
You waited for it—for the laugh, the teasing, the deflection.
Nothing came.
You blinked, slow, unfocused. And then you saw it.
Leon hadn’t moved, but something in him had shifted. The ease was gone. The smirk, the distance, all of it.
His eyes darkened, fixed on you with something sharp. Intent. Hungry.
The heat that hit you this time was immediate. And it landed low.
The fluorescent lights in the break room felt like a personal attack.
You pinched the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses, eyes squeezed shut as the coffee machine sputtered behind you. Your mouth tasted like ash. Your brain felt hollow—offering nothing but a hazy memory of your third bourbon and the creeping certainty you’d said far too much.
The door swung open. You didn’t need to look, the shift in the room told you everything.
“Morning.”
Leon’s voice was low, smooth in a way that made your stomach drop.
You cracked one eye open.
It was unfair. You looked like you’d been hit by a truck. Leon looked rested, composed, leaning against the counter in his tactical uniform, arms crossed like he hadn’t slept through your public self-destruction.
“Morning, Kennedy,” you rasped, clutching your mug. You stared into the coffee, forcing your voice steady. “Listen, about last night… I don’t really remember leaving. Did I get a cab?”
Leon chuckled, the sound slid down your spine.
“A cab?” he echoed. His gaze dragged over your face, slow and deliberate. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t stand.”
Your stomach dropped. “What?”
“I drove you,” he said, pushing off the counter.
One step closer.
“I practically carried you. Got your keys out of your purse, unlocked your door… tucked you in.”
The words hit hard—and memory followed.
Fragments of the close warmth of the car. Leon leaning over you, his chest brushing yours as he pulled the seatbelt across your lap. His arms under your knees, lifting you like it was nothing. The careful way he slipped off your shoes. The quiet weight of the blanket pulled up to your chin.
Heat rushed up your neck.
He’d been in your apartment.
He’d held you.
“I—” You stepped back, hitting the counter. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t start. You weren’t a burden.”
Leon cut you off, voice dropping—lower, closer to the tone from the bar. The smirk on his face sharpened.
“Besides,” he added, “I couldn’t leave you in a cab. Not after you spent so much time explaining exactly what you think about how my tactical harness fits my shoulders.”
Your grip on the mug slipped.
He remembered. All of it.
And he was standing there, in the middle of the breakroom, looking at you like he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
Your brain shut down in flight response.
“I have to get back to the servers,” you blurted out.
You ducked past him, slipping out of the room before he could answer. His presence lingered anyway—heavy, impossible to shake—as you moved down the hall.
You could feel his gaze on your back the entire way.
That settled it. You were going to avoid Leon S. Kennedy for the rest of your life.
For three days, you turned avoidance into an Olympic sport.
You memorized his schedule, took service elevators, ate lunch at your desk. Every time you heard the heavy tread of boots in the hallway, your heart jumped into your throat.
It was exhausting, but still better than facing him. And better than knowing he remembered everything you’d said at the bar.
It was past nine o'clock. The bullpen was empty, the lights dimmed to their energy-saving hum. You were tucked deep in the archives, blue-light glasses slipping down your nose as you cross-referenced old blueprints against the data on your tablet.
It was quiet. Safe.
Until the sound of footsteps echoed across the floor.
You froze, your finger hovering over the screen of your tablet. The footsteps didn't pass through. They turned into your aisle.
The air in the space between the metal shelves seemed to tighten. You slowly looked up from your tablet.
Leon was standing at the end of the aisle, blocking your only exit. He was wearing the fitted black shirt that haunted your nightmares and a dark shoulder holster. He didn't say a word. He just started walking toward you, each step measured and intent.
You scrambled back, but there was nowhere to go. Your spine hit cold metal.
You were trapped.
Leon stopped inches away. His hand came up, bracing against the shelf beside your head, caging you in. Heat rolled off him, cutting through the stale air and paper dust, carrying that familiar scent of his cologne.
