- older husband!leon x younger wife!reader - tags : wedding night , religious guilt , a bit of angst , parent issues , passionate sex , creampie pregnant sex ,
- wc: 6k ? i think i wrote this during biochem i dont remember well ,, not proofread
your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. this was supposed to be the best day of your life. you were finally marrying leon. the man you’d met five years ago in that hospital room, who had grumbled about the food and made dry jokes that you pretended not to find funny. the man who had looked at you like you were the only person in the world the first time you kissed him, who had held your hand through the panic when you saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, who had dropped to one knee on a tuesday evening with no fanfare and said, “i don’t want to wait anymore. marry me.” and now you were here, in a little white dress you’d chosen yourself, about to walk down an aisle and promise him forever.
you pressed your palms against your thighs. the tremor traveled up through your wrists, into your forearms, and you watched your fingers curl and uncurl against the skin there, the nail beds blanching white with each squeeze. it wasn’t cold in the room. if anything, the afternoon sun streaming through the sheer curtains made the air feel thick and warm, almost drowsy, the kind of weather that usually settled your nerves. not today. today your body had decided to revolt against you, sending little electric currents of anxiety through your hands that made even the simplest tasks feel impossible.
claire had helped you with your hair an hour ago. she’d stood behind you in the bathroom, her fingers working through the damp strands with practiced ease, curling and pinning until everything fell in soft waves around your shoulders. she’d chattered about nothing important. something about chris forgetting to pick up his tux on time, about jill threatening to wear something outrageous just to see the look on everyone’s faces and you’d nodded along, grateful for the distraction. rebecca had stopped by too, popping her head in to ask if you needed anything, her smile warm and knowing in a way that made your throat tight.
they’d all been so good to you. so supportive. so completely unaware of the war going on inside your head.
the church had nearly broken you. you’d walked in that morning for the rehearsal, your heels clicking against the stone floor, and the smell of old wood and candle wax had hit you like a fist to the chest. it was the same smell from your childhood. the same dim lighting, the same rows of polished pews, the same stained glass casting colored shadows across the altar. you’d stood there in the aisle, one hand resting on the back of a pew, and for a moment you couldn’t breathe.
your parents’ faces had surfaced in your mind without warning. your mother’s tight smile, the one she wore when she talked about God’s will. your father’s voice, low and certain, explaining that they’d found someone suitable, someone faithful, someone who would guide you down the right path. the path they’d chosen for you. the path you’d never wanted.
you’d gripped the pew harder, the wood biting into your palm, and forced yourself to count backward from ten. the numbers had blurred together in your head, but you’d kept going, kept breathing, kept your eyes fixed on the altar until the nausea passed. claire had touched your elbow, asking if you were okay, and you’d nodded. smiled. said something about the flowers being more beautiful than you’d expected.
but inside, you’d felt sick. sick at the thought of sitting in a church, surrounded by the symbols of a faith you’d thrown away years ago. sick at the memory of what your parents had tried to do to you, how they’d twisted belief into a cage and called it love. sick at the knowledge that some part of you still carried that weight, even now, even on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.
you’d left the country to escape them. you’d built a new life, found a new job, made friends who saw you for who you actually were instead of who they wanted you to be. you’d met leon—leon, of all people, with his dry jokes and his tired eyes and the way he looked at you like you were something precious—and you’d let yourself fall for him in a way you’d never been allowed to fall for anyone before. you’d gotten pregnant, a surprise that had terrified you at first and then slowly, slowly, become something you held close to your heart like a secret promise. and now you were getting married.
but the church still made you feel like a child again. small. trapped. afraid of a God you no longer believed in but couldn’t quite forget.
you swallowed hard and reached for the dress.the silk was cool against your fingers, smooth and heavy, the fabric pooling in your hands as you lifted it from the hanger. the neckline dipped low, lower than anything you’d ever worn before, and for a second you felt a flicker of something that wasn’t anxiety. something warmer. you’d chosen this dress because it made you feel beautiful, because the ivory silk caught the light in a way that made your skin glow, the zipper ran all the way down the back in a clean, elegant line that you knew leon’s eyes would follow.
