Chapter One: Under the String Lights
The late August air clung to the campus like a second skin—thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of laughter from clusters of students already settling into their new lives. Leanne adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag, her fingers brushing against the soft leather as she scanned the crowd spilling out of the orientation week party. The music pulsed through the open windows of the student union, a mix of pop and indie rock that made the ground vibrate beneath her ankle boots. She had promised her roommate she’d stay for at least an hour, but the sea of unfamiliar faces made her chest tighten. *Just one drink*, she told herself. *Then I can leave.*
Inside, the room was a blur of neon signs, red Solo cups, and the occasional flash of a phone camera. Leanne wove through the crowd, her oversized sweater snagging on someone’s backpack as she sidestepped a group of guys laughing too loudly over a game of beer pong. She didn’t mind the noise—it was the *weight* of it, the way the bass seemed to press against her ribs, that made her want to retreat. The bar line was shorter than she expected, and she exhaled in relief as she claimed a spot near the end. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed a guy leaning against the wall, his dark brown waves slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through them one too many times. He wore a faded band tee under an unzipped hoodie, his wire-framed glasses catching the dim light as he scanned the room with an expression that hovered between curiosity and discomfort. Their eyes met for half a second—just long enough for Leanne to notice the deep hazel of his irises, like autumn leaves under water—before he looked away, his cheeks flushing.
She turned back to the bar, but the ghost of his gaze lingered on her skin.
“What can I get you?”
The bartender’s voice snapped her out of it. “Um, just a soda, please. Whatever’s on tap.” She dug into her bag for her wallet, hyperaware of the guy’s presence behind her. The ice clinked against the glass as the bartender filled it, and when she turned, soda in hand, she nearly collided with him.
“Sorry,” he murmured, stepping back. His voice was softer than she expected, with a slight rasp, like he didn’t use it often.
“No, my fault,” Leanne said, grinning. “I have a habit of taking up more space than I should.”
He blinked, as if processing whether that was an insult or a joke, then the corners of his mouth twitched. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
She laughed, the sound cutting through the noise around them. “You’re sweet. Or just really bad at math.”
That earned her a real smile—small, but there. It transformed his face, softening the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “Louis,” he said, extending his hand. His fingers were long, slightly cool. “And I’m *terrible* at math.”
“Leanne.” She shook his hand, her pulse jumping at the contact. His grip was light, hesitant, as if he were afraid of holding on too long. “What’s your major?”
“Undecided, but leaning toward English. You?”
“Same, actually. Though I’m pretty sure my parents are still holding out hope I’ll switch to pre-med.” She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her soda. The bubbles fizzed against her tongue.
Louis chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Parents, right? Mine keep sending me articles about ‘lucrative career paths.’”
“God, mine too.” Leanne leaned against the bar, angling her body toward him. “What’s your move? Just ignore them?”
“For now.” He glanced down at his shoes—black Converse, scuffed at the toes—then back at her. “I figure I have at least a semester before they start panicking.”
She liked the way he said it, like it was a secret between them. The music swelled, some indie song with a melody that curled around her ribs, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Louis’s gaze flickered to her mouth, then away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“Do you—” he started, then stopped, clearing his throat. “Do you want to sit somewhere? It’s loud in here.”
Leanne nodded before she could overthink it. “Yeah. Outside?”
He led her through the crowd, his shoulder brushing hers once, twice, sending a shiver down her spine. The night air hit them as they stepped onto the patio, cooler than before, carrying the scent of rain on pavement. A few couples lingered near the railing, their voices low, but the far corner was empty, bathed in the golden glow of a string light bulb.
Louis hesitated, then gestured to the wooden bench beneath it. “This okay?”
“Perfect.” She sat, the wood warm beneath her thighs, and Louis lowered himself beside her, leaving a careful inch of space between them. His knee bumped hers anyway when he shifted, and neither of them moved to fix it.
“So,” Leanne said, twisting her soda can between her palms. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you since you got here?”
Louis’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s your icebreaker?”
“Best way to weed out the boring people.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Okay. Um.” He rubbed his jaw, the stubble there catching the light. “I walked into the wrong dorm room yesterday. Just opened the door, said ‘hey,’ and this guy—complete stranger—was standing there in a towel.”
Leanne snorted, covering her mouth. “No.”
“Yes.” Louis groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “He just stared at me. I said ‘wrong room’ and bolted.”
“Oh my God, that’s amazing.” She grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I haven’t topped that yet, but I *did* spill coffee all over myself in the dining hall this morning. Like, *all over*. My shirt was see-through.”
Louis’s gaze dropped to her sweater—cream-colored, thick enough to hide anything—then back to her face. His voice dropped half an octave. “That sounds… unfortunate.”
The way he said it made her stomach flip. “Mhm. Had to go back to my room and change.” She bit her lip, suddenly hyperaware of the way his thigh pressed against hers, the heat of him seeping through the denim. “What about you? Any other disasters?”
“Not yet.” His fingers tapped against his knee, restless. “But the semester’s young.”
She laughed, but the sound got caught in her throat when his hand stilled. His pinky brushed against hers, so lightly she might’ve imagined it. The air between them thickened, charged, like the moment before a storm. Leanne’s breath hitched. She should say something—*anything*—but the words dissolved under the weight of his gaze, dark and searching.
Louis wet his lips. “Leanne—”
“There you are!”
They both jumped as a girl with a high ponytail and a neon wristband appeared beside them, grinning. “I’ve been looking *everywhere* for you,” she said, linking her arm through Leanne’s. “We’re doing a group thing. Come on!”
Leanne glanced at Louis, her chest tight. “Uh. Yeah. One sec.”
The girl—her roommate, Jess—pulled her up, but not before Leanne caught the way Louis’s fingers curled into his palm, like he was holding onto something slipping away.
“I’ll, uh.” He stood, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “See you around?”
She wanted to say *yes*. She wanted to say *stay*. Instead, she nodded, her pulse roaring in her ears. “Yeah. Definitely.”
Jess dragged her back inside, but Leanne craned her neck, watching as Louis melted into the crowd, his dark head ducking as someone clapped him on the shoulder. The last thing she saw was the string light catching in his glasses, turning his eyes into twin stars before the door swung shut between them.
The music swallowed her whole, but all she could hear was the echo of his voice, soft and rough at the edges, saying her name like a question.
Chapter Two: Whispers in the Garden
The week that followed the orientation party stretched longer than Leanne expected. Classes had settled into a rhythm—lectures, study sessions, the occasional coffee run with Jess—but her mind kept drifting back to that bench outside the party, to the way Louis’s knee had brushed against hers, to the quiet intensity in his voice when he spoke. She told herself it was just a fleeting moment, the kind that happens at the start of college when everything feels new and charged with possibility. But then she’d catch herself staring at her phone, wondering if he’d text, or she’d pause in the quad, half-expecting to see him leaning against a tree with that same hesitant smile.
She hadn’t mentioned him to Jess. Not because she was hiding it—well, not entirely—but because she wasn’t sure what to say. I met a guy, we talked for twenty minutes, and now I can’t stop thinking about the way his glasses fogged up when he laughed? It sounded ridiculous, even to her. So she kept it to herself, letting the memory simmer in the back of her mind like a secret.
The campus event was supposed to be a mixer for freshmen in the humanities program—a way to “foster academic camaraderie,” according to the email. Leanne had only gone because Jess dragged her along, insisting it would be “good for networking.” The room was packed, the air thick with the scent of cheap pizza and the hum of forced conversation. Leanne hovered near a table of snacks, picking at a stale pretzel, when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.
Jess: Running late. Save me a seat?
Leanne sighed, typing back a quick Sure, before slipping her phone away. She scanned the room, searching for a familiar face—anyone to latch onto so she wouldn’t have to stand alone like a lost puppy. That’s when she saw him.
Louis stood near the back, half-hidden behind a potted fern, his hands shoved into the pockets of a dark green hoodie. He wasn’t talking to anyone, just observing the room with that quiet, thoughtful expression she recognized from the party. His hair was slightly messier than before, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times, and his glasses had slipped down his nose just a little. He looked—well, he looked exactly like someone who didn’t want to be there.
Leanne’s pulse jumped. She told herself to play it cool, to not stare, but her traitorous feet had already started moving before her brain could catch up.
She stopped a few feet away, close enough that he’d notice her if he looked up. “Hey,” she said, pitching her voice just loud enough to carry over the noise. “You look like you’re plotting an escape.”
Louis’s head snapped toward her, his eyes widening behind his glasses. For a second, he just blinked, as if he wasn’t entirely sure she was real. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s considering the same thing,” she admitted, leaning against the table beside him. She grabbed a plastic cup of punch—regretfully, because it smelled suspiciously like fruit-flavored regret—and took a sip anyway. “I don’t think ‘academic camaraderie’ was code for ‘mandatory suffering,’ but here we are.”
Louis laughed, the sound low and warm, and something in her chest loosened. “I was hoping it’d at least have better snacks,” he said, glancing at the sad spread of chips and cookies. “I mean, if they’re going to trap us here, they could throw in some decent chocolate.”
“Right? Where’s the bribery?” She grinned, nudging his shoulder lightly with hers. “I’d sell my soul for a proper brownie right now.”
His gaze flicked to where her arm still rested against his, just for a second, before he cleared his throat. “So. You’re here alone?”
“The horror,” she teased, though the question sent a flicker of warmth through her. He’d noticed. “My roommate bailed. What’s your excuse?”
Louis adjusted his glasses, a habit she was starting to recognize as his tell for when he was thinking too hard. “I came with my RA, but he got pulled into a debate about postmodernism with some upperclassmen. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Leanne winced. “Oof. That’s the kind of conversation that starts with ‘actually’ and ends with someone crying in the bathroom.”