“Running analytics at nine p.m.,” he murmured. His voice was low, rough, and settled deep in your chest. His gaze moved over your rigid posture, your grip on the tablet, and the glasses on your face. “You work too hard, sweetheart,” he said. “You should relax.”
“I’m—” Your voice caught. “I’m behind on a deadline.”
"You're hiding." He leaned in slightly. "And you're out of breath. I haven't even touched you yet."
Your brain shut down, exhausted.
The suffocating proximity completely cut out your communications to every logical protocol you had left. Your mind scrambled, searching for any possible way to break the moment.
"Do you like karaoke?"
The words burst out of you too fast. You clutched your tablet to your chest like a bulletproof vest.
Leon froze. For a split second, he looked genuinely surprised. He blinked, staring down at your panicked eyes.
And then he smiled, satisfied. Like he’d just figured something out.
He leaned in, close enough that you felt the brush of his breath against your ear.
“I love karaoke,” he murmured.
The quiet of the agency gave way to the muffled bass of the karaoke bar.
The hostess pushed open the door to a small, dim booth. You stepped inside, heart racing as it clicked shut behind you, sealing out the noise.
“You didn’t have to rent a whole room,” you said, a little breathless as you held onto your purse. “We could’ve stayed in the main lounge.”
Leon dropped into the corner of the couch like he owned the place—legs spread slightly, one arm draped along the backrest.
"Just wanted you to get as comfortable," he said, eyes locking on you. The colored neon lights cast shifting shadows over the sharp angles of his face. "I figured you weren't a fan of crowds."
Heat flared in your chest as you froze in place. Of course he’d noticed that.
“I just…” you muttered. “Don’t like the noise.”
He kept his gaze on your flustered face, reading right through you.
You set your purse down and reached for the tablet on the table, needing something to do with your hands.
You scrolled frantically. You needed noise. Something loud enough to drown out your pulse. Something chaotic enough to burn off the energy building under your skin.
Your finger hit a track.
The opening riff exploded through the speakers, heavy and sharp. You grabbed the mic and committed.
You belted out the lyrics, your voice loud and a little reckless. The anxiety burned through you as you let the performance strip away the careful, controlled version of yourself you carried at work.
You didn’t see it, but Leon’s initial surprise had shifted. His elbow slid off the backrest. His posture straightened slightly, attention sharpening as he leaned forward. He was drawn in before he could stop it.
His attention locked in. Every movement you made pulled his focus tighter—your voice, your breath, the way you stopped holding yourself back.
By the time the song ended, you dropped onto the couch beside him, breathless and flushed, a grin pulling at your mouth. You held the mic out.
“Your turn, Kennedy.”
He looked at your hand, then at you, and he reached for it.
But instead of taking the microphone, his hand closed around your wrist. It took one pull and you were sliding across the cushions toward him. The breath left your lungs as you got close. Too close.
He took the microphone from your hand and set it aside without looking away from you.
He lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb dragging along your cheek in a slow, deliberate stroke. You couldn’t move.
His fingers shifted to your glasses. He slid them off carefully, folding them before tucking them into his jacket pocket.
Then he leaned in.
Panic and anticipation reached your brain. Your eyes shut automatically, shoulders tensing as you braced for the kiss.
Leon let out a low chuckle. He bypassed your lips entirely, dropping his mouth to your neck instead.
The sound that left you was completely unintentional.
His lips moved higher, teeth grazing your jaw before he caught your earlobe between them. The heat, the pressure, it all sent a sharp shudder through you.
Your hands found his shoulders instinctively.
“Kennedy…” you breathed.
His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you tight against him, while the other moved to your shirt. He popped the first three buttons, exposing the flushed skin of your chest.
Your head tipped back as his mouth dragged down your throat, across your collarbone, then lower—until his teeth caught the soft skin above your breast. The sharp suction wrung a helpless sound out of you.
You let yourself fall into it.
And then a phone rang.
Leon froze. He pulled back, breathing hard as he dragged his phone from his pocket.
"What?" he snapped into the receiver before striding out of the booth.