you stepped into it carefully, pulling the fabric up over your hips, your belly, your chest. the bump was small but noticeable now, a gentle curve that made the silk stretch just slightly across your middle. you’d been self-conscious about it at first, worried that it would ruin the silhouette, but claire had taken one look at you during the fitting and said, “if leon doesn’t cry when he sees you, i’m revoking his best man privileges.” you’d laughed then, and the sound had surprised you, bright and genuine in a way you hadn’t expected.
the zipper was the hard part. you twisted your arm behind your back, fingers fumbling for the small metal tab, but the angle was awkward and your hands were still trembling and after three attempts you had to stop and press your palms against your stomach and breathe.
you thought about your parents again. about how they weren’t here. about how they’d never even know this day happened unless someone told them. about how you’d made the choice to cut them out of your life and how that choice had been the hardest and easiest thing you’d ever done.
and then you thought about leon. about the way he’d looked at you when you’d told him about your family, his jaw tight and his eyes hard with something that wasn’t pity. he hadn’t said much. he rarely did. but he’d pulled you against his chest and held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, and you’d felt safer in that moment than you’d ever felt in a church.
“stop it,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. “just stop.”
you reached for the zipper again. this time, your fingers caught it.
the ceremony had been beautiful. there was no other word for it. the flowers had been arranged in cascading clusters of white and pale pink, their scent drifting through the church like a soft, sweet perfume. the music had been perfect, something classical and gentle that filled the high ceilings and made the whole space feel sacred in a way that had nothing to do with religion. your friends had filled the pews, their faces bright with joy, and when you’d walked down the aisle, your arm linked through chris’s because you’d had no father to give you away, the only thing you’d been able to see was leon.
he’d stood at the altar in his dark suit, his hair falling just slightly over his forehead, his hands clasped in front of him. his eyes had found yours the moment you’d stepped through the doors, and the look on his face—God, the look on his face, had nearly made your knees buckle. it wasn’t just love. it was relief. it was gratitude. it was the expression of a man who had spent decades wading through darkness and had finally, impossibly, found something good.
his jaw had flexed when you got closer. his throat had worked as he swallowed. and when you’d finally reached him, when you’d slipped your hand into his and felt the warmth of his palm against yours, you’d seen his eyes go glassy in a way that made your own vision blur.
“hey ” you’d whispered, because you hadn’t known what else to say.
“hey ” he’d whispered back, and the corner of his mouth had twitched up in that half-smile you loved so much.
the vows had passed in a haze. you’d spoken the words, heard him speak his, felt the cool slide of the ring onto your finger, and then he’d kissed you, soft and slow, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek, and the church had filled with applause. you’d laughed against his mouth, startled and breathless, and he’d pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.
“you’re stunning,” he’d murmured, so quiet that only you could hear. “absolutely stunning.”
you’d beamed up at him, something loosening in your chest, and for the rest of the ceremony you’d held his hand and let yourself feel happy. genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy.
the reception had been easier. the venue was bright and open, nothing like the church, with tall windows that let in streams of golden afternoon light and tables draped in cream-colored linens. there had been food and music and champagne, sparkling water for you, and so many people you loved, all gathered in one place, all celebrating the life you’d built for yourself. jill had cornered you near the cake table to tell you that your dress was “criminally gorgeous,” and rebecca had teared up during her toast, and claire had danced with such abandon that she’d nearly knocked over a centerpiece.
leon had stayed close to you the whole time. his hand found the small of your back whenever you were standing, his fingers tracing absent patterns through the silk of your dress. when you sat down to eat, he’d leaned over and murmured something dry about the caterer’s choice of salmon that had made you snort into your napkin. when you’d danced together for the first time as a married couple, his arms had wrapped around you like he was afraid you might disappear, and you’d pressed your cheek to his chest and listened to his heartbeat and felt, for the first time in weeks, something like peace.
but even then, in the middle of all that joy, there had been moments. small ones. quiet ones. a flash of stained glass in your peripheral vision. the distant sound of an organ. the way the sunlight hit the white tablecloths and reminded you, just for a second, of an altar cloth. you’d pushed those thoughts away each time, forcing yourself back into the present, back into the warmth of leon’s hand and the sound of your friends’ laughter.
you weren’t going to let them win.by the time the reception wound down and the last guests trickled out, your feet were aching and your cheeks hurt from smiling and all you wanted was to be alone with him. leon must have felt the same way, because the moment the door clicked shut behind the last person, he’d turned to you with an expression that made your stomach flip.
