BLIND ITEM !
ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3
note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / đȘ© anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy Iâm so sorry⊠đ ignore my attempt at navigating la.. itâs so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.
Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts âcause thereâs no tree of knowledge or any applesâ Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. Itâs the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say itâs an opinion.
No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. Thereâs more snow than grains of sand. Leonâs world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.
He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar itâs a great sight. Up close itâs a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leonâs not picky, his standards are not high, heâs only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice titsâ Itâs expected, but itâs not an expectation âcause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, theyâre supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.
Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leonâs around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.
âCan you get my back?â In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.
Donât need to ask him twice. Leonâs hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pĂątissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. Itâs only SPF10 âcause Ashleyâs more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.
Theyâve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but sheâs hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasnât for her, heâd still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. Thatâs a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whispererâ Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.
The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leonâs kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashleyâs diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until thereâs a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.
Ashleyâs back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky felineâs do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.
âThat feels so good, Leon.â He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, itâs flirty and he knows whatâs coming next. Ashleyâs spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when youâre this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.
âCâmere,â Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. âHey, cutie.â He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.
Sheâs giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashleyâs nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, heâs about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazyâ
In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leonâs gut lurches. He canât tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.
However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomenâ Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. Theyâre so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.
The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. âMove,â she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.
Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.
Thereâs a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. Sheâs not pretty in the way Claire is. Sheâs model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, itâs not plain, itâs extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact homeâ Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.
Life is crazy, right? One minute youâre sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.
You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God canât read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, thatâs like directly asking God not to press the big red buttonâ Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All âcause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.
âWhat the fuck, man?â Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like youâre being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.
âWhat is your problem, man?â Claireâs utterance comes at the same time.
âHey, Claire,â you greet weakly.
âHey, babe.â The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. âListen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?â
âSheâs not myââ
âLeon, letâs just go.â The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine beingâs bulging bicep.
Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.
âAw, babe, youâre fucked.â She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.
âYou can head back, âm good here,â you slur, âgonna take a napâ
âYou sure?â Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl whoâs mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.
âMhm.â You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. âIâll be okay.â
âIâll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.â She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. Itâs so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.
Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angelâs biceps. So life is not all bad. At least youâve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.
In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. Sheâs still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. Youâve got it all.
Though youâve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. Itâs lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but youâre not going there for a relaxing retreat, youâre there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.
Your gait is slightly off, itâs hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown ratâs feet) dunes, youâre granted access to the mildewy washroomsâ The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.
âWhat the fuck? Are you stupid?â
His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, itâs thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when heâs swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. Itâs him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So thereâs that.
âOh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!â The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.
âIâm fine, Ashley, she ran into me.â Ashley⊠AshleyâŠYou mightâve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.
âNot you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!â Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but thereâs substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. âOh my god, are you, like, okay?â
You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. âIâm good, yeah, Iâm really good, thanks for asking.â The vomit is gone from your system, thatâs a step forward, but now thereâs an ugly bump forming on your head.
âWhat if you have a concession?â Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.
âA concussion.â Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.
âLeon! Hello? We canât just leave her!â She waves her arms at him wildly, like sheâs flagging down a rescue helicopter.
âOh no, my friendâs still here, I came in her car,â you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.
âNo, no, youâre sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.â Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. âGet in the front.â Sheâs demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. âLeon, Iâm gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so donât worry about me, okay?â She flutters her fingers at him. âBehave yourself!â
Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way heâs glowering at youâ What an asshole. Ashleyâs right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.
âAre you stalking me?â He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.
âExcuse me?â
âAre you stalking me?â Heâs like dead serious right now.
âWhy would I be stalking you?â Thereâs genuine confusion on your face, at least thatâs what you want Leon to believe.
âFunny,â he scoffs, âreal funny.â
âIâm sorry, whatâs so funny?â You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.
You, bitch. Acting like you donât know him, like his face isnât plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. âNothing,â Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isnât his first rodeo with stalkers.
In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep thatâs put you up to this plan. âNo, I didnât mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I donât know, itâs hard to explain, but Iâm safe, okay? Iâm in aâŠâ You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, âIâm in a taxi right now.â
He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. Youâre playing with him right now, and itâs not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.
âYeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, donât worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.â You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.
âWhere you need to go?â Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.
âSanta Monica.â
âThatâs helpful,â he says dryly. âLong way over.â
âIâm just being safe.â You shrug. âItâs half an hour, whereâd you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?â
âYouâre being unhelpful,â he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leonâs soft spot for girls is clearly limited. âBel Air,â he adds a moment later, âbut you know that, donât you?â Itâs in every tabloid, donât gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.
âNo, I do not, I seriously donât know who you are, man.â Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.
âYou got in my car.â Leon points out.
