Chapter 66 Leo
The sun was sinking low when we started, bleeding across the horizon in molten reds and bruised oranges, staining the edges of the clouds like something wounded, refusing to die quietly. The air still held the day’s warmth, but it was fading fast, replaced by that fine edge of cool that made your skin hypersensitive, made your breath sharper, made every inch of your body feel awake. I stood at the center of the yard, arms crossed, eyes locked on Kristen as she stretched in slow, clipped movements that gave away more than she probably intended. Every shift of her limbs was too sharp, too quick, her breath shallow and jaw clenched. She was tense, annoyed, and distracted, three things I didn’t like seeing in her. Not tonight.
“Feet wider,” I said, my voice flat.
She didn’t adjust.
“Kristen.”
“I heard you.”
“Then do it.”
She moved her foot outward just half an inch, deliberately too little, deliberately wrong. She was baiting me, and we both knew it.
I exhaled through my nose, keeping my tone steady. “Again.”
With a theatrical roll of her eyes, she widened her stance properly this time, but she did it with that same aggressive energy, like she was daring me to say something else. I let the moment hang, then added, “Hands up.”
“They are up,” she replied, already defensive.
“They’re lazy.”
“They’re fine.”
“They’re not.”
She jerked her arms higher, snapping them into place with unnecessary force. Her triceps flexed beneath her tank top, taut and hot from warm-up. “Happy?”
“No.”
That earned me a glare full of heat and frustration. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re sloppy,” I shot back, my voice lower now, firmer.
She scoffed and squared up. Her feet planted. Her chin tilted. Her whole body said, try me. So I did. I stepped in, testing her with a slow, controlled strike aimed toward her shoulder. She caught it easily, deflecting with enough force to jolt my arm harder than necessary.
“Control,” I reminded her. “Not anger.”
“Maybe I like anger,” she muttered, jaw tight.
“That’ll get you killed.”
That’s when she lunged, fast and hard, no warning at all. Her shoulder slammed into my chest before I could fully pivot, and I staggered half a step back, more surprised than hurt. I reacted on instinct, catching her wrist mid-motion.
She tore free immediately, eyes flashing. “Don’t grab me.”
“You’re distracted.”
“Maybe because you’re being a dick.”
“Or maybe because you’re spending time with people you shouldn’t.”
That did it. She stopped. Her eyes narrowed into something sharp and mean. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means Walter Stone isn’t your friend.”
She laughed, short and bitter. “Here we go.”
“He’s not safe.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
“You always think you know everything,” she snapped, her voice rising.
“I know what predators look like.”
“And I know what control freaks look like.”
My teeth clenched at that. I stepped in closer, lowering my voice. “I’m not your dad. I know that.”
She froze, not fully, not obviously, but just for a breath. Just enough. I kept my voice calm, steady, but there was weight behind it.
“But he’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t say something.”
Something shifted in her expression, an ache maybe, but she shoved it down fast, burying it under anger.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t use him.”
“I’m not using him. I’m honoring him.”
“By stalking me?”
“By protecting you.”
“By controlling me.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
She stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat off her skin. Her voice dropped again, soft and sharp like a blade behind the ribs.
“What are you afraid of, Leo?” Her eyes searched mine. “Afraid he’ll do something to me that I hate?”
Her head tilted slightly. Her mouth curled, not a smile, something more dangerous.
“Or something I like?”
Before I could answer, her fingers lifted. They touched my chest, light at first, barely there, but then they flattened, tracing a slow, deliberate path down. She didn’t rush. She took her time, dragging her hand over the curve of muscle, down the slope of my abdomen, every inch more intimate than the last. My breath caught before I even realized it.
When her palm hit the waistband of my jeans, my whole body went rigid. My cock pulsed hard against the denim, already half-hard from adrenaline and tension, now surging toward something worse. Or better. She felt it. I knew she did.
Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband like they belonged there, sliding over skin until only the thin fabric of my briefs separated us. She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her hand around me, full and firm, fingers closing with intent. The groan escaped me before I could stop it.
“Scared I’ll do this to him?” she whispered.
She gave a slow stroke through the fabric, her eyes locked on mine, her lips parted.
“Scared he’ll be like this in my hand?”
I wanted to stop her. I didn’t. Couldn’t. My whole body surged toward hers, driven by the pulse thudding through my cock, the smell of her skin, the heat rolling off her in waves. My breath was ragged now, my control cracking with every second her hand stayed on me.
I grabbed her wrist, but her grip tightened in response. That deliberate squeeze broke something in me.
I didn’t think. I reacted.
I wrenched her hand away, spun her, and slammed her back into the mat in one brutal motion. She landed with a thud, back hitting the ground hard, the impact driving a gasp from her lungs. I followed her down, pressing my body over hers, pinning her wrists above her head in a single-hand grip. My hips sank into hers and without meaning to, I ground against her. My cock pressed into her through my jeans, hard and hot, and I felt her body shift under me to meet it. My hips betrayed me. I pushed against her before I realized I was even doing it, chasing heat, chasing friction.
We were locked in that moment. Breath to breath. Her thighs wrapped around mine without hesitation, pulling me in even tighter. Her eyes stayed on mine, dark and unflinching.
“What are you going to do next, Leo?” she whispered, breathless but steady.
Her hips rolled up into mine, slow and deliberate. My cock throbbed again, trapped between us. I could smell her shampoo, her sweat, her skin. The scent of her was thick in my lungs, her heat radiating off her like a second skin.
“Punish me?” she said, voice low, seductive, almost sweet. “Your body seems to want that.”
She arched beneath me again, grinding into me. My breath hitched. I could feel the warmth of her through her shorts, through the denim. She wasn’t bluffing. She wanted this.
Fuck.
“Kristen,” I said, my voice frayed at the edges.
She moved again, dragging herself against me, deliberate and slow. “Say it,” she murmured. “Say what you want.”
I closed my eyes. Just for a second.
That’s all it took.
I saw her body torn. Blood on her arms. Red eyes burning. Her scream echoing in my head as I held her limp in my arms. The memory wasn’t real, not yet, but it was possible. It was close. Too close.
I opened my eyes. My hands were shaking.
I let go of her wrists and pushed back, rolling off her and rising to my feet in one fast, jarring motion. I turned away, my breath coming in ragged bursts. My cock ached in my jeans, throbbing with all the need I refused to touch. My fists clenched at my sides.
“You don’t want this, Kristen,” I said, my voice hoarse and cracked.
She sat up slowly behind me. “There you go again. Telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“You’re telling me you’re scared.”
“Yes,” I snapped, turning halfway toward her. “I am.”
She didn’t say anything. She stood, brushing dirt off her legs, fixing her shirt like it hadn’t just been a second skin against mine.
“I need a drink,” she said flatly.
Then she walked toward the house. No glance back. No hesitation.
I stood there alone, body still trembling, jaw locked. My chest burned with everything I hadn’t done, hadn’t said. My hands shook, still remembering the shape of her beneath me.
I turned to the old steel spar pole near the fence. Six feet of reinforced alloy, anchored deep in concrete. I focused on it, narrowed all of it, rage, frustration, lust, guilt, into that one object.
The metal groaned, slow at first, then louder, twisting under pressure that didn’t come from any hand. It crumpled like soft clay, crushing inward on itself as if some invisible force had grabbed it by the middle and refused to let go. A scream of tortured steel ripped across the yard. The base cracked. The pole folded down, crumpled, twisted, steaming against the dirt.
My breath was heavy. My shirt stuck to my back. My entire body shook.
Because if I hadn’t done that…
I would’ve gone after her.
And crossed a line I could never uncross.