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It's going to be one of those nights.
He can tell by the gaggle of sorority girls heading toward the entrance to the club. Dressed to titillate in body-hugging fabric and stilettos that make walking, let alone dancing, anywhere a risky business. The girls are nothing special; there's plenty of the same inside.
It's the straggler he focuses on, hanging back quietly as if she'd rather be anywhere but here. Modest in a simple black dress paired with knee-high boots, a silver necklace dangling at her neck is the only thing flashy about her, sparkling like a beacon in the night. She's the epitome of an angel in the darkness: pale, glowing skin and white gold hair haloed around her beatific face.
He snorts to himself. Since when did he get so poetic?
Leon crosses his arms over his chest and beckons them over with a wave of his hand. “IDs,” he says gruffly.
“Please,” the leader of the pack sing-songs. “Gorgeous guy like you doesn't have any manners?”
God, if he had a dime for every time he's heard that.
“IDs,” he repeats. “Or you’re not getting in.”
“Rude,” she huffs as she slides a hand into her cleavage. “Here,” she bites out, slapping her damp driver’s license onto the palm of his hand.
Classy, he thinks, resisting the urge to wipe his hand clean.
He gives the ID a quick once over and hands it back. “Go,” he orders, jerking his head at the door. She steps inside the club, a brief blast of music jarring the otherwise quiet exterior, as he checks the rest of the group in kind, leaving the outlier.
Close up, she's really cute with pink stained lips and bright green eyes. Her innocent beauty awakens something inside him he'd thought long dead. Leon gestures for her to come forward. She hesitates, glancing at the door then back out into the dark parking lot.
“In or out?” he asks in a softer tone than he’d given her friends.
“Um, in… I guess,” she answers as she digs into a pocket of her dress.
She hands him her license and he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, raising it up to his eye level to get a better look. Her name is familiar but he chalks it up to his line of work. Numerous names and faces have blended together over the years.
She’s a few months shy of the legal drinking age, probably the designated driver of the bunch. Poor girl, she's in for time after hours. He's been on both ends of that joy ride; he doesn't envy her one bit.
He raises a brow, peeking at her from over the card. “You guess, Ashley?”
“How did you—oh, right.” Ashley nods as she nibbles on her lower lip. “Yeah.”
“You don't sound very sure.”
“It’s just… I don't really go out much.” She gestures absently with hands. “It’s the first time they've asked me to come with them.”
He imagines her in the dorms, shy yet wanting to fit in, watching, waiting, for someone to notice her. She can be like them, let her try. Please, please, please. Then the begrudging invite, they need someone sober to drive. It doesn't matter to her, she's responsible. Makes herself pretty as best she can, but not quite enough to their standards.
“Ah.” Leon hands her license back. “What’ll it be? In or out?”
Finding courage, she squares her shoulders and stands straight. With a decisive nod, she replies, “In.”
The words come out before he could stop them, “That's my girl.” He gives her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“It’s okay,” she chirps. “I should, um, go inside?”
He has half a thought to convince her to get back in her car and drive off. But then… what if she does and he never sees her again? Irrelevant, because why does he care so much? He doesn't.
She's just another girl, out on the town, looking for fun in all the wrong places and having a story to tell her future kids about the dangers of excess with a moral at the end, tying it all into a neat bow.
Yeah, he could do that, be one of many in her list of potentials, never agains, and fat chances. Where he falls is totally up to her, though he hopes it’s at least just this once for pity’s sake.
“Yep, all the fun’s in there.”
“See you around?” She blushes adorably as she shakes her head and pushes through the door to let the blaring music wash away her embarrassment.
“Fuck,” Leon groans, swiping a hand down his face. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
He has no answer for himself. He doesn't have time to watch out for her; lost little lamb that she is, unaware of the wolves lurking inside. Besides, she can take care of herself, plus she has her friends. What could possibly go wrong?
Not much in an hour.