Suddenly alone, panic flooded in to replace the heat. Your hands trembled violently as you fumbled to button your shirt over the blossoming mark on your skin.
Your pulse wouldn’t slow down, and your skin still burned where his mouth had been.
Desperate to build your armor back up, you grabbed your purse, digging through it just to have something to do other than think about the way he looked at you—
The door swung open. You looked up immediately, your eyes wide and expectant, still thoroughly flushed.
Leon stepped in without looking at you, attention fixed on his phone, and grabbed his jacket with one hand.
"Come on," he said, his voice flat, controlled, and almost distant. "I'll get you home."
The shift hit harder than anything else that night.
You blinked, still flushed, still catching your breath, but your body moved anyway. You grabbed your things and followed him out. Because you didn’t know what else to do.
The ride back was agonizingly silent. You assumed the call had been an emergency—a sudden extraction, a crisis at the agency, anything that explained the abrupt shift. Your mind raced the entire way up the elevator and down the quiet hallway to your apartment.
As you unlocked your door and pushed it open, you turned back to him, expecting a hurried explanation or a rushed apology.
Leon stood a few steps away, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. "I had a good time," he said mildly. "I’ll text you once I get home. Goodnight."
He turned and started walking down the hall.
Your brain stalled. Then snapped.
"What the fuck?" The words came out sharp, before you could stop them.
Leon paused.
“Hey,” you called, stepping fully into the hallway, leaving your door open behind you. “You’re just going to leave? And you’re going home?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. "Yeah," he replied, easy. "I’ve got work tomorrow too, you know."
You stared at him, heat rising fast and uncontrollable under your skin. He wasn’t leaving because of an emergency, but because he could. He was just leaving you there, dismantled and craving. Because he’d already—
You clenched your jaw.
He knew exactly what he’d done to you.
Leon fully turned to face you. Something in his expression shifted.
“Why?” he asked, his voice lower as his gaze briefly dropped to the collar of your shirt, right where he knew his mark was hidden. “Do you need something from me?”
The air in the hallway changed. He took a step toward you. Then another.
You stayed entirely silent, your heart hammering against your ribs, breath catching in your throat as he invaded your personal space once more, stopping just short of touching you.
"I'm sure I can help," he rumbled as he leaned down. "But you'll have to use your words."
You stared up at him, your heart was beating so violently you were sure he could hear it. All your polite defenses had been completely burned away by the heat in his gaze.
You swallowed, forcing air into your lungs. You curled your trembling hands into fists at your sides, bracing yourself as if you were about to jump out of a moving vehicle.
“I want you…” you said, barely above a whisper. The words felt stuck, but you pushed through them anyway. “I want you to come inside.”
Leon didn't move, just kept you pinned beneath his stare. A slow tilt of his head told you he knew exactly what you meant, but he refused to let you off the hook that easily. He was giving you a chance to correct yourself.
Or commit.
“That’s vague,” he said quietly. “What exactly should I do inside your apartment?"
The frustration was impossible to contain. You stepped forward, closing the space he’d left between you, and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, fingers tightening in the leather.
"Not inside my apartment," you said, breath unsteady as you looked dead into his eyes. "Inside me."
The air snapped.
Leon’s pupils blew wide. Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto was gone and was replaced in an instant by something darker. Hungrier.
He stepped forward.
His advance made you instinctively step back. He stalked forward again, forcing you to take another retreating step. He was closing the distance like he had all the time in the world. Driving you backward into the shadowed entry of your apartment until your back hit the wall.
Still holding your gaze, Leon reached back without looking, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut.
The lock clicked, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet of your apartment. You were officially trapped with him.
It was the only starting pistol Leon needed.
He lunged and his mouth crashed into yours.
One hand locked at the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The other wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
You gasped into the kiss, the sound swallowed as his tongue pushed past your lips.
Your hands moved to drag his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall, never breaking contact from your lips.
You slid your fingers up the thick column of his throat, then into the hair at his nape, pulling him closer.