“You say that like you’ve been there.”
“Haven’t we all?” She took another sip of punch, then set the cup down with a grimace. “Okay, new plan. We ditch this place, find actual food, and pretend we were never here.”
Louis hesitated, his fingers tapping against his thigh. “You’d do that? Just… leave?”
She tilted her head, studying him. There was something so earnest in the way he asked, like the idea of someone choosing to spend time with him was still a surprise. It made her want to reach out, to close the distance between them just to prove it was real. “Only if you promise not to drag me into any postmodernism debates.”
His smile this time was brighter, less guarded. “Deal.”
The night air was cooler than she expected, a crisp edge to it that made her glad she’d thrown on her favorite oversized cardigan. They wandered away from the event hall, falling into an easy rhythm as they cut across the quad. The campus was quieter now, the usual bustle of students thinning out as evening settled in. Streetlamps cast long shadows, and the distant murmur of laughter from other groups faded into the background, leaving just the sound of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves.
“So,” Louis said after a while, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Where to?”
Leanne considered. “There’s a diner off-campus that does milkshakes the size of your head. Or we could hit the library—” She caught the way his nose wrinkled at that and laughed. “Okay, no library. What about the garden?”
“The… garden?”
“Behind the old arts building.” She gestured vaguely toward the cluster of brick buildings to their left. “It’s kind of hidden, but it’s got these weird metal sculptures and a bunch of benches. No one really goes there at night, so it’s quiet.”
Louis glanced at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded. “Yeah. That sounds… nice.”
She led the way, weaving between buildings until they reached the narrow path that wound behind the arts complex. The garden was exactly as she remembered—overgrown in places, the sculptures half-hidden by ivy, the benches tucked into alcoves like secrets. String lights had been hung between the trees at some point, their soft glow casting everything in gold. It was the kind of place that felt like it belonged in a dream, untouched by the chaos of the rest of the world.
Leanne hopped up onto one of the benches, patting the spot beside her. “Ta-da. Much better than postmodernism, right?”
Louis sat, leaving a careful inch of space between them. “This is…” He trailed off, looking around like he was memorizing it. “I didn’t know this was here.”
“Most people don’t.” She swung her legs lightly, enjoying the way the cool air bit at her ankles. “I found it last year during a campus tour. The guide mentioned it in passing, but no one else seemed to care, so I snuck off to check it out.”
“Of course you did,” he said, and there was something in his voice—affection, maybe, or amusement—that made her skin prickle.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned to face her, his knee brushing hers just slightly. “You strike me as someone who likes finding things other people miss.”
The observation settled over her, warm and heavy. She’d never thought of it that way before, but he wasn’t wrong. “And what about you?” she asked, tilting her head. “What do you like?”
Louis exhaled, his breath curling between them. “I don’t know. Quiet, I guess. Things that don’t… demand too much.”
Leanne studied him—the way his fingers flexed against his thigh, the faint tension in his shoulders. “That’s not a bad thing,” she said softly.
“I know.” He laughed once, self-deprecating. “It’s just hard to explain. Sometimes it feels like everyone else has this script they’re following, and I’m always a beat behind.”
She understood that. More than she wanted to admit. “Maybe the script’s overrated.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the air between them shifted. His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up. “Leanne—”
Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned in, just a little, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. “Yeah?”
Louis swallowed hard. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
The confession hung there, raw and honest. She could’ve played it off, made a joke, pretended she didn’t feel the same way. But the garden was too quiet, the night too still, and the way he was looking at her—like she was something precious, something fragile—made her brave. “Me too,” she admitted.
His breath hitched. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She reached out, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. “I kept waiting for you to text. But then I thought… maybe you were waiting for me.”
“I didn’t have your number,” he said, his voice rough.
“Oh.” She blinked. “That’s… a good point.”
A laugh bubbled up between them, easing the tension just enough. Louis turned his hand over, his palm warm against hers. “Can I have it now?”
Leanne threaded her fingers through his, her thumb tracing the line of his knuckles. “Only if you promise to use it.”
“I promise.” His grip tightened, just slightly. “But… can we do this slow? I don’t—I don’t want to mess this up.”
The vulnerability in his voice undid her. She squeezed his hand, her heart pounding. “Slow is good,” she said. “Slow means we get to savor it.”
Louis exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay. Slow.”
They sat like that for a while, hands tangled together, the garden wrapped around them like a cocoon. The string lights flickered overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed the hour. Leanne rested her head against his shoulder, and Louis pressed a kiss to her temple, so light she might’ve imagined it.
“What now?” he murmured.
She smiled against his hoodie. “Now? Now we take our time.”
Chapter Three: Cuddling in the Grass
The library’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of wooden tables. Leanne sat with her history textbook propped open, her fingers tracing the margins of the page without absorbing a single word. Across from her, Louis hunched over his own book, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he blinked at the same paragraph for the third time. The air smelled of old paper and the faint, bitter tang of coffee someone had spilled earlier. Neither of them had turned a page in at least ten minutes.
Leanne’s knee bounced under the table, her ankle boots tapping a restless rhythm against the tile. She could feel Louis’s presence like a current, warm and distracting, even though they weren’t touching. Every time she glanced up, she caught him staring at the table’s edge, his fingers drumming against the spine of his book. The memory of last night—the garden, the way his lips had brushed her temple, the quiet confession of mutual longing—played on repeat in her mind. She exhaled through her nose, her pencil snapping between her fingers.
Louis’s gaze flicked up at the sound, meeting hers for a fraction of a second before darting away. His throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He adjusted his glasses, then his hoodie sleeve, then the angle of his book—anything to avoid looking at her again. But he *had* looked. And that was enough.
Leanne’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. She tore a strip of paper from the corner of her notebook, the sound deliberate, just loud enough to cut through the library’s hush. Louis’s fingers stilled on his book. She didn’t look at him as she scribbled, her handwriting loose and hurried, the pen pressing hard enough to dent the table beneath. When she finished, she folded the note once, twice, then slid it across the polished wood with her fingertips.
Louis stared at the white rectangle between them like it was a live grenade. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He darted a glance around—the librarian at the front desk, a girl two tables over highlighting a textbook, a guy in the corner scrolling on his phone. No one was watching. But it still felt like a risk. Like crossing a line.
His fingers trembled as he reached for the note, unfolding it with painstaking slowness. The words hit him like a punch to the gut:
*”Thinking about last night.”*
Louis’s face flushed, heat crawling up his neck and flooding his cheeks. He could *hear* her voice in the ink, low and teasing, the way she’d sounded when she’d admitted she’d waited for his text. His pulse roared in his ears. He grabbed his own pen, his grip so tight the plastic creaked. The tip dug into the paper as he wrote back, his handwriting jagged with urgency:
*”Me too. Can’t focus.”*
He didn’t fold it. Didn’t hesitate. He pushed the note back across the table, his knuckles brushing against the wood with a sharp *tap*.
Leanne’s breath caught as she read it. A giddy, reckless energy fizzed under her skin. She met his gaze this time, holding it, her hazel eyes bright with challenge. Louis’s mouth was slightly parted, his lips dry. He wet them with the tip of his tongue, and the movement sent a jolt straight between Leanne’s thighs.
She leaned forward, her cardigan slipping off one shoulder. “We’re not getting anything done,” she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
Louis’s laugh was a quiet, disbelieving huff. “No,” he agreed. “We’re really not.”
A beat of silence. The kind that stretched, heavy with possibility.
Then Leanne stood, her chair scraping back with a noise that made Louis flinch. She didn’t care. She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder with one fluid motion. “Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward the library’s tall windows. Outside, the afternoon sun painted the quad in gold. “Let’s get out of here.”
Louis didn’t ask where. He didn’t hesitate. He snapped his book shut, shoved it into his backpack, and followed her like she was gravity itself.
—
The park near campus was mostly empty, save for a few students sprawled on blankets with laptops or textbooks. Leanne led Louis to a spot beneath an old oak, its branches stretching wide enough to cast them in dappled shade. The grass was cool and slightly damp under her palms as she sank down, her legs folding beneath her. Louis hesitated for only a second before mirroring her, lying back with a sigh, his arms pillowed behind his head.
Above them, the sky was a vast, shifting canvas of blue and white. Leanne squinted at the clouds, her fingers plucking at the grass beside her. “That one looks like a dragon,” she said, pointing at a wispy, curling formation near the horizon.
Louis followed her gaze, his lips quirking. “More like a really sad seahorse.”
“You’re terrible at this,” she laughed, nudging his shoulder with her toes. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his ankle brushed against hers, the contact light but intentional.
“You’re the one who started it,” he countered, but his voice was warm, amused. He turned his head to look at her, his dark hair fanning out against the grass. The sunlight caught the hazel flecks in his irises, making them glow. “What? Why are you staring?”
Leanne’s smile softened. “Just memorizing you,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. It was the truth. The way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the faint smudge of ink on his thumb from where he’d been writing, the way his hoodie rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin at his waist.
Louis’s breath hitched. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, suddenly serious. “Leanne,” he started, then stopped, his brow furrowing. “I—” He swallowed. “I don’t just think about *last night*. I think about you. A lot. And it’s…” He exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against the grass. “It’s scary, how much.”
The honesty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She rolled to face him, mirroring his pose, their knees nearly touching. “Why scary?”
“Because I don’t want to mess it up.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then flicked away, as if the sight was too much. “I’ve never… felt like this before. Like I could actually *lose* something.”
Leanne’s heart pounded. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above his wrist before landing there, his pulse jumping beneath her touch. “You won’t,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “Not if we’re both being honest.”