Leon spots Ashley at the bar, parked on a stool and nursing a glass of clear liquid, while watching the dance floor. She bops her head in time to the music, but other than that she doesn’t seem to be interested in being a part of it, content to be an unknown in the periphery. He frowns and waves the bartender over. “Claire, how much has she had to drink?”
Claire smirks. “She's about two glasses in.”
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses and ducks under the bar to take over. “She's fucking underage.”
“She has no problems handling it. Calm your nostrils, Leon. They're getting all flare-y,” she says with a wiggle of her fingertips at his face.
Annoyed, he pushes down her hands. She laughs like he's missing the punchline of a really bad joke. “What?” he barks.
“It’s water, idiot.”
“Oh.” His misplaced anger deflates. Foolish. Claire would never jeopardize their liquor license for anyone. He'd practically given himself away. “Sorry.”
“No worries, I get it. She's a sweet girl.” Claire glances at Ashley over her shoulder. “And here I thought you were more the casual fling type.”
“I don't fling anything casually,” he quips.
She pins him with a knowing glare. “Don't I know it and probably half the ladies here.”
Ouch. That's a low blow.
He laughs it off. “Get Chris outta the booth, will you? Hardly anyone's dancing to his weird ass shit taste in music.”
She gives him a salute. “You got it.”
Claire deftly weaves through the crowd to the back of the club. He waits a moment to collect himself before walking over to Ashley; the itch to check on her is relentless and unforgiving. He leans on the counter and taps her on the shoulder.
When she turns and sees him, her face brightens with a wide smile. “Hi, um, I don't know your name,” she says sheepishly, leaning forward to hear him above the chaos of the club.
“It’s Leon.”
“Leon.”
His name is an exhalation of breath, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Either that or the music drowns out her voice and rattles his insides. Claire's taste isn't that much better than Chris’s.
“Refill?” he asks, pointing to her glass.
“No, thank you.” Her cheeks pink. “Is there a ladies room?”
She's too fucking adorable for words. He’d eat her up in a heartbeat if she'd let him. But Claire's right, he'd spit her back out once he's done with her. As much as he gives in to his libido, he's still a decent guy. Shit, Claire is still around to prove he's not a complete degenerate.
“Yeah, hallway in the back, second door on your right.”
“Thanks.”
He watches her slowly make her way through, stopping at her group of friends, who don't seem to care that she was by herself the whole time. She deserves better friends. Maybe he could hire her part-time for administrative work; just sit in the office and file or whatever. Girl talk with Claire about the inadequacies of the men around them.
He loses sight of her when a rush at the bar keeps him busy for a few minutes. The club lighting doesn’t allow him to see much past the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor.
He's in between tracking tabs, wiping the bar, and filling orders when he hears it: the distinct voice of a man on the prowl.
“Excuse me.” Fake smile on a dead face, the kind that makes you think there's nothing behind the eyes, just lurking darkness. “There was a girl here…”
Instantly, Leon's hackles raise and he focuses on the bar patron, blocking out his surroundings and assessing the threat. Cheap suit, cheaper tie, slicked hair and slimy smile. Nothing worse than a predator who doesn't give a fuck about appearances.
“…cute, little blonde,” cheapsuit chuckles, flashing crooked teeth. “Do you—”
“No,” Leon answers, firm and to the point.
“Hey man, you got—”
“No.” Leon stares him down, figures he wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer.
“Let me fin—”
“No.”
cheapsuit holds up a finger and fishes out a wallet from an inside pocket. A twenty is laid out on the counter, slimy smile in place. “For your trouble, barkeep.”
Leon snatches the bill from the bar and wads it up with one hand and tosses it to sail over the sea of bobbing heads.
“No,” Leon says with finality.
Got him, a crack in the armor, cheapsuit’s right eye twitches. After a tense moment where Leon hopes he gives him a reason to toss him bodily out of the club, his hands come up in surrender. “Gotcha,” he nods with a smirk.