Leon let out a low groan against your mouth. The sound vibrated straight through your chest and pooled directly between your thighs. He shifted, pressing his thigh between your legs, dragging it upward with slow, deliberate pressure.
The friction pulled a broken sound from your throat.
He broke the kiss just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours.
"It may have been better to just send me home," he muttered. He dragged his teeth over your lower lip. "Tell me to stop while I still have my wits about me, I’ll walk away and never bother you again."
"Too late," you gasped. “I’m done running from you, Kennedy.”
A tiny smile formed in his lips. His hands dropped to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him in as he carried you deeper into the apartment.
The new angle was devastating. Elevated against him, your hips locked perfectly with his, your center pressed flush against the hard ridge behind his zipper.
You didn't care where he was taking you, consumed by the intoxicating friction of your bodies rubbing together with every step he took.
Without breaking the kiss, Leon dropped onto your couch, guiding you with him and adjusting your legs so you were straddling his lap. One hand tightened on your ass while the other pressed between your shoulder blades, pulling you flush against him.
His urgency peaked. His hands were everywhere—mapping your hips, tangling in your hair, before moving to the collar of your button-up shirt. He made quick work of the first two buttons. But as his mouth continued to devour yours, his fingers fumbled against the small plastic of the third button.
He let out a frustrated breath against your lips. He managed to pop the button free, but the delay of the process was driving him out of his mind.
Leon broke the kiss, chest rising and falling hard, eyes blown wide with hunger. His hands gripped the edges of your shirt.
"I'll buy you a new one," he rasped.
Then he pulled his hands apart.
The sound of popping thread echoed loudly in the quiet apartment. The buttons scattered as the blouse split open. He shoved it off your shoulders and down your arms.
The sudden rush of cool air hit your flushed skin, making you gasp and arch in reflex. Your bra was exposed, along with the darkening bruise he’d left on your skin earlier.
His gaze dropped to it.
A rough exhale left him as his hand settled on your hip, fingers pressing in to anchor you while his hips rolled up into yours. The friction pulled a soft, helpless sound from your throat.
His other hand came up, covering your breast fully. He squeezed, his thumb dragging over the lace, finding your sensitive peak with deliberate pressure.
His fingers hooked over the edge of the lace cup. With a single tug, he popped your breast free. The relief of the cool air lasted only a second before the wet heat of his mouth claimed you.
The first stroke of his tongue made your breath hitch. The scrape of his teeth followed, pulling a broken moan from you as your fingers twisted deeper into his hair.
Then his other hand moved again.
Down your stomach. Lower.
His knuckles brushed just beneath your navel before settling at your waistband. You felt the precise movements of his fingers against your skin. The metal button gave way, followed by the metallic rasp of the zipper sliding down.
Leon lifted his mouth from your skin with a quiet exhale as he shifted his grip, effortlessly lifting you from his lap. Your back hit the cushions as he hovered over you, his hands already dragging your pants down your thighs in one smooth motion.
His fingers pressed into the bare skin of your upper thighs as he pulled, savoring every inch of you he uncovered. He pushed the fabric down past your knees, then your ankles, tossing it aside carelessly.
You reached for him, your hands going straight for the hem of his shirt. Leon obediently raised his arms over his head, allowing you to pull the shirt straight up and off.
The sight of him stole your breath.
The expanse of his bare torso was mesmerizing. The tense lines of his abs, the heavy cut of his chest, and the scattered, faded scars were fully on display. Your hands moved on their, flattening against his chest and caressing his skin.
He exhaled sharply at your touch. "What's on your mind?"
You met his gaze. “You really do look like you could ruin my life, Leon Kennedy.”
A sudden warmth broke his intense expression. He let out a breathy laugh, a devastatingly handsome smile curving his lips before he crashed his mouth back onto yours, his body pressing heavily over you.
His hand slid down your body, over your hip, along your inner thigh, inching higher and closer to your covered center. The anticipation alone made your back arch as he brushed over you through the damp fabric of your panties. You grabbed at the cushions, grounding yourself as pleasure sparked through you.