Louis’s laugh was shaky, relieved. “Honest,” he repeated, like he was testing the word. Then, quieter: “What do you want, Leanne? Really.”
The question hung between them, heavy and raw. She could have lied. Could have played it safe. But the way he was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—stripped away every instinct to hide.
“I want *you*,” she said, her thumb tracing the inside of his wrist, feeling the delicate bones there. “Not just last night. Not just kisses or… whatever comes after. I want the *you* who reads too much and overthinks everything and writes things down when he’s nervous.” She tilted her head. “I want the you who’s too scared to tell me he wants to write a novel.”
Louis froze. His face went slack, then flushed dark red. “How did you—”
“Your notebook,” she said, nodding at his backpack, where the corner of a well-worn journal stuck out. “I saw it last night. The way you kept touching it, like you were itching to open it.” She smiled. “And the fact that you *didn’t* open it told me it was important.”
Louis stared at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’ve never told anyone that,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Not even my sister.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s… stupid. Cliché. *Eighteen-year-old wants to write a book*—who hasn’t thought that?” He looked away, his jaw tight. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Leanne shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against his. “Start with me,” she said simply. “Let me be your first reader. Your only reader, if you want. No pressure. No judgment.” She bumped her knee against his. “I’ll even pretend to like it if it’s terrible.”
Louis laughed, the sound surprised and bright. He turned back to her, his eyes searching hers. “You’d do that?”
“I’d do a lot of things for you,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. But she didn’t want to stop them. Not when his gaze darkened, his pupils blowing wide.
The air between them thickened, charged. Louis’s hand found hers, their fingers threading together, his grip almost painfully tight. “Leanne,” he breathed, her name a prayer and a warning.
She leaned in.
He met her halfway.
Their lips crashed together, desperate and clumsy at first—teeth clacking, noses bumping—but then Louis groaned, low and needy, and tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Leanne melted into him, her free hand fisting in his hoodie, pulling him closer. The grass prickled against her bare arms, the sun warm on her back, but all she could feel was *him*—the heat of his mouth, the way his tongue slid against hers, the way his body trembled when she bit his lower lip.
Louis made a broken sound, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “Fuck,” he gasped against her mouth. “We’re in public.”
Leanne laughed breathlessly, her lips swollen. “So?”
“So I don’t want to stop,” he admitted, his forehead resting against hers. “But I also don’t want some guy with a frisbee to see me dry-humping you on the grass.”
She burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the park. Louis groaned, burying his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “You’re evil,” he muttered.
“No,” she said, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Just honest.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression soft and wonderstruck. “I think I’m falling for you,” he confessed, the words raw and unguarded.
Leanne’s heart stuttered. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his bottom lip. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m already there.”
Louis kissed her again, slower this time, like he was memorizing the shape of her. When they finally pulled apart, the sky had darkened, the clouds now streaked with pink and orange. They lay side by side, shoulders pressed together, fingers still intertwined.
“Tell me about your book,” Leanne said, her voice quiet but sure.
Louis took a deep breath, then started to talk. And for the first time, he didn’t hold back.
Chapter Four: Golden Surrender
The golden light of late afternoon spilled through the oak’s branches, painting Louis’s glasses in a warm glow as he lay beside Leanne, their fingers still tangled together. The air smelled of damp earth and something sweeter—her shampoo, maybe, or the faint vanilla scent clinging to her cardigan. His chest felt tight, not with anxiety this time, but with the weight of her confession still humming between them. I’m already there. The words echoed in his skull, bold and terrifying and perfect.
He turned his head, studying the curve of her profile—the way her lashes cast shadows on her freckled cheeks, the part of her lips as she exhaled slowly, like she was savoring the moment too. The bench sat just a few feet away, half-hidden in the lengthening shadows, its wooden slats worn smooth by years of students and lovers and people just passing through. Louis had never been one of those people. Not until now.
“Leanne,” he murmured, his voice rough.
She turned toward him, her hazel eyes catching the light. “Hmm?”
He didn’t let himself overthink it. If he did, he’d talk himself out of it, and he was done with that. Done with hesitation. Swallowing hard, he sat up, the grass cool against his palms as he pushed himself to his feet, then offered her his hand. “Come here.”
A slow smile curved her lips, knowing and a little wicked, like she’d been waiting for this. She took his hand, letting him pull her up, their bodies brushing close. The contact sent a jolt through him, sharp and electric, and when she stepped into him—just for a second, her breasts pressing lightly against his chest—he nearly groaned. Instead, he guided her toward the bench, his pulse hammering in his throat.
The wood was warm from the sun as he sat, but the air had a bite to it, the kind that made you want to get closer to someone. Leanne straddled the bench to face him, her knees brushing his thighs, her cardigan gaping just enough to tease the lace beneath. Louis’s fingers twitched. He wanted to touch her. Everywhere.
“You’re staring,” she teased, but her voice was breathy, her cheeks flushed.
“Can’t help it,” he admitted. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he reached out, his hand cupping her jaw. His thumb brushed her lower lip, and she parted them with a soft gasp. That was all the invitation he needed.
He kissed her.
Not like before—not the hesitant press of lips in the library, not the desperate, clumsy collision under the oak. This was deeper, slower, his mouth moving against hers like he had all the time in the world. She melted into it, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie. The taste of her—sweet, like the tea she’d been drinking earlier—went straight to his head. He tilted his chin, angling for more, and she made this little sound, a whimper that vibrated against his tongue.
Louis’s hands didn’t stay still. One slid into her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft waves, while the other traced the line of her collarbone, then lower, to the first button of her cardigan. He fumbled with it, his pulse roaring in his ears, but then it gave way, and another, and another, until the fabric parted, revealing the delicate lace of her bra—a pale pink that made his mouth water.
“Fuck,” he breathed against her lips, his voice rough. “You’re so—”
“Louis,” she gasped, her nails scraping down his back as he kissed her again, harder this time, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. She arched into him, her body pliant and warm, and he took the invitation, his palm sliding over the swell of her breast through the lace. Her nipple pebbled under his touch, and she moaned, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
He needed more. Needed her.
Breaking the kiss just long enough to drag in a ragged breath, he met her gaze. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from his mouth. “Is this okay?”
She didn’t answer with words. Instead, her hands dropped to the hem of his hoodie, her fingers deft as she tugged the drawstring loose. The fabric fell open, and she pushed it off his shoulders, her palms flattening against his chest. His skin was pale in the fading light, a smattering of freckles across his collarbones, his ribs visible beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. She traced one with her fingertip, her touch feather-light, and he shivered.
“More than okay,” she murmured, and then she was kissing him again, her lips hot and insistent.
Louis groaned, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer until she was nearly in his lap. The bench creaked under them, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the way her tongue slid against his, the way her breath hitched when his thumb brushed over her nipple again, circling, teasing. She was so responsive, her body moving against his like she couldn’t get close enough.
“Touch me,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “Please.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
His hands moved to the hem of her cardigan, pushing it off her shoulders until it pooled around her waist, leaving her in just the lace bra. The air was cool against her skin, but she didn’t shiver—not when his mouth was on her neck, kissing, sucking, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. She tilted her head to give him better access, her fingers clutching at his t-shirt.
“Louis—” His name was a plea, and he loved it. Loved that he could make her sound like that.
He kissed his way lower, his lips brushing the swell of her breast above the lace. She was trembling now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and when he finally—finally—pulled the cup down, freeing her nipple, she gasped, her back arching.
“So pretty,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. Then he took her into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tight bud.
“Oh god,” she cried, her hands flying to his hair, her fingers tangling in the waves. He could feel her heartbeat against his lips, fast and erratic, and it made him bold. His free hand slid up her thigh, his fingers inching toward the waistband of her jeans, but he didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, he lavished attention on her breasts, switching between them, nipping and soothing with his tongue until she was panting, her hips restlessly shifting against the bench.
She wasn’t the only one affected. His cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, but he ignored it, focused entirely on her—on the way her breath hitched when he bit down just a little harder, on the way her thighs clenched when his fingers traced the waistband of her jeans.
“Louis, I—” She broke off with a whimper as he sucked her nipple between his lips again, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. “I need—”
“I know,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his lips glistening. “What do you need, Leanne?”
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark and hazy with lust. For a second, he saw the flicker of uncertainty—inexperience—but then she swallowed, her chin lifting slightly. “You. Just… you.”
Something primal and possessive flared in his chest. He crashed his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming over her body like he was memorizing every curve. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers scrambling at his t-shirt, tugging it up. He broke the kiss long enough to yank it off, tossing it aside, and then she was touching him, her palms flat against his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his nipples.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his head falling back as she leaned in, her lips pressing against his collarbone, then lower, her tongue darting out to taste his skin. He could feel her smile against him, could hear the quiet hum of satisfaction in her throat.
“My turn,” she whispered, and then her mouth was on him, kissing, licking, her teeth grazing his skin just enough to make him jerk. His hands found her hair again, his fingers tangling in the waves as she explored him, her lips trailing down his stomach, her breath hot against the waistband of his jeans.
He was going to lose his mind.
“Leanne,” he groaned, his voice strained. “Baby, if you keep—”
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with mischief and desire. “Then what?”
He didn’t have an answer. Not a coherent one, anyway. Instead, he pulled her up, his mouth crashing into hers again, his hands gripping her waist. The bench was too small, too confining—he needed more. Needed her beneath him, needed to feel her skin against his, needed—
A distant laugh cut through the haze of desire, the sound of footsteps on the path nearby. Louis froze, his body tensing, but Leanne just chuckled against his lips, her breath warm and amused.