Leon watches him slink away from the bar with narrowed eyes. That's not the end of cheapsuit; he knows that kind of man needs a little violence to learn his place. Unfortunately, Leon doesn't need aggravated assault on his record, at least not without probable cause. The poppy beats of music filter back into his ears and impatient customers swim across his vision. With an easy smile, he's back in business, transitioning smoothly back to his role behind the counter.
The air changes, heavy with expectation, and Leon looks up to see Ashley grabbed by cheapsuit. His body is on autopilot, vaulting over the bar, and as if sensing the mindless compulsion of murderous intent, the clubgoers part and close in behind him, eager for a show.
“Let go of me,” Ashley screams, trying to tug her wrist from cheapsuit’s grip as she roots in her pocket with a free hand.
“Don't be like that,” he whines. “I just wanna talk to you.”
“Hey, dickhead.”
Distracted by the addition of Leon, cheapsuit’s attention shifts. “Found her myself,” he spits, yanking her closer.
Before anyone could react, Ashley swings her arm in an arc across the man's face. A sliver of blood appears on his cheek, then trickles down his jaw.
“You fucking cut me, bitch,” he howls, touching his cheek and glaring at his red-coated fingers. He releases her arm and back-hands her.
She falls on her side with a yelp of pain. He's lucky Chris materializes out of nowhere to push Leon back and step between them, otherwise there’d be nothing left of him but a stain on the floor for the cleaners that show up once a week. Chris slams him face first against the wall and wrenches his hand high up on his back. cheapsuit squeals like a hurt dog. It isn't nearly satisfying enough.
“If you ever come back here again,” Leon whispers harshly in his ear. “I'll fucking rip your dick off and feed it to you before you take a step out of your car. Understand?” When he doesn’t answer, Leon grabs a handful of greasy hair and smacks his face into the wall. The crunch of cartilage and burst of blood spattering dissipates Leon’s lust for vengeance. “Do. You. Understand?”
cheapsuit pants through his mouth and nods as much as he could, given his limited ability to move. “Ye—ye—yeah.”
“Good.” Leon signals to Chris. “Get this piece of shit outta here.”
“With pleasure,” Chris agrees, frog-marching him out over the cheers and jeers of clubgoers as they move to make way.
“Ashley.” Leon kneels down to her, gently touching her shoulder. He's relieved when she sits up, working her jaw and blinking up at him. “Jesus Christ, I can't leave you alone, can I?”
“I guess not,” she laughs and winces, cupping the side of her face. “Ow.”
“C’mon,” he says as he stands, pulling her up on her feet. “Let's take a look in the office.”
---
Ashley sits on his desk as he positions the lamp to shine at her face. He brushes her hair back and grimaces at the bruise forming under her eye.
“How’s it look?”
Leon clicks his tongue. “Nothing facial reconstruction can't fix.”
She snickers. “That bad?”
“Better than that asshole. He's going to need stitches. What’d you cut him with?”
She brandishes a small switchblade with a flourish. “With this.”
“Huh.”
He takes it out of her hand, nimbly moving it to and fro. She watches with wide eyes. He could get used to the way she looks at him, with awe and reverence. Like he's someone worthy of her time. Setting it down, he steps back.
He's about to do something idiotic. Like kiss her senseless or haul her over his shoulder and keep her locked up, safe from harm. Neither option makes him better than that asshole.
“Stay here. I'll get something to clean you up.”
She smiles softly at him. “Okay.”
He returns with a damp towel to find her organizing the chaos of papers on his desk. He leans against the door jamb, bemused at her proactivity. “You're hired.”
Ashley hops back up on surface of the desk, swinging her legs. “I was just—it was driving me crazy. I don't know how you get any work done. I used to help my dad in his office… I figured you wouldn't mind or probably notice.”
“Right,” he drawls.
Situating himself between her knees, he tips her chin up and dabs the towel on her cheek. Every twitch of her facial muscles makes his guilt climb higher. This wouldn't have happened if he’d told her to leave. He always does this; ignore his gut and listen to his dick. What does that get him? Pent up emotions, a cracked heart, and a shiner marring the delicate features of the most beautiful girl to ever grace his pathetic lonely life.