Leon broke the kiss, hovering inches away, his eyes locked on yours.
“You’re soaked already,” he murmured, hooking a finger beneath the hem of your underwear. “You weren’t kidding, huh?”
The flashback of your drunken confession mortified you. “Shut up,” you muttered, looking away, but his hand caught your chin, forcing your gaze back to him.
“You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
He pulled the fabric aside, exposing your aching core, your breath hitched as he used two fingers to stroke you directly.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he added, his voice softer but no less intense. “You’re not the only one who can’t think straight when the other’s around.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, your logical brain overwhelmed as it tried to process the information. “W-What do you mean?”
“Ever since you joined the force,” he said, using his fingers to tease your entrance, the slick sound a shameless proof of your arousal. “I’ve been unable to spend a day without thinking of you. Without fantasizing about making you mine. Just like this.”
The words shattered whatever defenses you had left. You released the cushions, raising your hands to trace the skin of Leon’s waist, feeling the goosebumps forming beneath your touch.
Then he finally pushed his fingers inside you.
The sound you made was immediate, uncontrolled. He paused just long enough for you to adjust, then set a steady rhythm, drawing in and out with practiced precision.
The pressure built quickly, coiling tight in your lower belly. His thumb found the swollen bundle of nerves above his invading fingers, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts. You were unraveling incredibly fast under him, your hips chasing his hand as the familiar pressure of an approaching climax began to build.
“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Kennedy—”
He stopped.
The sudden loss hit hard, a frustrated sound slipping from your lips as your eyes flew open.
"Leon," he corrected, his voice a command that sent a shiver through your entire body.
His fingers stayed inside you, but motionless.
Your brain, fogged by lust and desperation, struggled to catch up.
"You're not on the clock right now," he murmured, his thumb brushing a light tease over your clitoris, just enough to make your body react. "Say my name."
Your breath hitched, the heat pooling heavy and desperate in your core. You stared up into his piercing blue eyes, surrendering completely to the demand.
"Leon," you whispered, the name tasting foreign and incredibly intimate on your tongue. "Please, Leon."
A satisfied smile curved his lips. "Good girl."
He withdrew his fingers, and the sudden emptiness pulled a sharp gasp from you. He shifted lower, dragging your underwear down your legs and tossing them aside.
Leon settled between your thighs, your legs falling naturally over his shoulders.
He paused, his breath ghosting over your swollen folds.
Then his tongue moved.
The first long, wet stroke of his tongue sent a violent shock through your system.
Your head snapped back against the armrest of the couch, and your hands flew to his hair, anchoring him as he ate you up. Your fingers dug ruthlessly into the short blonde strands, pulling him even tighter against your center.
"Yes," you gasped. "Harder. Don't stop, Leon."
A low sound vibrated against you in response as he obeyed, his pace intensifying.
Leon slid his fingers inside you again, syncing with the movements of his mouth. The combined stimulation built the pressure fast—too fast—and your walls clenched tight around his intruding digits.
He slowed just enough to feel it, lifting his head slightly.
"You're close," he said, almost amused.
"Yes," you sobbed, your head tossing back against the armrest. Your hips stuttered blindly upward, chasing the sensation. "So close."
Then he pulled away completely.
The absence hit like a drop, leaving you suspended, trembling, disoriented. You gasped, your eyes flying open as your body hovered on a devastatingly sharp precipice.
Leon’s hands went straight to his belt, undoing it quickly. He dragged the zipper down, and pushed his pants and underwear just enough to spring his thick, aching length free.
The sight of him, hard, twitching, and desperate, made your breath hitch.
He moved back between your legs. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as he aligned his tip directly against your wet entrance.
His eyes locked onto yours.
Then he pushed inside.
The sudden fullness stretching you open stole the breath from your lungs in a shattered cry. He pulled back slightly, then drove into you again, controlled but relentless.
The pace wasn’t fast, but incredibly rough, driven by a desperate need to claim every inch of you. He sank into you again, then again, his hips snapping against yours. That deep, deliberate pounding was exactly what you needed.