“ready to go home, mrs. kennedy?”
you’d laughed, tired and giddy, and let him lead you to the car.
the drive home was quiet. leon kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth over the silk of your dress in a rhythm that felt almost hypnotic. the streetlights flickered past the windows in steady pulses, and you leaned your head against the seat and watched his profile in the dim glow. his jaw. his nose. the way his hair fell across his forehead. the slight furrow between his brows that never quite went away, even when he was relaxed.
“got something on my face?” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.
“can't a wife admire her husband?"
his mouth twitched. “flattery.”
“hey!i'm just saying the truth."
he glanced at you then, quick and warm, and squeezed your thigh just once before returning his attention to the road. your heart swelled in your chest until it felt too big for your ribs.
when he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, the silence that settled over the car was different. heavier. charged with something that hadn’t been there before. you sat there for a moment, neither of you moving, the air between you growing thick with anticipation.
leon turned to you first. his eyes traced over your face, your neck, the low neckline of your dress, and when he spoke his voice was rough at the edges.
the house was dark when you stepped through the door, the only light coming from the moon spilling through the windows and pooling silver on the hardwood floors. leon closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly, and then his hands were on your waist and he was turning you to face him.
“been waiting all day to get you alone,” he murmured, his fingers flexing against the silk. “you have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you during that reception.”
you smiled up at him, your own hands coming up to rest on his chest. “claire caught you staring at least three times.”
“claire needs to mind her own business.”
“she was taking bets on how long it would take you to drag me away from the party.”
leon huffed a quiet laugh, his breath warm against your forehead. “what was the over-under?"
“forty-five minutes. you made it almost two hours. jill won the pool.”
“jill’s always had too much faith in my self-control.”
his hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist, your ribs, the swell of your breasts through the silk. your breathing stuttered, the tremor returning to your hands as you gripped the lapels of his jacket.his fingers paused, his thumbs resting just below your collarbones, and he studied your face with an intensity that made your skin prickle.
“your hands are shaking,” he said quietly.
you shook your head, then paused, then shrugged. “im not nervous. its just… a lot. today was a lot for me to take in.”
leon’s expression softened. his hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone in a slow, soothing rhythm. “good a lot or bad a lot?”
“good,” you said, and it was true. mostly true. true enough that you didn’t feel like you were lying. “really good. the best.”
he studied you for another moment, his eyes searching yours, and you knew he could tell there was more. he always could. but he didn’t push. he just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there, warm and dry and impossibly tender.
“then let’s make the rest of the night good too,” he said against your skin.
you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. he pulled back and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. his tie came next, loosened with a few deft tugs and dropped to the floor. then his hands were back on you, turning you around, and you felt his fingers find the zipper of your dress.
the zipper slid down with a soft whisper of metal on metal, and the silk loosened around your shoulders. leon’s hands followed the path of the zipper, his knuckles grazing your spine, and you shivered at the contact. he was gentle in a way that made your chest ache, his touch careful and deliberate, like he was unwrapping something fragile.
the dress slipped down your arms and pooled at your feet, leaving you in your slip. you stepped out of the fabric and turned back to face him, suddenly aware of how exposed you were, how the moonlight cut across your skin and caught the curve of your belly. leon’s breath left him in a slow exhale.