“Leon.”
Her light touch on his wrist stops his shaking hands.
“So,” he begins after a slight exhale of breath. “You got anything else in those pockets? Money for my services? I don't come cheap.”
The sound of her laughter soothes him. “Not much. Do you have a payment plan?”
“I'm afraid not,” he replies seriously. “Can't trust that sweet face. You'd leave me hanging, baby.”
She would, without even realizing it. Does she know her effect on him? What he wouldn't do to keep her happy and smiling for him and him alone? He highly doubts she has any idea the things he'd do for her.
“Uh, I have gum?”
A smirk plays at his lips. “That's a start. What else?”
Her hands explore her pockets.
“My car keys. It's got a cute little bear on the key chain. See?”
“Don't need a car. Keep going.”
“A hair clip?”
“No.”
“Movie ticket?”
He shakes his head.
“Oh!” She blushes and stammers, “Th—that’s it! Nothing else!”
“Ashley,” he prompts with a low tone.
“I swear!” One hand remains in her pocket, clasped tight around an object.
He keeps quiet, waiting her out.
“It’s just a stupid thing Britney gave me.” She bites her lip. “In case I—I… get lucky.”
Smart girl, Britney. Maybe her friends aren't all that brainless and self-centered.
“Oh god!” she squeaks as she produces a foil packet. “This is so embarrassing.”
“A condom,” he says, plucking it from her hand.
“Hey!” she cries, indignant. “That's mine.”
“Mine now.” He holds it above his head, chuckling at her attempt to reach it.
“Leon,” she pleads in a wheezing laugh.
Ashley slings an arm over his shoulder, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and to his surprise, climbs him like a tree. “Ha!” she exclaims in triumph as she picks the condom from his fingers.
“Now what?”
She looks down at him with hooded eyes and his resolve crumbles. The downward slide of her body against his creates the most delicious pressure. Her eyes widen at the bulge prodding her abdomen. He's never been so hard.
Her dress rucks up to her waist and he takes the opportunity to shift his hands over her ass, tucking his fingers between her thighs. The damp fabric of her underwear and the near scalding heat of her makes him light-headed.
His name is a hitch of breath; promise and permission rolled into one. He shakes his head. “Not here,” he murmurs.
He wants to sear the memory of him into her skin, down to her bones. He'll be that guy she bumps into at a grocery store or coffee shop years later and makes awkward small talk without meeting his eyes. She'll tell her husband she knew him in college and leave it at that. Later she'll take the memory into her bed at night and wonder what could have been.
The club isn't the place for what he wants. It's for quick and dirty. Peel off enough layers to make do and just fuck. Nothing sweet or lasting about it; five minutes tops. She'll struggle to place his face down the road of life.
Ashley sighs, disappointed, squirming restless against him. He can't very well leave her like this either. His fingers skim the lace edge of her panties, over her hips, to delve underneath the front.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans at the wet warmth he discovers. His middle finger dips and slip-slides easily; she's practically dripping.
“Uh huh,” she slurs.
Her knees buckle at the first testing touch to her entrance. He leans down to rest her against the edge of the desk, one arm propping them up for stability. Her hands clumsily skate over his shoulders to clasp behind his head.
“Leon, I, I…”
He hushes her, “I've got you.”
His hand splays across the breadth of her sex, middle and ring finger teasing at her entrance and the heel of his palm putting pressure on her clit. When his fingers finally slide in, it's all he can do not to throw his restraint out the window. Push her down on the desk and fuck her mercilessly. She'll never forget his name if she’s screaming it in praise over and over.
She's so tight, he can't think straight. His only purpose in life narrows down to this moment. She mewls at the first stroke out and back in, her thighs closing around his wrist.
“Need to come, sweet thing?”
Her response is a soft, breathless moan.
It doesn't take much, a few strokes, she's coming hot and fast around his fingers, pulling them deeper inside her body.