“We should probably—” he started, but she shook her head, pressing a finger to his lips.
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
And then she was kissing him again, slow and deep, her hands sliding up his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his skin. The world narrowed to her—to the way her body fit against his, to the way her heart pounded in time with his, to the way she made him feel like he was the only thing that mattered.
The footsteps faded, the voices disappearing into the distance, but Louis barely noticed. All he could focus on was the way Leanne’s lips parted under his, the way her tongue slid against his, the way her hands clenched in his hair as he kissed her like he was drowning and she was the only air he needed.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that—kissing, touching, exploring—only that the sun dipped lower, the air growing cooler, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when she tasted like this. Not when she looked at him like this.
Finally, breathless and trembling, Leanne pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against his, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“We should probably go,” she murmured, but there was no conviction in her voice. None at all.
Louis smirked, his hands still on her waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles over the bare skin above her jeans. “Probably.”
Neither of them moved.
Instead, he kissed her again, soft this time, slow, like they had all the time in the world. And in that moment, beneath the oak tree with the golden light fading around them, it felt like they did.
Chapter Five: Shelter in the Storm
The first raindrops fell like whispered secrets against their skin—cool, sudden, insistent. Leanne gasped as one landed on her collarbone, sliding down between her breasts, and Louis jerked his head up from where his lips had been tracing the lace edge of her bra. The sky, moments ago a soft golden haze, had darkened into a bruised gray, the air thick with the promise of more. They froze for half a second, eyes locking—her hazel irises wide, his dark with something feral—before laughter bubbled up between them, breathless and disbelieving.
“Shit—” Louis’s voice was rough, his fingers still curled around the waistband of her jeans, thumbs brushing the warm dip of her hips. The rain picked up, a fine mist turning the world beyond the bench into a blur of green and gray. Leanne’s cardigan, already half-slipped from her shoulders, clung damply to her arms, the lace of her bra peeking through the gap like a dare.
“We’re gonna get soaked,” she breathed, but her hands didn’t leave him. Instead, they slid up his chest, nails scraping lightly over the thin cotton of his t-shirt, her touch lingering on the hard lines of his ribs. Louis shivered, though not from the cold. His glasses were fogging, the world narrowing to the way her lips parted, the way her tongue darted out to catch a raindrop on her lower lip.
“Gazebo,” he managed, nodding toward the old wooden structure twenty feet away, its peaked roof dark with moisture. Its slatted walls offered privacy, the kind that made his pulse kick harder. Leanne didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him up, their bodies colliding as they stumbled off the bench, her laughter turning into a squeal as the rain came down harder, plastering her hair to her neck in dark, wavy strands.
They ran, shoes slapping against the wet path, fingers tangled together like they were the only thing keeping them upright. The gazebo loomed closer, its scent of damp wood and old earth wrapping around them before they even ducked beneath its shelter. The moment they crossed the threshold, Louis spun her, pressing her back against one of the rough-hewn pillars. The wood was cool against her bare shoulders, the contrast making her gasp as his hands found her waist again, his thumbs digging in just enough to bruise.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groaned, but it wasn’t the rain he meant. His mouth crashed onto hers, hungry and open, his tongue sweeping in to claim her with a desperation that made her knees weak. Leanne moaned into him, her fingers fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between them. The rain drummed a frantic rhythm on the roof above, the sound swallowing their ragged breaths, the slick noises of their kisses.
Louis’s hands were everywhere—palming her breasts through the damp lace, thumbing her nipples until they peaked tight and aching, then sliding down to grip her ass, lifting her just enough that she could feel the hard ridge of him through his jeans. She whimpered, her hips rolling instinctively, seeking friction. “Louis—please—”
He didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers flew to the buttons of his jeans, but she batted his hands away, her own trembling as she took over. The metal popped open one by one, the sound obscenely loud in the enclosed space. She didn’t stop there. Her palms flattened against his stomach, pushing the denim and his boxers down in one rough shove, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening. Leanne’s breath hitched. She’d felt him through his clothes, but seeing him—veined and heavy, twitching as she wrapped her fingers around the base—sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.
“God, Leanne—” Louis’s voice was a broken rasp, his head falling back as she stroked him once, twice, her thumb swiping over the slick crown. But then his hands were on hers, stilling her. “Not like this. Not yet.” His gaze burned into hers, dark and serious behind his fogged glasses. “I want to see you.”
She swallowed hard, but the thrill of his words, the raw need in his voice, had her nodding before she could overthink it. Her fingers shook as she reached for the hem of her cardigan, but Louis stopped her again, his touch gentle as he took over. He peeled the damp fabric from her shoulders, letting it drop to the gazebo floor with a wet thud. The lace bra followed, his knuckles brushing her ribs as he unhooked it, tossing it aside without looking away from her face. When her breasts spilled free, full and pale with pink nipples already tight from the cool air, his breath stuttered.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmured, his palms cupping her, thumbs circling her nipples in slow, maddening loops. Leanne arched into his touch, her back pressing harder against the pillar, her head tipping back as a moan tore from her throat. The rain had soaked through the back of her shirt, the thin cotton clinging to her skin, but Louis didn’t hesitate. He gripped the hem and pulled, dragging it up and over her head in one fluid motion, leaving her in nothing but her jeans—unbuttoned, the zipper half-undone from their earlier frenzy.
She should’ve felt exposed. Vulnerable. But the way Louis was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing—made her feel powerful. Beautiful. His hands dropped to her waistband, fingers hooking into the denim, and she lifted her hips automatically, letting him drag her jeans and underwear down her thighs in one rough motion. The cool air hit her bare skin, her pussy already slick and throbbing, and she didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious before Louis was kneeling in front of her, his breath hot against her inner thigh.
“Louis—!” Her voice was a warning, a plea, but he just looked up at her, his dark eyes burning through the lenses of his glasses.
“Let me,” he said, his voice rough. And then his mouth was on her, his tongue dragging up her slit in one long, slow lick. Leanne’s hands flew to his hair, her nails scraping his scalp as her legs trembled. “Oh god—”
He didn’t let up. His fingers dug into her ass, holding her steady as his tongue worked her—circling her clit, dipping inside her, then pulling back to suck on the sensitive bundle of nerves until her hips were jerking, her moans filling the gazebo. The rain pounded above them, the rhythm matching the relentless flick of his tongue, and she could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight and inevitable in her belly.
But then Louis pulled back, his lips glistening, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Not yet,” he repeated, his voice a growl. He surged to his feet, his cock bobbing between them, and before she could protest, he was kissing her again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His hands went to his shirt, yanking it over his head, his glasses falling away somewhere in the process. She barely noticed. All she could focus on was the way his chest heaved, the way his muscles flexed as he kicked off his jeans, his boxers, until he was just as bare as she was, his skin flushed and damp with rain and sweat.
For a moment, they just stood there, chests rising and falling, eyes locked. The gazebo was a cocoon of heat and sound—the rain, their breaths, the distant thunder rumbling like a promise. Then Louis’s hands were on her again, lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed her back against the pillar. The wood was rough against her skin, but she didn’t care. All she could feel was the thick, hot length of him sliding between her thighs, the head of his cock bumping against her entrance.
“Tell me you’re sure,” he demanded, his voice raw. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath mingling with hers.
Leanne didn’t hesitate. She reached between them, guiding him to her, the first inch of him stretching her open, making her gasp. “I’m sure,” she whispered. And then she pulled him the rest of the way in.
Chapter Six: Taste of Possession
The rain had softened to a whisper, a fine mist clinging to the air like a veil, dampening the heat still radiating between their bodies. Leanne’s skin prickled where Louis’s fingers traced idle patterns along her ribs, his touch light but possessive, like he was afraid she might dissolve if he let go. The gazebo smelled of wet cedar and sex, the musk of their bodies thick in the humid air, mingling with the earthy scent of the garden beyond. She could still taste him on her tongue—salt and something uniquely him—and the thought sent a fresh pulse of warmth between her thighs.
She shifted slightly, her back still pressed against the rough wood of the pillar, the grain digging into her skin in a way that grounded her. Louis’s cock twitched inside her, still half-hard, and she bit her lip at the sensation, her inner walls clenching around him instinctively. He groaned, his breath hot against her collarbone, his hips rolling just enough to make her gasp.
“You’re thinking too much again,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “I can feel you tensing up.”
Leanne exhaled, her fingers flexing against the damp fabric of his hoodie where it clung to his shoulders. “I can’t help it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… this feels like a dream. Like if I blink, I’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.”
Louis pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his deep hazel eyes dark with something raw and hungry. His glasses were still missing, lost in the frenzy of their first round, and the absence of them made him look younger, more vulnerable. “Then don’t fucking blink,” he said, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip, parting it slightly. “Stay here. With me.”
She whimpered as his hips rolled again, his cock sliding deeper, stretching her in a way that bordered on too much but never quite crossed it. The rain dripped in slow, steady beats from the roof above, the sound mixing with the wet slap of their bodies, the creak of the gazebo’s old wood beneath them. Louis’s hands were everywhere—one tangled in her hair, the other gripping her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just hard enough to leave marks.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and possessive, his lips crashing against hers before she could respond. His kiss was bruising, his teeth nipping at her lower lip before his tongue slid inside, slow and deep, mimicking the rhythm of his hips. Leanne moaned into his mouth, her nails raking down his back, her legs tightening around his waist. She could feel the ridge of his cock dragging against her inner walls, the head pressing against that spot that made her vision blur at the edges.