“god,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “look at you.” his hands found your waist again, sliding over the thin material of your slip, tracing the shape of you. you reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers still trembling but steadier now, focused on the task. each button gave way under your touch, revealing more of his chest, his stomach, the scars that mapped his skin like a history of all the battles he’d survived. when you pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall, you ran your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, the solid warmth of him.
he shrugged off his shoes. you pushed his pants down his hips, and he stepped out of them, kicking them aside. his cock was already hard beneath his boxers, the outline of it pressing against the thin cotton, and your mouth went dry at the sight. you’d seen him like this so many times before, five years together, and you knew his body as well as you knew your own but tonight it felt different. tonight it felt like your first time all over again.leon must have sensed the shift in you, because he paused, his hands stilling on your hips.
“hey,” he said softly. “we’ve got all night.”
you nodded, swallowing hard. “i know. i know. i just want this. i want you.”
his eyes held yours for a long moment, and then he nodded too. his hand moved to the strap of your slip, pushing it off your shoulder slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric slide down your arm. he did the same with the other strap, and then the slip was falling, catching briefly on your hips before joining the dress on the floor. you stood before him in nothing but your panties, the air cool against your bare skin, your nipples tightening in response.
leon’s gaze dropped to your chest. his jaw flexed. his hand came up, fingers brushing the underside of your left breast, so light it was almost a ghost of a touch. you inhaled sharply, your stomach tightening, and he watched your reaction with hooded eyes.
“so beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “my wife.”
the word hit you square in the chest. my wife. you’d heard it all day, from friends, from the officiant, from leon himself, but here, now, in the dark of your own home with nothing between you, it felt different. it felt real.
he cupped your breast fully then, his palm warm and rough against the soft skin, and you let out a shaky breath. his thumb found your nipple, circling it slowly, teasing the bud until it pebbled under his touch. your head fell back slightly, your eyes fluttering shut, and you heard him make a low sound in his throat. “that feel good?”
“yes,” you breathed. his other hand moved to your other breast, mirroring the motion, and you swayed slightly on your feet. he steadied you with his body, stepping closer until his chest was nearly pressed against yours, his fingers working both nipples now in slow, lazy circles that sent sparks of heat straight down to your core. you could feel yourself getting wet, the fabric of your panties growing damp against your folds, and you shifted your hips instinctively, seeking friction.
leon noticed. his eyes dropped to the waistband of your panties, and his hands left your breasts to settle on your hips.
“these need to come off,” he said, hooking his fingers into the elastic.
“then take them off.” he didn’t need to be told twice. he knelt down, pulling the panties down your legs, and you stepped out of them one foot at a time, bracing your hands on his shoulders for balance. his face was level with your belly now, and he paused there, his breath warm against the swell of your stomach. his hands came up to frame the curve, thumbs stroking the taut skin, and he pressed a kiss just below your navel.
your throat tightened. your eyes stung. you blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
he rose back to his feet and kissed you. it started soft, just a brush of his lips against yours, but then your mouth parted and his tongue slid inside and the kiss deepened into something hungrier, more urgent. your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest.
his hand slid down your stomach, lower, until his fingers brushed the neat trim of hair at the top of your mound. you gasped against his lips, your hips jerking forward, and he swallowed the sound with another kiss. his fingers traced the seam of your folds, still over the fabric of your panties—no, wait, you weren’t wearing panties anymore, they were on the floor, and the realization made your head spin.
his touch was light at first. just the pads of his fingers tracing up and down, barely grazing the sensitive skin. your legs trembled. your hands tightened in his hair. he circled your clit once, twice, the friction feather-soft and maddening, and a whimper escaped your throat.
“shh,” he hushed, his lips moving to your jaw, your neck, his fingers still tracing that infuriatingly slow rhythm. “just let me touch you.”
you nodded, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. his middle finger pressed more firmly against your clit, circling it with steady pressure now, and your hips rolled into his hand. the wetness between your legs was spreading, slicking your folds, and when he dipped lower to gather some of that moisture and spread it over your clit, the glide became smoother, more devastating.
“so wet already,” he murmured against your neck. “been thinking about this all day?”