Leon isn't a slouch, he's never left a woman unsatisfied, but either his prowess has improved or she's been keyed up since she arrived. He wouldn't have believed it if the glistening residue of her release isn't dripping down his fingers.
“Sorry,” Ashley stammers, shame pinking her cheeks and self-consciousness hunching her shoulders. “I'm—I'm very sensitive.”
“Yeah,” Leon replies dumbly, still staring at the slick coating his fingers.
“I'll go… thanks for—”
The utter rejection in her tone breaks him out of his shock to cage her between his arms. “Hey, no, sweetheart. I'm sorry. That was so fucking incredible.”
“No, it's not,” she scoffs. “Henry said—”
“Who the fuck is Henry?” The growl in his voice comes out unbidden. It’s not jealousy. He could give two shits about some pissant fuck boy, who wouldn't know a good thing if it slapped him in the balls.
“My ex-boyfriend. He said—”
“No,” Leon says firmly, watching how her mouth shuts in obedience.
She's such a good little girl. There's a slight pout to her lips and he likes that. Likes them a little bratty. It wouldn't be fun if they aren't. He kisses her, swallowing her hitch of breath when his hand dives back into her panties.
He’s going by feel and listening intently to the signs that she's working herself up too fast to truly enjoy the high of an orgasm. All too soon, she curls in on herself, thighs shivering around his wrist.
Ashley gasps for breath, he feels it all the way down to his cock, and clutches at his shoulders. He's almost sure she'd have him coming in his pants untouched if he didn't possess some self-control.
“Slow down, pretty baby,” he says, soothing the ache in her sweet, little soaked cunt with a soft stroke of his fingers.
She's pliant and loose again, tipping her chin up to plead at him silently with her big, green eyes. Oh, he loves it when they beg, wordlessly or screaming to high heaven, it’s all the same to him.
“I will let you come,” he says, dropping his voice. “But only if you can't hold it in any longer. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she hisses, equal parts frustration and eagerness.
Her body shakes in anticipation, muscles contracting around his fingers. He'd feel bad if she didn't feel so good.
Leon waits patiently.
Ashley takes a shaky breath and sighs, “Please.”
“That's my girl,” he grins.
If he had thought Ashley coming with the barest of touches is mind-blowing, watching her ride the razor's edge of climax under his guidance is akin to a religious experience. He'd fall to his knees and pray for salvation, grateful for the gift bestowed upon him.
“Oh god,” Ashley gasps out after sliding into another void of ecstasy. “No more, please.”
Her inner thighs are soaked in sweat and release. Skin flushed pink and eyes glassy, she's an angel fallen right into the hands of the devil. And like the devil, Leon has plans for this divine soul.
She's barely come to her senses when he asks, “Can I take you back to my place?”
There's a beat or two before she answers with a simple nod, big green eyes staring at him in complete trust. He's the worst kind of man, hiding behind the shadow of his former self, a former beat cop jaded by reality. What's he doing taking advantage of an inexperienced young girl?
He should tell her to go back to her dorm and forget about him.
“—don't have to go back to classes for a while. I mean, not that we have to hang out or anything…”
Her words hang in the air, apparently she’s been talking while he’s trapped in his thoughts, sussing out his hesitation and filling his silence with her own voice. She's looking at anything but him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
Fuck, he's too soft for this shit. He'll never learn his lesson at this rate.
---
Ashley sits on his lap, explaining the finer points of how he should organize. His paperwork are piled into neat categories across his desk. She shifts to pick up two papers, taps them on the surface, and staples them neatly.
His lips trail across her shoulder to her neck. “This is really turning me on,” he rumbles into her skin.
“It’s the weirdest foreplay I've seen, for sure.”
They look up to Claire, expression set in fascinated horror, peeking in from the doorway.
“What's up?” he asks as if his hand isn't nestled between Ashley's thighs underneath her dress.
“Closing time.”
“Be there in a sec.”