“Louis—” His name broke from her lips like a plea, her voice trembling. “I can’t—it’s too—”
“It’s not,” he interrupted, his breath hot against her ear. “You can take it. You can take all of me.” His hips stuttered, his thrusts turning shallow, teasing, the head of his cock barely pulling free before sinking back in. Each stroke was deliberate, maddening, designed to keep her on the edge without letting her fall. “You’re soaked,” he groaned, his fingers slipping between them, finding her clit with unerring precision. “Fucking dripping for me.”
Leanne’s back arched, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as his fingers circled her clit, his touch feather-light at first, then firmer, more demanding. “Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “I need—”
“I know what you need,” Louis murmured, his lips trailing down her throat, his teeth grazing the pulse point beneath her jaw. “You need to come. You need to come on my cock like a good girl, don’t you?”
The words sent a jolt of heat through her, her pussy clenching around him so tightly that Louis hissed, his hips jerking in response. “Yes,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan. “Yes, please—”
He didn’t make her wait. His fingers worked her clit in tight, relentless circles, his thumb pressing down just hard enough to make her whimper, while his cock pistoned inside her in slow, deep strokes. The dual sensations were overwhelming—pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, her muscles locking up as the orgasm built, inevitable and devastating.
“That’s it,” Louis coaxed, his voice a dark, dirty whisper in her ear. “Let go, Leanne. Come for me.”
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her with a force that stole her breath, her back bowing off the wood as her pussy clenched around his cock in wave after wave of pulsing pleasure. Louis groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as she milked him, her walls fluttering, dragging him deeper. “Fuck—fuck—” His voice was raw, his fingers digging into her thigh hard enough to bruise as his own release crashed over him. She felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum filling her, his cock jerking inside her as he came, his breath ragged against her neck.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The gazebo was silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing, the occasional drip of water from the roof, the distant call of a night bird somewhere in the garden. Louis’s forehead rested against hers, his skin damp with sweat and rain, his glasses still forgotten somewhere on the floor. His cock softened inside her, but neither of them made a move to separate.
Leanne’s fingers traced lazy patterns over the slick skin of his shoulders, her touch feather-light. “You’re insatiable,” she murmured, her voice husky, a smile tugging at her lips.
Louis chuckled, the sound low and rough, his breath ghosting over her collarbone. “Only for you,” he admitted, his hips rolling just slightly, his semi-hard cock dragging against her oversensitive walls. She gasped, her nails digging into his skin, and he groaned in response, his lips finding hers in a slow, deep kiss.
The rain had stopped entirely now, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and the musk of their bodies. Louis finally pulled back, his cock slipping free with a wet sound that made Leanne’s face heat. She could feel his cum dripping down her thighs, the warmth of it a stark contrast to the cool night air. He didn’t move away, though—his hands stayed on her, one cupping her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, the other resting possessively on her hip.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze tracing over her face, lingering on the flush in her cheeks, the way her lips were still swollen from his kisses. “Even more so when you’re like this—messy, used, mine.”
Leanne’s breath hitched at the word, at the way he said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. She reached up, her fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw, her touch tentative. “Yours,” she echoed, the word feeling both foreign and right on her tongue.
Louis’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening on her hip. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low, rough.
“Yours,” she repeated, firmer this time, her gaze locking with his. “I’m yours.”
A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips, his thumb brushing over her nipple again, making her gasp. “Good girl,” he murmured, his mouth capturing hers in another searing kiss.
The night stretched around them, endless and full of possibility. And for the first time, Leanne didn’t feel the need to overthink it. She just let go—into the kiss, into the touch, into the quiet, certain knowledge that, for now, this was exactly where she was meant to be.
Louis’s hands slid down her body, his touch lingering on the curve of her waist before gripping her thighs, spreading them wider. His mouth left hers, trailing down her throat, his teeth scraping over her pulse point before he dropped to his knees in front of her. The sudden shift made her whimper, her fingers tangling in his dark hair as she watched him, her breath coming faster.
“Louis—what are you—?”
“Shh,” he murmured, his breath hot against the inside of her thigh. “Let me taste you.”
Her protest died in her throat as his tongue dragged up her slit, slow and deliberate, lapping at the mess of his cum and her arousal. Leanne’s head fell back against the wood with a thud, her fingers tightening in his hair as his mouth worked her, his tongue swirling over her clit before dipping inside her, fucking her with shallow, teasing strokes.
“Oh god—” Her voice broke, her hips jerking upward, her body trying to chase the pleasure even as she trembled from oversensitivity. Louis groaned against her, the vibration making her whimper, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints.
“You taste so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing her inner thigh before his tongue dragged up her slit again, this time focusing on her clit, his movements slow and torturous. “Like me. Like us.”
Leanne’s breath came in sharp, desperate gasps, her body trembling as another orgasm built, this one slower, deeper, more devastating than the last. Louis’s fingers joined his mouth, two of them sliding inside her, curling against her front wall as his tongue worked her clit in tight, relentless circles.
“Louis—I can’t—I’m going to—”
“That’s the point,” he growled, his voice muffled against her pussy, his fingers crooking inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. “Come on my tongue, Leanne. Now.”
She came with a broken cry, her back arching, her thighs clamping around his head as her orgasm crashed over her, her pussy pulsing around his fingers, her cum coating his chin. Louis didn’t stop, his tongue lapping at her through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor until she was boneless, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps.
Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his gaze dark and satisfied as he looked up at her. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice rough, possessive.
Leanne could only nod, her body still trembling, her skin flushed and sensitive. She reached for him, her fingers shaking as she pulled him up, her mouth crashing against his, tasting herself on his lips, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, deep kiss.
The gazebo creaked around them, the night air cool against their heated skin. And for the first time, Leanne didn’t question it. She didn’t overthink it. She just felt—the weight of his body against hers, the slow, steady beat of his heart, the way his hands held her like she was something precious.
And in that moment, it was enough. More than enough. It was everything.
Chapter Seven: Possessed by Passion
he taste of herself lingered on Louis’s lips as he pulled back from the kiss, his breath hot against Leanne’s swollen mouth. His fingers still curled possessively around her thighs, the pads of his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above her knees, grounding her. The rain had long since stopped, but the air remained thick with the scent of damp wood and the musk of their bodies, the gazebo’s slatted roof still dripping occasional fat drops that splattered against the floorboards beneath them. Leanne’s back arched slightly, her skin prickling with sensitivity everywhere his touch had been—her clit still throbbing from the last orgasm he’d wrung from her with his tongue, her inner walls clenching around nothing, aching to be filled again.
Louis didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze said everything, dark and heavy-lidded as it raked over her—her parted lips, the flush high on her cheeks, the way her nipples tightened under his stare. His cock, already half-hard again, twitched against her thigh, the heat of it searing her skin. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that was almost a growl, before his hands slid up her thighs, gripping her hips with enough force to bruise. Leanne gasped as he lifted her effortlessly, turning her body so her back pressed against the gazebo’s wooden railing. The rough edge dug into her shoulder blades, but she barely noticed, too focused on the way Louis’s fingers flexed against her waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts.
“Up,” he murmured, his voice rough, commanding.
She obeyed without hesitation, bracing her hands on his shoulders as he guided her onto the railing’s wide, flat edge. The wood was cool and slightly damp beneath her bare ass, the grain rough against her skin. Her legs dangled over the side, toes barely brushing the gazebo’s floor, and for a second, she wobbled, her balance unsteady. Louis’s hands shot to her waist, steadying her, his fingers splaying wide over her ribs. His touch was possessive, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of her.
“Like this,” he said, his breath warm against her ear as he stepped between her thighs. His cock, thick and heavy, rested against her stomach, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Leanne’s pulse spiked, her breath hitching as she reached down, wrapping her fingers around him. He hissed, his hips jerking forward instinctively, but he caught her wrist before she could stroke him.
“No.” His voice was a low rasp. “Not yet.”
She whimpered, her grip tightening reflexively before he pried her fingers loose. He didn’t let go of her hand, though. Instead, he brought her knuckles to his mouth, pressing a kiss to them before guiding her arm up, wrapping it around his neck. His other hand did the same with her left, until her arms were locked around him, her fingers tangled in the damp waves of his hair. The position arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward, and Louis didn’t waste a second. He dipped his head, capturing one nipple between his lips, his tongue swirling before he bit down just enough to make her gasp.
“Louis—” His name broke from her lips on a moan, her nails scraping against his scalp.
He released her with a wet pop, his gaze flicking up to hers. “Eyes on me.”
She obeyed, her hazel eyes locking with his dark, hungry ones. There was no shyness now, no hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need. Louis’s hands slid down to her hips again, his fingers digging in as he guided himself to her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her, hot and insistent, and Leanne’s breath stuttered as he pushed in—just the tip, stretching her open. She was still sensitive from before, her walls clutching at him, and the sensation made her whimper.
“Fuck,” Louis groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. “You’re so tight.”
She could feel every ridge of him, the pulse of his cock as he held himself there, barely inside her. Her legs trembled, her heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. But he didn’t move. Not yet. His thumbs traced slow, maddening circles on her hip bones, his breath coming in shallow pants against her lips.
“Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “More.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, dark and knowing. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He surged forward in one deep, deliberate thrust, filling her completely. Leanne cried out, her back bowing off the railing, her nails raking down his shoulders. He was everywhere—inside her, surrounding her, his scent, his heat, the rough drag of his chest hair against her nipples as he held himself flush against her. The gazebo creaked beneath them, the wood groaning under the shift of their weight, but neither of them cared. Louis’s hands slid to her ass, lifting her slightly, adjusting the angle before he pulled back and thrust in again, slow and deep.
“Oh god—” Leanne’s head fell back, her throat exposed. Louis took advantage, pressing his mouth to the fluttering pulse beneath her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin as he set a rhythm. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough. It was deliberate. Every thrust dragged against her inner walls, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her vision white out for a second. Her legs locked around his waist, her heels digging in, urging him on, but he kept the pace agonizingly steady.