“yes,” you admitted, the word catching in your throat. “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
his teeth grazed your pulse point. his finger circled faster. your legs threatened to give out.
and then his hand dipped lower, sliding two fingers inside you in one smooth motion, and you cried out, your head falling back, your nails digging into his scalp. he curled his fingers forward, finding that spot inside you that made sparks burst behind your eyes, and stroked it with relentless precision while his thumb continued to work your clit in tight, wet circles.
“look at me,” he said.you forced your eyes open. his gaze was fixed on your face with an intensity that made your stomach clench. his fingers moved inside you, stretching you, filling you, and you could hear the wet sounds of your arousal with every thrust of his hand.
“you close already?” he asked, and there was a note of smugness in his voice that would have annoyed you if you weren’t so far gone.
you nodded, unable to form words.
“good,” he said, and his thumb pressed harder against your clit, his fingers pumping faster, and the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter until–
you came with a broken moan, your body shuddering against his, your walls clenching around his fingers. he held you through it, his hand still moving, drawing out every pulse and spasm until you were trembling and gasping and clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world.
he eased his fingers out of you slowly, and you watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean. “you taste incredible,” he said, his voice wrecked.
your knees were jelly. you reached for him, fisting your hand in the waistband of his boxers and tugging him toward the bedroom. he followed, letting you lead, his hands settling on your hips to steady you as you walked backward.
the bed hit the back of your legs, and you sat down heavily, pulling him with you. he braced his hands on either side of you, caging you in, and you reached between your bodies to push his boxers down his hips. his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already slick with pre-cum, and you wrapped your hand around him without thinking, stroking from base to tip in one slow, deliberate motion.
leon groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “fuck."
you stroked him again, twisting your wrist on the upstroke the way you knew he liked, and his hips bucked into your hand. his breathing turned ragged, his shoulders tensing, and you felt a surge of satisfaction at the way he was falling apart under your touch. but he caught your wrist after the third stroke, stilling your hand. “not yet,” he said, his voice strained. “want to be inside you first.”
he guided you back onto the bed, and you scooted up toward the pillows, your legs parting to make room for him. he followed, settling between your thighs, his cock brushing against your slick folds and making you gasp.
but he didn’t push in. not yet. instead, he reached down and took himself in hand, rubbing the head of his cock up and down through your wetness in slow, teasing strokes. the blunt tip caught on your clit with each pass, sending little jolts of pleasure through your nerves, and you whimpered, your hips lifting off the bed. “leon, please—”
“please what?” he asked, his voice low and rough. his eyes were fixed on where their bodies almost met, watching the way his cock slid through your folds, the way your arousal coated him until he was glistening. “use your words , my love.”
“i want you inside me. please. i need—”
he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, just barely, just enough to make you feel the stretch. you held your breath, waiting, but he didn’t push in. he just stayed there, the tip of him nestled against your opening, his breathing harsh and uneven.
“like this?” he asked. “you want me like this?”
“yes,” you gasped. “god, yes, please, leon—” he pushed in. slowly. inch by torturous inch, stretching you open around him until you were full to bursting. your back arched off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets, and a cry tore from your throat as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.
he stayed there for a moment, buried deep, his forehead pressed to yours. his eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tight, and you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding still. “you feel so good,” he gritted out. “so tight. so perfect.”
you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and he groaned, his hips twitching. his hand found yours, fingers lacing together against the mattress, and the gesture was so tender, so intimate, that it made your eyes sting again.
and then he started to move.his thrusts were slow at first, deep and rolling, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with a force that pushed the air from your lungs. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, wet, rhythmic, obscene and you clung to his hand like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
he shifted his angle slightly, and the head of his cock dragged against that spot inside you, the one that made your vision go white. you cried out, your free hand flying up to grip his shoulder, your nails digging into his skin. “right there,” you managed. “oh god, right there—”
“yeah?” he breathed, his pace quickening, his thrusts turning sharper, more targeted. “right here?”
“yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
he didn’t stop. he fucked into you with a rhythm that was almost punishing, each stroke hitting that spot dead-on, and you felt another orgasm building low in your belly, tighter and hotter than the first. his hand squeezed yours, his thumb stroking over your knuckles, and the tenderness of the gesture was such a stark contrast to the way he was driving into you that it made your head spin.
your second orgasm hit without warning, crashing over you in a wave that stole your breath and made your entire body seize. you clenched around him, hard, your walls fluttering and pulsing, and leon groaned, his rhythm faltering for the first time. “fuck,” he hissed. “fuck, i’m not gonna last if you keep doing that—”
but you couldn’t stop. your body was still spasming, still milking him, and he let out a guttural sound and drove into you harder, faster, chasing his own release.
“where do you want me?” he asked, his voice barely recognizable. “tell me where—”
“inside,” you gasped. “come inside me, leon, please, i want to —” his hand tightened around yours almost painfully. his hips stuttered. and then he was coming, buried deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you in hot, heavy spurts. he groaned your name, the sound muffled against your neck, and you held him through it, your legs locked around his waist, your free hand stroking down his spine.
he stayed inside you for a long moment after, his body slumped over yours, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. his hand was still tangled with yours, and you felt his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles, the motion slow and soothing.
you didn’t want him to pull out. didn’t want to lose the feeling of him buried inside you, the warmth of his release spreading through your belly. you tightened your legs around him, and he made a soft, questioning sound against your neck. “stay,” you whispered. “please just for a little longer.”
he lifted his head to look at you. his eyes were heavy-lidded, his hair damp with sweat, his expression soft in a way that made your heart ache all over again.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he said.
he shifted his weight slightly, easing some of the pressure off your belly, but he didn’t pull out. his cock was still half-hard inside you, still twitching with the occasional aftershock, and you could feel his cum starting to leak out around him, warm and slick against your thighs. the sensation should have been messy, uncomfortable, but instead it felt intimate. connective. like he was still claiming you, even after the act was over.
his hand squeezed yours. his lips brushed your forehead.
“you alright? ” he asked quietly.
your throat tightened. you didn’t wany answer that right away, your gaze fixed on the ceiling, your thoughts churning. the church. your parents. the years of shame and guilt and anger that you’d tried so hard to bury. they were all still there, lurking at the edges of your consciousness, but in this moment, with leon’s body pressed against yours, his hand in yours, his seed still warm inside you, they felt further away than they had in a long time.
“better than ever” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. leon lifted his head again, his eyes searching your face. you could tell he wanted to ask more, wanted to know what had been weighing on you all day, but he held back. he just looked at you, his thumb still stroking your knuckles, and waited.
you wanted to tell him everything. the words were right there, gathered at the back of your throat, pressing against your teeth. but you couldn’t push them out. not yet. maybe not ever. some things were too heavy to hand over, even to the person you trusted most in the world.
so instead, you lifted his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. his skin was warm, slightly salty with sweat, and the gesture made his expression soften even more.“i love you,” you said.
“i love you too,” he said back, without hesitation. he shifted again, and this time you felt him slip out of you, the loss of fullness making you gasp softly. his cum followed, a warm trickle that pooled on the sheets beneath you, and you felt your cheeks flush at the sensation. leon glanced down, watching the way his release leaked from your still-pulsing entrance, and his jaw tightened. “god,” he murmured. “you’re going to kill me.”
you laughed, breathless and giddy, and pulled him down for another kiss. this one was slower, lazier, the urgency from before replaced by something softer. his hand released yours and slid down your body, tracing the curve of your hip, the swell of your belly, the dip of your waist. “we should clean up,” you murmured against his lips.
“in a minute,” he said, his hand settling on your stomach, his palm warm and protective over the small bump there. “just want to stay here for a minute.”
you relaxed into the mattress, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your heart still pounding against your ribs. the weight of that day was still there, still pressing at the edges of your mind, but it felt more manageable now. less suffocating. like something you could carry yourself.
leon’s thumb traced absent circles over your belly, and you let your eyes fall shut, focusing on the rhythm of his touch. his breathing was evening out, his body relaxing against yours, and for a few moments the only sounds in the room were the soft rustle of sheets and the distant hum of the house settling around you.
then he spoke again, his voice so quiet you almost missed it.“you know you can tell me anything, right? whenever you want to.”