The door closes and they're left blessedly alone again. He waits a beat or two, realizes that his hard-on isn't going to go away unless he's buried balls deep inside her, and pats her thigh. “Okay, up,” he commands.
---
Claire is waiting at the end of the hall, one eyebrow ticked up in question as he limps toward her. “You all right?”
“Yeah, never better.”
“Because you look a little…” She eyes him up and down. “…stiff.”
“Very funny.”
She smirks, way too pleased with herself. “I thought so. Taking her home?”
He stops and huffs a breath. “All right. Give it to me.”
Claire rolls her eyes, “Do you have any idea who she is?”
“Ashley?”
A secretive smile slides across Claire's lips. “Take her home, Leon. Chris and I will close up.” She adds, leaning to whisper in his ear, “Enjoy your dick while you can.”
She laughs at his befuddlement, skipping off to presumably turn on the lights and announce the last call.
---
Leon parks his motorcycle in the driveway. He’ll bring it inside the garage tomorrow. Right now, he’s got better things to do. He climbs off but Ashley remains seated, head down and whimpering.
“Ashley? I didn't go too fast for you, did I?”
She shakes her head. “I'm… fine.”
“What's wrong?”
She looks up at him, tears at her lashes. “I think I… I messed up your motorcycle.”
“How?”
“The vibrations…” She squirms in the seat. “I tried to—it was too much.”
It dawns on him. That explains the brief moment on the highway when she had held at him so tightly. “Baby, did you come?”
She nods, embarrassed.
It’s a blur how they get inside his house to his bedroom. But her boots are off and she's shimmying her underwear down her gorgeous, milky-white legs. His pants are hanging off his hips as she pushes him to sit heavily on his bed.
Before he knows it, her dress is sliding off her body. That's all he needs to have her straddling his thighs.
“Give Daddy a ride,” he says, hands on her hips to keep her steady. The quizzical tilt to her head stops him short as she settles all the way down, the heat of her singes his nerves until he feels like he's going to combust. “I made it weird,” he chuckles, a little uneasy by her quiet regard.
Ashley bites into the corner of her lower lip and if he can't fuck her stupid, then he might as well die. “Do you want me to call you Daddy?” She asks, all picture perfect innocence and curiosity in her expression.
Leon sits up, they can work out kinks later, and wraps his arms around her. “Ashley, you can call me anything you want,” he replies.
“‘Kay,” she says with a soft smile.
The first roll of her hips and he's done for, falling back on the bed with a groan. It takes her a moment to find her rhythm, encouraged by his hands roaming across her body, squeezing and groping her plump flesh. She takes her pleasure from him, slow and sweet.
“Can I come?”
“What?” He blurts; she's squeezing the breath out of him through his cock. He can't think, precious brain cells dying one by one from oxygen deprivation as he tries to process what she's said.
The tip of her pink tongue ghosts across the seam of her lips. “Da—daddy, can I come?”
“Fuck, princess,” he moans. “All you want. Daddy needs it.”
Complicated drink recipes float in his mind, anchoring him to the relentless ripple of her muscles along his shaft. Her chin drops to her chest as she locks up, a whine dragging out of her throat and her fingers clawing at his shoulders. Then he feels it. Warmth pours out of her to drench his pants and the mattress beneath them.
“Oh f–f–fuck,” Ashley stammers, tears of embarrassment hanging off her lashes. “I’m–I'm so s–sorry.”
“No,” Leon manages to croak through his dry tongue. How he had kept from filling her full after that display is a goddamn miracle. “There's nothing to be sorry for, Ashley.”
“But—”
“If the next words outta your mouth is something dumb your ex-boyfriend said, I'm gonna be irritated.”
Ashley bites her bottom lip, not to keep her words at bay, but to stifle the smile from spreading across her mouth. He had her pegged from the second he saw her: sheltered rich girl looking to prove herself. Leon isn't above being used, he's done some using himself. Turn about is fairplay after all.