“Louder,” he murmured against her throat. “I want to hear you.”
She couldn’t have stopped the sounds if she tried. A broken moan spilled from her lips as he bottomed out again, his hips rolling in a slow, grinding motion that made her clench around him. His fingers flexed on her ass, lifting her just enough to change the angle, and the next thrust hit even deeper. Leanne’s breath hitched, her body tightening like a bowstring.
“There,” she gasped. “Right—right there.”
Louis groaned, his forehead pressing to hers again, his glasses long since lost in the chaos of their clothes. His eyes were dark, almost black in the dim light, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he watched her. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasped. “Like you were made for me.”
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her walls fluttering around him. She could feel him everywhere—inside her, surrounding her, his breath hot against her lips, his hands branding her skin. The cool night air did nothing to temper the fire between them, the contrast only making her more aware of how alive she felt. How his she was.
Louis’s thrusts grew deeper, his hips rolling in a slow, relentless rhythm that had her whimpering with every drag of his cock. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in her hair, the other gripping her shoulder, holding her in place as he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, their breaths mingling in ragged gasps. Leanne could taste herself on him, the musk of sex and sweat, and it only made her hotter, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts.
The gazebo creaked beneath them, the wood protesting with every shift of their weight, but neither of them slowed. Louis’s free hand slid between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit with unerring precision. He circled it slowly, his touch feather-light, and Leanne jerked against him, a broken sound tearing from her throat.
“Louis, I can’t—” Her words dissolved into a moan as he thrust deep, his fingers pressing harder against her clit. “I can’t take it—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice rough. “You’re going to come on my cock again, and you’re going to beg for it.”
She was already begging. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body trembling as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her. Every thrust, every circle of his fingers, every hot, dirty word from his lips pushed her closer to the edge. The cool night air brushed over her sweat-slicked skin, raising goosebumps, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him—his cock filling her, his fingers working her, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “That’s it, baby. Let go.”
The orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her body locking up as pleasure ripped through her. She cried out, her back arching, her nails raking down his back as her pussy clenched around him, milking his cock. Louis groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as her walls pulsed around him, his fingers pressing harder against her clit, drawing out every last shuddering wave of her release.
“Fuck—fuck—” His voice was a guttural growl, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching inside her as he came. Leanne could feel him, hot and thick, filling her as his body shuddered against hers. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rode out the last of his orgasm, his fingers still pressed against her oversensitive clit.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant drip of water from the gazebo’s roof. Louis’s cock softened slowly inside her, but he made no move to pull out, his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her against him. Leanne’s legs were still locked around his waist, her skin prickling with sensitivity everywhere they touched.
Finally, Louis lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. There was something almost feral in his gaze, possessive and satisfied. He leaned in, pressing a slow, deep kiss to her lips, his tongue sliding against hers in a lazy, claiming stroke.
“Mine,” he murmured against her mouth.
Leanne smiled, her fingers carding through his damp hair. “Yours.”
The word settled between them, heavy and final. Louis exhaled, his forehead resting against hers again, his cock finally slipping free as he shifted back slightly. Cum dripped down her thighs, warm and sticky, but she didn’t care. None of it mattered. Not the mess, not the creaking wood beneath them, not the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. All that mattered was the way Louis was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
His hands slid up her sides, his thumbs brushing over her ribs before cupping her breasts, his palms rough against her sensitive nipples. Leanne arched into his touch, a soft sound escaping her as he rolled one between his fingers, pinching just enough to make her gasp.
“Again?” she breathed, her body already responding, her clit throbbing with renewed interest.
Louis’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”
Before she could respond, his hands were on her hips again, lifting her off the railing. He turned her effortlessly, pressing her front against the wood, her ass pushed out toward him. The rough grain dug into her stomach, but the discomfort was distant, overshadowed by the anticipation coiling in her gut. Louis’s hands slid up her spine, pushing her forward until her chest was flat against the railing, her ass high in the air. His cock, already hardening again, pressed against her entrance, and Leanne bit her lip, her fingers curling around the wood.
“Louis—”
“Shh.” His voice was a dark murmur, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. “Just feel.”
She didn’t have time to prepare. He surged forward in one deep thrust, filling her completely, and Leanne cried out, her fingers white-knuckled on the railing. The angle was different this time—deeper, somehow, his cock hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur. Louis groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled back and thrust in again, slow and relentless.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he growled, his voice rough. “Look at you. So fucking perfect.”
Leanne could only moan in response, her body already winding tight again. The cool air brushed over her exposed back, her ass, but all she could focus on was the heat of him inside her, the way his cock dragged against her walls with every thrust. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in her hair, the other gripping her shoulder, pulling her up until her back was flush against his chest. His breath was hot against her ear, his teeth grazing the shell of it as he whispered, “You’re mine, Leanne. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder. “Only yours.”
His arm banded around her waist, his hand sliding down to her clit, his fingers circling in time with his thrusts. “Again.”
“I’m yours,” she repeated, her voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. “Please, Louis—I need—”
“I know what you need.” His voice was a dark promise, his fingers pressing harder against her clit. “Come for me.”
The command sent her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed over her, her body locking up as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her. Louis groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as her pussy clenched around him, milking his cock. He buried himself deep with a guttural sound, his release spilling inside her as his body shuddered against hers.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Louis’s forehead pressed to the back of her shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Leanne’s body felt boneless, her limbs heavy, her skin oversensitive everywhere he touched. Slowly, Louis pulled out, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. Cum dripped down her thighs, warm and sticky, but she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the way his arms were still wrapped around her, holding her upright, his chest rising and falling against her back.
Finally, he turned her in his arms, pressing a slow, deep kiss to her lips. His tongue slid against hers, lazy and possessive, like he was savoring the taste of her. When he pulled back, his dark eyes searched hers, his expression softening.
“You okay?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
Leanne nodded, a slow smile curling her lips. “More than okay.”
Louis’s hands slid down to her waist, his fingers splaying over her hips. “Good.” His voice was a low rumble, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Because I’m not nearly done with you yet.”
Chapter Eight: Fountain of Desire
The night air clung to their skin, damp and cool, as Leanne’s fingers laced with Louis’s, pulling him away from the gazebo’s creaking wood. Her breath still came in uneven bursts, her body humming from the last climax, but the restless energy between them hadn’t faded—it had only sharpened. The rain had stopped, leaving the campus paths slick with reflection, the occasional drip from the trees marking time like a slow, teasing metronome. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. The way her hips swayed as she walked backward, tugging him along, said enough.
Louis followed, his bare feet silent against the wet pavement, his cock already half-hard again, throbbing with the memory of her tight heat. He watched the way her ass flexed with each step, the faintest sway of her breasts as she moved, the damp strands of her hair clinging to the nape of her neck. He could still taste her on his tongue, still feel the ghost of her nails digging into his shoulders when she came. The thought alone made his breath hitch.
She stopped abruptly when the stone fountain came into view—a relic of the campus’s older days, its basin long dry, its edges worn smooth by decades of weather. The moon broke through the clouds just enough to silver the water stains on the stone, the dark patches glistening like spilled ink. Leanne didn’t hesitate. She turned, braced her hands on the fountain’s rim, and hoisted herself up in one fluid motion, the cool stone pressing against the backs of her thighs. The gasp that escaped her wasn’t just from the chill—it was from the way Louis’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her spread out for him, her pussy still flushed and swollen from earlier, her thighs trembling just slightly.
“Fuck,” he breathed, stepping between her legs before she even had to pull him closer. His hands found her knees, his thumbs tracing slow, possessive circles over her inner thighs. The stone was slick beneath her, the water stains making the surface treacherous, but Leanne only arched her back, tilting her hips up in silent invitation. She wanted the risk. Wanted to feel him lose control, wanted to know he’d catch her if she slipped.
Louis didn’t make her wait. He gripped her hips—hard—and yanked her to the very edge of the fountain, her ass barely balanced on the stone. The position forced her legs wider, forced her to cling to his shoulders as he leaned in, his cock already thick and leaking against her entrance. He didn’t enter her yet. Instead, he dragged the head of his dick through her folds, slow and deliberate, collecting the wetness there before pressing just the tip inside. Leanne’s nails scraped down his chest, her breath stuttering.
“Louis—” His name came out as a whine, her body already straining toward him, her muscles clenching around nothing.
“Shh.” His voice was rough, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. “You’re gonna take me just like this. Slow. And if you fall, I’ll fucking catch you.” The promise was a growl, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he finally, finally pushed inside.
The stretch burned, delicious and deep, her body still sensitive from before. She moaned, her head falling back as he filled her inch by inch, his cock dragging against every nerve until his pelvis pressed flush against hers. The stone beneath her was unyielding, the cold a sharp contrast to the heat of him, the way his breath came hot against her neck. He stayed like that for a long moment, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust. Letting her feel it.
Then he pulled back.
Just an inch. Just enough to make her whimper, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t—don’t tease me—”
“Not teasing,” he murmured, his hips rolling in a slow, shallow circle that made her inner walls flutter around him. “Just making sure you remember who’s in charge.” His thrust this time was deeper, slower, his cock dragging against that spot inside her that made her vision blur. Leanne’s back arched, her breasts pressing against his chest, her nipples hard and aching. The stone beneath her was slippery now, her skin sticking to it with a wet sound every time she shifted, but she didn’t care. She hooked her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back, urging him on.