With another thrust, your body finally snapped.
Your climax crashed over you with violent force, your internal muscles milking and clenching frantically around his length. Leon groaned, grip tightening as he kept moving.
He clamped his hands down on your hips, anchoring you to the cushions as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your body shook under him, every movement pulling more from you.
Only when the tremors began to fade did he slow, lowering himself over you, capturing your mouth again in a deep, heated kiss.
Still floating in the hazy afterglow, you immediately melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, your tongues tangling as your chests heaved together.
For a few beautiful moments, it was just the slow, wet slide of your bodies and the shared taste of each other.
As your grip around his neck finally began to loosen, Leon shifted.
He changed the angle.
And sped up again.
You gasped against his mouth, your eyes flying open. Your body reacted immediately, overstimulation spiking as you clenched around him.
"Can you do one more for me?" he murmured.
Your mind was spinning, your body already exhausted by how thoroughly he had just dismantled you.
“I—” you started, breathless. But your words failed you.
A wicked smirk curled the corner of his mouth. He slid one of his hands between your flushed bodies.
The moment the rough pad of his thumb found you again, your body arched. A cry tore from your throat. The sensation was too intense to resist.
"Leon!" you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure spiked to a blinding intensity.
"That’s it," he growled, his thumb circling relentlessly while his hips drove into you with a punishing speed. "Come for me again, sweetheart."
The command, paired with the overwhelming physical sensation, shattered you completely.
The pressure broke all at once, your second climax hitting harder than the first. Your vision went white as your walls clamped down around his thick length in a series of brutal spasms.
That was all he needed.
His control snapped, rhythm breaking as he drove into you, faster, rougher.
A breathless curse tore from his lips. He pulled his hand away from your center to grip your hips with bruising force, burying himself deep inside you. His entire body went rigid as his own release followed.
He collapsed against you, careful not to crush you, his face buried on the crook of your neck
For a moment, the only sounds in the apartment were the frantic gasps of your breathing.
"I told you," he murmured against your skin. "You completely ruin my focus."
A small smile tugged at your mouth.
“You seemed pretty focused to me,” you murmured back.
A quiet huff of laughter left him, his hand settling more firmly at your waist.
Leon pulled back after catching his breath, the separation drawing a quiet sigh from both of you.
Then he froze.
He pulled his head back to look at you, his blue eyes widening as the haze finally cleared.
"Shit. Wait," he breathed, a flash of panic crossing his features. "Are you...?"
"On birth control," you answered calmly. "Mandatory for female agents."
“Right,” Leon exhaled in relief, dropping his forehead down to rest against yours. "Good."
"Unless you're worried about STDs," you added casually, enjoying the way his head snapped right back up. "But my routine tests came back completely clear this month. And I don't really get laid that often anyway."
His expression softened, confidence settling back into place.
“Well,” he said, smirking slightly, “that’s about to change.”
You deadpanned, arching an eyebrow at him. "Wait. Are you saying my tests won't come back clear next time?"
Leon froze. "What? No! That's not what I—I'm not—"
You couldn't hold it in anymore. A bright laugh bubbled up from your chest, cutting him off. "Relax. I'm just fucking with you." You reached up, playfully cupping his cheeks. "I know you’re clean. I saw your file."
Leon stared at you for a long second, suspended somewhere between profound relief and disbelief. Then, a rich chuckle rumbled in his chest. He shook his head, looking down at you with a mixture of exasperation and absolute adoration.
"You're a menace," he muttered affectionately, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
He shifted to lie on his back beside you, pulling you with him until your head rested against his chest.
You laid there for a few peaceful minutes, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. Your skin was sticky with sweat and the lingering heat of the aftermath.
"Hey," you murmured, tilting your chin up to look at him. "Want to take a shower?"
Leon turned his head on the cushion, a charming smile slowly spread across his handsome face as his hand drifted down to warmly cup your hip.
"Only if you're coming with me."