your eyes opened. his gaze was steady, patient, full of a tenderness that made your chest ache. “yeah..i know,” you whispered.
he looked at you for another moment then nodded. his hand slid up from your belly to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
“good,” he said. “because whatever it is—whatever’s been hurting you. i’m not going anywhere.alright?” you stared up at him, at the sharp line of his jaw and the faint crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the way the moonlight caught the silver in his hair. this man, who had survived horrors you couldn’t imagine, who had seen the worst of what the world had to offer and still found it in himself to be gentle, was your husband now. yours. and he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
something inside you cracked open. just a little. “my parents,” you started, and then stopped.
leon didn’t push you further, he just kept stroking your cheek.
“they weren’t there today,” you continued, the words coming out halting and uneven. “and i didn’t want them there. i didn’t. but the church—” your voice broke. “being in that church made me feel like a child again. like i was still trapped. still scared. still trying to be good enough for —”
leon’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. his hand stilled on your cheek. “i thought i was over it,” you whispered. “i thought i’d left all of that behind. but it’s still there. it’s still inside me. and i don’t know how to make it stop.”
the silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. leon’s thumb resumed its gentle stroking, and when he spoke, his voice was low and steady.
“you’re not over it,” he said. “and you might never be. but you’re not alone in it either. you’ve got me. you’ve got our friends. you’ve got this life we’re building together. and whatever your parents left behind, they can’t touch you here. not unless you let them.okay?”
you stared at him, your throat tight and your eyes burning.
“i know it’s not that simple,” he added, his hand slipping back down to rest on your belly. “but.. it’s a start.”
a tear slipped down your cheek. then another. leon wiped them away with his thumb, his touch impossibly gentle.
“i love you,” he said again. “and i’m not going anywhere.” you reached up and pulled him down to you, burying your face in the crook of his neck. his arms wrapped around you, solid and warm, and you let yourself cry, quietly, without sobs, just a slow leak of tears that soaked into his skin. he held you through it, his hand stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head.
when the tears finally stopped, you felt hollowed out. empty. but not in a bad way. in the way a room feels after it’s been cleared of clutter, open, bare, ready for something new.
you pulled back and looked at him. his eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling, just a little. “better?” he asked.
“better,” you said, and it was true. he kissed you softly, just a press of lips, and then rolled onto his side and pulled you with him until you were curled against his chest. his hand found yours again, fingers lacing together against the sheets.
“we should get married more often,” he murmured against your hair, and you laughed and smacked his chest lightly.
“im your idiot,don't forget that.” he corrected, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
you closed your eyes and let yourself sink into the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, the familiar scent of his skin. the weight was still there, you knew it would be for a long time, maybe forever but it felt lighter now.
and then his hand slid down to your thigh and squeezed. “you know,” he said, his voice taking on a lower, rougher edge, “we never did finish that conversation about what you were thinking during the ceremony.”
your eyes flew open. his gaze was darker now, the tenderness from before replaced by something hungrier.
“i told you,” you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended. “i was thinking about you.”
“yeah?” his hand slid higher, fingers brushing the crease of your thigh. “what about me?”
your breath caught. “leon—”
his lips found your ear, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. “tell me,” he murmured. “tell me what you were thinking about while you were standing at that altar, looking at me like that.”
your heart was pounding again. the emptiness from before was filling with something else now—something warmer, sharper, more electric.
“i was thinking,” you whispered, “about how badly i wanted you to take me home.”
his hand slid higher, his fingers brushing against your still-sensitive folds, and you gasped.
“and now you’re home,” he said, his voice like gravel. “so what are you going to do about it?”
you rolled over, pushing him onto his back, and straddled his hips. his cock was already half-hard again, pressing against your thigh, and you felt a surge of heat at the realization that he wanted you again so soon. that he always wanted you. that he would never stop wanting you. “i’m going to ride you,” you said, your voice steadier now, “until you can’t remember your own name.”
with that, leon’s eyes softened and his hands found your hips. “you promise?”
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
2087
prguitarman
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
