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Leo’s teasing me, getting closer but torturously slow.
“Please . . .” I moan.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me . . .”
Leo buries his face in my pussy, licking me everywhere I want. He uses his fingers and tongue like a maestro, playing me like an instrument. He shoves my thighs wide open and thrusts his tongue inside of me, fucking me with it, making me scream out loud from how good it feels. I grind my pussy against his face, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me, sudden and hard.
I could cry. That’s how powerful it is—it makes me want to sob like a baby.
But there’s no time for that. Because Leo is already climbing on top of me, freeing his cock from his trousers with one hand, gripping the back of my neck with the other so he can kiss me ferociously.
I can taste myself in his mouth and I love it. I love all parts of us mixing and combining.
I’m longing for him to shove his cock inside me, I’m waiting for it, but it still takes me by surprise. It does every time. He thrusts into me and the sensation is brutal, intense, and right on the edge of pleasure and pain—as powerful and acute as it can possibly be.
Leo feels enormous on top of me. He blocks out the moon and stars overhead, he envelops me in his warmth and his scent. I can feel his strength as his muscles flex with every thrust.
I can’t get enough of him.
I’m obsessed.
“This is the best thing,” I gasp. “It’s better than dancing.”
Leo laughs. He wraps me up tight in his arms and fucks me even harder. “Like that?” he growls. “You like that?”
“I fucking love it.”
He squeezes me so hard that I can’t move. He fucks me so deep that I can’t feel anything else. I love the way he takes me over, the way he draws this pleasure out of me.
I can feel another climax building and I don’t have to do anything to make it happen. I couldn’t make it stop if I wanted to.
“You ready?” Leo groans.
“Yes. Yes . . .”
We come together, me tipping over the edge first, Leo following right after so we’re both crying out together, both clinging to each other, both clenching and squeezing each other as hard as we can.
Then we’re laying together in the trampled grass, and I realize how silent it is without our heavy breath and the blood pounding in my ears. It feels like Leo and I are the only two people in the world.
The next morningwe have to pack our bags. The ship is coming to take us all back to Dubrovnik.
Chay is wondering how the hell she’s going to fit all her stuff back in her suitcase.
“How did you get it in there in the first place?” I ask her.
“I don’t know! For one thing I didn’t have this blanket, but I want to keep it. Fuck it, I’ll just throw away my uniforms and buy new ones in the fall.”
“I should do that anyway,” I say, examining the skirts and blouses that have become increasingly distressed over the course of the school year. The hem of my green plaid skirt is nothing but ragged threads.
I definitely have to throw away my ballet slippers—they’re beat to shit from dancing on the rough stone of the cathedral. I have more at home.
I can’t believe I’m going to see my house again, and my parents and brother and sister.
I still haven’t warned them that I’m dating Leo. I don’t know if it’s cowardice or if I really think they’ll take it better in person.
I’m hoping they’ll understand that Leo and I were meant for each other from the beginning. But I’m afraid that they won’t be able to shake off the taboo of falling in love with someone you were raised with as family. Mafia families can be so stubbornly traditional. Our cousins are treated as close relatives, whether linked by blood or not.