âI was forced into your car.â Comes your rebuttal.
âListen, I donât have time for your shit, just tell me.â Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesnât matter, theyâll be stuck swooning.
âDonât talk to me like that.â Look at you, you think youâre the shit. âI can get home from the boardwalk.â
Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adamâs apple bulges out further than usual. âIâll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.â
âIâm good, I want to walk.â You are one stubborn bitch.
âYou could use the walk,â Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didnât mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. Youâre testing his fucking patience.
You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. âWho are you, even?â Itâs thrown over your shoulder coolly. âLike, am I supposed to know you?â
âLeon,â Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leonâs in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.
âDoesnât ring a bell.â Youâve gotta be messing with him. Itâs working, youâre driving him insane.
âOkay, sure.â He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so thatâs good.
The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he wouldâve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.
He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, youâre slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and thereâs so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.
âBye, sweetheart,â Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. âNot gonna thank me?â
âWhat an asshole.â You donât even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.
He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. Youâre another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.
Blond guy⊠Plays a lot of action-hero roles⊠Good with women⊠Total Asshole⊠Something about harassment⊠Something about a full article dropping next weekâŠ
Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. Heâs managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girlsâ Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didnât offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.
Leon checks his watchâ Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he wonât be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.
He knocks on your door firmly, afraid itâll knock down the paper walls. You donât answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, heâs fucking desperate, okay? This filmâ The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.
The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, youâre just begging for it, arenât you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, thereâs not many rooms to explore, not Ashleyâs sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.
âClaire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!â
Babe, you got ready for him? Thatâs cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. Youâre in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.
âWhatâ How did you get in? Whyâre you in my house? Get out!â All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. Youâre a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. âOh my godââ
âI let myself in, door was open, babe,â Leon says smoothly, âThatâs real dangerous, yâknow?â
You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. âGet off meâ Get off, get off, get off!â Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.
âHey, calm down, itâs just me.â The guy you think you know all about. âI wanted to talk to you.â
âYouâre breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?â Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.
âYou kidding me?â Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. âHad a lot to say in that article.â
âIs that⊠Is that what this is about?â You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. âThe article isnât even out yet-â A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.
âLook at me when youâre speaking,â he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. âOkay, there you go, baby, continue.â
The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you canât look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. âIâm not- Iâm not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop sheâs ever had, and youâre gross.â You stand your ground. âYouâre an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, youâre just hot and you get away with it-â
âThatâs not very nice.â Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. âWe talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.â Heâs glad you find him hot though.
âFuck off.â
âCâmon, youâre too cute to be using nasty words like that.â His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how youâd look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.
And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesnât see any other hot dates waiting for you. âAw, baby, you shouldnât have.â He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.
âDonât do thatâŠâ Your voice is merely a whisper, and youâre not scared, girls like you donât get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.
âIs this what you want, babe? Some dick ân youâll shut up? Just wanted my attention.â Leonâs voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. âJesus, youâre fuckinâ wet, baby. You needed this, didnât you?â
âNo,â you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.
âNo? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?â Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until itâs gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. âYouâre not making any sense, babe.â
âOh my god.â You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. âFuck you.â He takes that as a Please, fuck me!
âHow about we do something easier, baby.â Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, âcause you open up and swallow him whole.
Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. âShit, thatâs right, babyâ Fuck, youâre a fucking freak, huh?â Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.
You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. Itâs round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.
Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit âem in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. Heâs gonna cum if you donât stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like youâre getting paid to do this.
The bedroom is a couple metres away, itâs an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, thatâs all he knows.
A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. âYou want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?â
âEw,â you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.
He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, itâs way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. âDid you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.â He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, itâs not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.
âJusâ put it in,â you beg, âplease, pleaseââ
âI heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.â Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? Thatâs when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. âJesus, baby, youâre a slut.â He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.
Youâre left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into youâ Heâs lying. In his world, thereâs no easing. Leonâs dick is mean, and he can tell youâve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then heâs balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. Theyâre heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.
âBaby,â Leon starts, heâs breathless, rolling his hips into yours, âI swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops Iâll beat you fuckinâ bloody.â That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. âOh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?â
Thereâs a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.
âTake it, baby, take it, fucking take it.â It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced youâve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure heâs made you squirt like girls do in pornâ Holy shit. Heâs twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.
You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clitâ And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume departmentâ
Fuck, heâs gonna cum. Heâs cumming hard. Leonâs balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didnât pull out. If thereâs one thing, heâs good at, itâs pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didnât pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.
âMmm.â You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. âIâm not convinced, the articleâs still going up.â
What a bitch.
âRight.â He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. âGuess Iâll have to convince you. I got a week, donât I?â
âA week and a half,â you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, âIâm pretty hard to convince.â Cheeky.
âIt can be done.â Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.
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