Louis groaned, his control fraying. He snapped his hips forward, burying himself again, and Leanne cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was bruising, his teeth nipping at her lower lip, his tongue invading her mouth the same way his cock filled her cunt. She could taste herself on him, could feel the way his body trembled with the effort of holding back.
“More,” she gasped against his lips, her hands sliding down to grip his ass, her nails biting into the flesh. “Harder, Louis, please—”
He gave her what she wanted.
His next thrust was punishing, his hips slamming against hers, the impact driving her back against the unyielding stone. The friction was perfect—his cock pistoning in and out of her, the cool stone against her overheated skin, the way his fingers bruised her hips as he held her in place. Leanne’s moans turned breathless, her body tightening around him, her thighs shaking with the effort of staying balanced. Every time he bottomed out, she could feel it in her bones, the pleasure coiling tighter, tighter—
“You’re gonna come for me again,” Louis growled, his voice rough with effort. “Right here. Right now. And you’re gonna be loud about it.” His free hand snaked between them, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. The dual sensation—his cock filling her, his fingers working her—sent her spiraling.
“Oh god—” Her voice broke, her back bowing off the stone as her orgasm crashed over her. Her pussy clenched around him, her walls milking his cock as she came, her nails raking down his back. Louis hissed, his thrusts turning erratic, his own release barreling toward him.
But he didn’t let go.
Not yet.
He gripped her hip with one hand, the other bracing against the fountain behind her, and fucked her through it—deep, grinding strokes that drew out her climax until she was sobbing, her body oversensitive, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Too much—Louis, it’s too much—”
“No, it’s not.” His voice was a dark promise, his cock swelling inside her. “You can take it.” And then he was coming, his release hitting him like a freight train, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside her, his cock twitching with every pulse. Leanne could feel it, the heat of him filling her, her own aftershocks rippling around him.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the occasional drip of water from the fountain’s edge, the way their skin stuck together with sweat and something more primal. Louis stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, his hands still gripping her like he was afraid she’d disappear.
Then Leanne laughed. It was breathless, disbelieving. “We’re gonna get caught.”
Louis huffed, his lips curling against her temple. “Let them watch.”
She shivered, her body clenching around him again, and he groaned, his cock twitching in response. “Fuck, Leanne—”
“Do it again,” she whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers. “I dare you.”
Chapter Nine: Greenhouse Heat
The night air clung to their skin, damp and cool, but Leanne’s body still burned from the heat of Louis’s touch. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted her disheveled sweater, the fabric clinging to her flushed chest. She could still feel him—thick, hard, pulsing inside her just moments ago—and the memory sent a fresh wave of heat between her thighs. The fountain’s stone rim had been cold beneath her, but now, as she stepped away, her legs felt unsteady, like she’d been drinking.
Louis stood close, his breath uneven, his glasses fogged from the exertion. His shirt hung open, the fabric sticking to his chest in patches, and his jeans were still unbuttoned, the waistband sagging just enough to tease the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath. He watched her with dark, hungry eyes, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was fighting the urge to reach for her again.
Leanne bit her lip, her gaze flicking toward the greenhouse—a dark, angular shape looming just beyond the fountain’s edge. The glass panes caught the moonlight, reflecting it back in fractured silver streaks. A padlock hung from the door, rusted but sturdy. She’d noticed it earlier, when they’d first stumbled into the garden, but now it felt like an invitation.
“Bet you wouldn’t,” she murmured, her voice still rough from moaning his name.
Louis followed her gaze, his brow furrowing. “Wouldn’t what?”
She stepped closer, her hip brushing his, and tilted her head toward the greenhouse. “Sneak in there with me.”
His breath hitched. The idea was reckless—stupid, even—but the way she looked at him, all challenge and heat, made his pulse spike. “It’s locked.”
Leanne smirked, already turning toward it. “So? You’re telling me you’ve never picked a lock before?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just pressed her palm against the glass, peering inside. The humidity hit her face immediately, thick and warm, carrying the sweet, heavy scent of night-blooming jasmine. “God, it’s like a sauna in there.”
Louis swallowed hard, his cock twitching against his zipper. He should say no. They’d already pushed their luck tonight—first the gazebo, then the fountain, and now this. But the way her ass swayed as she leaned against the door, the way her sweater rode up just enough to expose the dip of her lower back… fuck.
“Fine,” he muttered, stepping up behind her. His hands found her waist, his thumbs tracing the soft skin just above her jeans. “But if we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”
Leanne laughed, low and throaty, as she pressed back against him. “Deal.”
The lock was old, the mechanism stiff, but Louis had spent enough summers helping his dad with odd jobs to know how to jiggle a rusted latch. It took a few tries—his fingers slipping on the damp metal, his shoulder brushing hers each time he leaned in—but then, with a sharp click, the padlock popped open. Leanne let out a breathless giggle, already pushing the door inward before he could second-guess it.
The air inside was thick, almost liquid, wrapping around them like a second skin. The greenhouse wasn’t large—just a single long aisle lined with benches of potted plants, their leaves glossy and dripping with condensation. The moon cast long, jagged shadows through the glass, turning everything into a maze of light and dark. Somewhere, a drip echoed—water from the irrigation system, maybe, or condensation rolling off the leaves.
Leanne didn’t wait. She turned, pressing Louis back against the door as it swung shut behind them, the lock clicking back into place with a finality that sent a thrill down her spine. They were trapped now. Really trapped.
“No one’s coming in here,” she whispered, her fingers curling into the front of his open shirt. “No interruptions.”
Louis’s hands found her hips, his grip tight. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
“Maybe I want to.” She rose onto her toes, her lips brushing his ear. “Maybe I like the idea of you fucking me where anyone could walk in.”
A groan tore from his throat, his cock swelling painfully. He spun her around, slamming her back against the glass. The impact made her gasp, her breath fogging the pane behind her head. The greenhouse wasn’t just warm—it was stifling, the heat pressing in from all sides, making every inch of skin hyperaware. Louis’s body caged hers, his forearm braced beside her temple, his other hand sliding up to grip her throat—not hard, just enough to tilt her head back, to force her to meet his gaze.
“You keep testing me,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the flutter of her pulse. “Like you want me to lose control.”
Leanne’s lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I do.”
That was all it took.
His mouth crashed onto hers, hungry and bruising. She moaned into the kiss, her fingers scrambling at his belt, but he batted her hands away. “No. My turn.” His voice was rough, commanding, and the sound of it sent a shiver through her.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her sweater higher. The cool glass at her back contrasted with the heat of his breath against her stomach, her skin prickling everywhere he touched. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, dragging them down just enough to expose the lace of her panties—dark blue, already damp.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groaned, pressing his face against the fabric. His tongue dragged over the cotton, the wet heat of his mouth making her whimper. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her hips jerking forward instinctively, but he pulled back with a dark chuckle. “Uh-uh. You wanted to play? Then you stay still.”
Leanne whined, her thighs trembling. “Louis, please—”
“Shh.” His breath ghosted over her clit through the fabric, and she bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. Then his fingers were there, tugging the lace aside, and his mouth—god, his mouth—closed over her, his tongue flat and broad as he licked her from entrance to clit in one slow, devastating stroke.
Her knees nearly gave out. “Oh fuck—”
He did it again. And again. Each lick was deliberate, maddeningly slow, his free hand gripping her hip to keep her in place when she tried to grind against his face. The greenhouse air was thick with the scent of her—musky and sweet, mixing with the floral humidity until it was all she could breathe. Her moans echoed off the glass, high and needy, and she didn’t even care if someone heard. Let them. Let them watch.
Louis pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. “You taste like sin.” Then his fingers were inside her, two at once, curling up to stroke that spot that made her see stars. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles, and Leanne’s vision blurred.
“Louis—I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
“Not yet.” He withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, leaving her empty and aching. Before she could protest, he was standing, spinning her around to face the glass. His chest pressed against her back, his cock hot and heavy against her ass. “Hands on the glass. Now.”
She obeyed without thinking, her palms splaying against the damp pane. The condensation beaded under her fingers, cool and slick. Behind her, Louis kicked her jeans the rest of the way off, then his own, the sound of fabric pooling on the concrete floor lost beneath the roar of blood in her ears.
His cock nudged between her thighs, thick and insistent. “You want this?” His voice was a growl, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?”
“Yes,” she hissed, arching back against him. “God, please—”
He didn’t make her wait. One hand gripped her hip, the other tangled in her hair, yanking just enough to make her gasp. Then he was inside her in one deep, unrelenting thrust.
Leanne cried out, her fingers scrambling against the glass. He was so deep like this, stretching her, filling her completely. The angle hit something inside her that made her toes curl, her body clamping down around him instinctively.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Louis groaned, his hips rolling in a slow, grinding rhythm. Each thrust dragged against her G-spot, his cock swelling with every inch he buried inside her. The greenhouse creaked around them, the sound of their bodies slapping together obscene in the quiet.
Leanne could barely think. All she could do was feel—the heat of him, the way his fingers dug into her skin, the way his breath hitched every time she clenched around him. “Harder,” she begged, her voice raw. “I need it harder—”
Louis didn’t hesitate. He snapped his hips forward, the impact driving a broken moan from her throat. The glass rattled under her palms, the whole structure groaning like it might collapse under the force of him fucking her against it. His balls slapped against her clit with every thrust, the sensation building, coiling tighter and tighter inside her.
“You like that?” His voice was a dark murmur in her ear, his free hand sliding around to pinch her nipple through her sweater. “You like being used like this? Like a dirty little secret?”
“Yes—” The word dissolved into a whimper as his fingers found her clit, rubbing in tight, punishing circles. The dual sensation—his cock pounding into her, his fingers working her clit—was too much. Her organs clenched, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.