The startled yelp she lets out when he grabs her waist and tosses her on her back on the bed is exhilarating.
“Show me how you like it,” she says with a Cheshire grin, “daddy.”
God, she's perfect.
---
Leon blinks his eyes open to the morning light streaming through the bedroom window. Ashley lies next to him, hands curled under her chin, puffing out even breaths in her sleep. He smiles and doesn't resist the urge to pull her closer to kiss her pretty pink pout. Her face scrunches adorably.
“Ew,” she whines, squirming in his hold. “I’ve got morning breath.”
“I don't mind,” he chuckles, peppering her face and neck with affectionate pecks.
“I do,” she squeals then moans when his kisses turn languid and heated across her skin.
He shifts her on her back, exploring every dip and curve of her body with his mouth and hands. She's so soft and sweet, he's going to enjoy every cavity he gets from the taste of her. He travels lower, licking into her navel and earning him a shocked gasp.
“Leon?”
It amazes him that she has that much affect on him, stops him in his tracks to peer up at her from his position between her legs. “What is it?”
“I'm… um,” she blushes to the roots of her hair, “I'm a little sore.”
She should be, after the marathon session last night; he's a little tender as well.
“Ah,” he nods, a little forlorn, and presses a kiss to the top of her pubis. “How about breakfast?” He mumbles into her belly.
Her stomach growls and he laughs as he hops out of bed, his muscles screaming in protest. “How do you like your eggs?” He asks, shimmying into his underwear.
“O—over easy.”
“Got it.” He hangs by the doorway for a second, grinning like a lunatic. “You can shower if you want.”
He leaves her to her thoughts. She'll be dressed and eager to leave in a few minutes. No point in delaying the inevitable. He's given her what she's wanted, a notch on her belt and a story to tell her friends. Maybe she'll figure out what she wants in life but he won't dwell too much on how little he’s a part of it.
The lies he tells himself…
---
Leon flicks the TV on, a local morning show greets him as he whistles and grabs assorted pots and utensils. He's a decent cook, if he says so himself, he's never had a complaint so far. Peering into the fridge, he has a thought: Is it too much to make a smiling plate of eggs and bacon? Or would that make him some sort of psychopath?
“—yor Graham, seen here with his wife and daughter, announced this morning his run for governor next year…”
His attention is on the TV screen so fast he’s surprised he doesn't get whiplash.
“Fuck me,” he groans as a montage of the mayor scrolls across the screen, Claire's cryptic statement clicking into place.
“Leon?”
Leon shuts off the TV. He'll think about the problems he'll be swimming in later. Right now, Ashley needs him if her timid call of his name is anything to go by.
He goes to where she stands at the entrance to his bedroom. Ashley isn't dressed in her clothes from last night. She's in one of his shirts, buttoned just so to give him a salacious view of her chest down to her navel. Her fingers play with the hem that skirts across her thighs. Her hair is still damp from the shower and she smells like his soap. He didn't think that’d be a major turn on but here he is, hard as a rock. He hopes she didn't put her underwear back on because that’d just get in the way.
He has to dip down and tip her chin up to have her look at him. “What is it, baby?”
“What happens after?”
He's hopeful in what feels like a long time. It has to be different this time.
“After?” he asks with a smile. “After breakfast?”
She peeks up at him through her lashes. “Yeah.”
He hums and wraps his arms around her. She snuggles into his embrace and squeaks when his palms cup her ass. “After, I’m going to take you back to bed and have my way with you.”
It’s not as if he can't defile the mayor’s daughter anymore than he already has.
She laughs, beautiful and sweet.
“After that,” he continues. “I'm taking you back to your dorm, you'll pack a go bag, and then we’ll go to a friend of mine’s cabin for a couple of days.”
“That’d be nice.”
Leon leans back and grins. “It will be. It's a long drive. Three hours at least.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Three hours? On—on your motorcycle?”
He kisses her soundly on the lips and begins walking her back into the bedroom. “Yeah, baby, on my motorcycle,” he confirms.