“I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” Louis commanded, his teeth sinking into the curve of her neck. “Now, Leanne. Now.”
She shattered.
Pleasure ripped through her, her back arching as her pussy pulsed around his cock. Her orgasm was loud, her cries echoing off the glass, her body trembling so hard she would’ve collapsed if not for Louis’s arm banded around her waist, holding her up. He didn’t stop—just kept fucking her through it, his thrusts turning erratic as her walls milked him.
“Fuck—fuck—” His voice was a broken growl, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. Then he was coming, his cock jerking inside her as he spilled deep, his release hot and endless. Leanne could feel it, could feel him filling her, and the sensation sent another weak aftershock through her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Louis stayed buried inside her, his chest heaving against her back, his breath ragged in her ear. The greenhouse was a swamp of heat and scent—sweat, sex, flowers—so thick Leanne could taste it.
Then Louis laughed, low and breathless, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. “We are so fucked if anyone walks in right now.”
Leanne turned her head, catching his lips in a slow, lazy kiss. “Worth it.”
He pulled out carefully, and she whimpered at the loss, the sudden emptiness making her thighs clench. Cum dripped down her inner thighs, warm and sticky, and she didn’t even care. Let it mark her. Let it stay.
Louis dropped to his knees again, this time pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, right where his release was still leaking from her. “You’re incredible.”
Leanne tangled her fingers in his hair, her heart still pounding. “We should probably clean up.”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled closer, his tongue darting out to taste her—them—and Leanne’s breath hitched. “Or we could just stay here. Let them find us like this.”
She laughed, but the sound turned into a gasp as his fingers slid through the mess between her legs, pushing it back inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust. “Louis—”
“Shh.” His voice was a dark purr. “We’ve got time.”
And just like that, the heat between them flared back to life.
Chapter Ten: Velvet Chains
The humid air clung to their skin, thick with the scent of jasmine and the musk of their shared pleasure. Leanne’s back pressed against the fogged glass of the greenhouse, her breath still uneven as she watched Louis through half-lidded eyes. His shirt hung open, the fabric damp and clinging to his chest, while his jeans remained unbuttoned, the waistband sagging just enough to tease the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath. His glasses, still slightly fogged, caught the fractured moonlight streaming through the glass panes, casting jagged shadows across his flushed face.
A slow, satisfied smirk curled Leanne’s lips as she reached out, her fingers tracing the damp fabric of his shirt before sliding lower, teasing the waistband of his jeans. “We really should clean up,” she murmured, though her voice lacked any real conviction. The words were more habit than intent—an echo of the caution she’d been taught to observe, now rendered meaningless by the heat still pooling between her thighs.
Louis exhaled sharply as her fingertips brushed against his hipbone, his body reacting instinctively to her touch. His gaze flickered past her, drawn to a splash of color on the wooden bench a few feet away. A rare night-blooming orchid sat there, its petals unfurling in the warmth, delicate and luminous under the silvered light. The flower was a deep, velvety purple, its edges tinged with gold, like something plucked from a dream. The sight of it sent a strange, poetic ache through him—beauty so fragile it seemed almost forbidden.
His fingers twitched, itching to reach for it, but his attention snapped back to Leanne as she shifted against the glass, her body still humming with the aftershocks of their last encounter. The way the moonlight painted her skin—pale gold over the freckles dusting her collarbone, the flush still high on her cheeks—made his throat tighten. She was more stunning than any flower, more intoxicating than the jasmine perfuming the air.
“You’re staring,” Leanne noted, her voice thick with amusement. She followed his gaze to the orchid, then back to him. “What, you’d rather look at that than me?”
Louis swallowed, his pulse kicking up again. “No,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I was just thinking… you’re like that flower.” The words spilled out before he could second-guess them. “Rare. Too beautiful to be real. Like if I reached out, you’d vanish.”
Leanne’s breath hitched, her fingers stilling against his skin. For a moment, she just looked at him, her hazel eyes dark and searching. Then, slow and deliberate, she stepped away from the glass, her body brushing against his as she turned to face him fully. The movement sent a shiver through him, his cock twitching in his open jeans at the proximity.
“Paint me, then,” she challenged, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Not with a brush. With words.” Her hands found the hem of her sweater, and in one fluid motion, she pulled it over her head, leaving her in nothing but her lace bra, the fabric damp and clinging to her breasts. The cool air pebbled her nipples, the tight buds pressing against the sheer material. “Describe me like I’m one of your flowers. Like I’m something… exotic.”
Louis’s breath stuttered. The demand should have felt absurd—poetic, even—but the way she said it, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding him, made it feel like the most natural thing in the world. His mind raced, words forming like petals unfolding.
“Your skin,” he started, his voice low, “is like the first blush of a Dendrobium—soft, but not fragile. Warm to the touch, like petals heated by the sun.” His hand lifted, his knuckles grazing the curve of her waist, just above the waistband of her jeans. She shivered, her lashes fluttering. “And here—” His fingers traced upward, following the line of her ribs, “—you’re the stem, strong enough to hold something so delicate.” His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, and she gasped, her back arching slightly. “But the real beauty is in the details.” His touch shifted, his fingertips skimming the lace of her bra, tracing the swell of her breast before dipping lower, teasing the damp fabric. “The freckles on your collarbone are like specks of pollen, scattered just right, like nature couldn’t decide where to place them.”
Leanne’s breath came faster, her chest rising and falling with each word. “More,” she demanded, her voice trembling.
Louis obeyed. His other hand joined the first, his palms framing her waist before sliding up to cup her breasts through the lace. “Your nipples,” he murmured, his thumbs circling the stiff peaks, “are the deep red of a Cattleya’s heart—dark, almost black in the right light, like the center of a flower that’s been kissed by the sun too long.” He pinched lightly, and she moaned, her head tipping back. “And when I touch you, you open for me like petals in the rain.”
Her hands flew to his wrists, not to stop him, but to anchor herself as his words wrapped around her, as vivid as a touch. “What else?” she breathed.
His mouth hovered near her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Your scent,” he whispered, inhaling deeply. “It’s not just jasmine anymore. It’s richer. Deeper. Like Vanilla planifolia mixed with something wild—something that grows in the dark, where no one’s supposed to look.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and she whimpered. “And your taste—” His tongue flicked out, tracing the pulse point at her throat. “—is sweet, but not cloying. Like nectar stolen from a flower that only blooms once.”
Leanne’s knees nearly buckled. Her fingers tightened on his wrists, her nails digging in as his teeth grazed her earlobe. “Fuck, Louis,” she gasped. “You’re good at this.”
He smirked against her skin, emboldened. “I’m not done.” His hands slid down, his fingers deftly unbuttoning her jeans. “Your hips,” he continued, pushing the denim down just enough to expose the lace of her panties, “are the curve of a Phalaenopsis petal—smooth, but with an edge. Something designed to lure me in.” His palm pressed flat against her stomach, his pinky dipping beneath the lace to tease the top of her slit. She was wet—so wet—and the realization made his cock throb painfully. “And this—” His finger slid lower, parting her folds, “—is the heart of you. Dark and glistening, like the inside of a flower that’s been waiting for the right touch to open.”
Leanne’s breath came in ragged gasps as his finger circled her clit, slow and deliberate. “Louis, please—”
“Shh.” His free hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “I’m still describing you.” His finger pressed harder, drawing a broken moan from her lips. “Your clit is like the stamen, swollen and sensitive. One touch, and you shake.” He demonstrated, flicking it lightly, and her entire body jerked. “And your cunt—” His finger slid lower, teasing her entrance, “—is tight and hot, like the throat of a bloom that’s never been pollinated before.” He pushed inside, just the tip, and her inner walls clenched around him. “But you’re made for it. Made to be filled. To be claimed.”
“Oh god,” Leanne whimpered, her hips rocking against his hand. “More. I need—”
“I know what you need.” His finger sank deeper, curling inside her as his thumb kept up its relentless circles on her clit. His voice was a dark murmur in her ear. “You need to be fucked like you’re rare. Like you’re precious. Like I’m the only one who’s ever going to see you like this.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails raking down his arms. “Yes, please—”
Louis didn’t make her beg again. In one swift motion, he spun her around, pressing her front against the glass. The cool surface made her gasp, her breath fogging the pane as his body covered hers. His jeans were still open, his cock free, thick and leaking at the tip. He didn’t hesitate. He gripped her hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided himself to her entrance.
“You’re dripping,” he groaned, the head of his cock pressing against her. “Like you were made for me.”
Leanne arched back against him, her ass grinding against his hips. “Then take me,” she demanded, her voice raw. “Fuck me like I’m yours.”
Louis didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one deep thrust. Leanne cried out, her fingers splaying against the glass as her body stretched to accommodate him. He was big—so big—and the stretch burned, but god, it felt good. She pushed back against him, her body already craving more.
“Fuck,” Louis hissed, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You’re perfect. Tight and wet and mine.”
He didn’t give her time to respond. His hips snapped forward, his cock pistoning in and out of her with deep, punishing strokes. The greenhouse filled with the obscene sounds of their bodies—skin slapping against skin, Leanne’s wetness coating every thrust, her moans bouncing off the glass.
“Louder,” Louis commanded, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back. “I want to hear you. I want to hear how good I make you feel.”
Leanne obeyed, her cries growing louder, more desperate. “Harder,” she begged. “I need it harder—”
Louis growled, his grip on her hip bruising as he slammed into her, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. “You take me so well,” he groaned. “Like you were built for this. For me.”
Leanne’s body coiled tighter, her orgasm building with every filthy word, every deep stroke. “I’m close,” she gasped. “I’m so close—”
“Come for me,” Louis demanded, his voice rough. “Come on my cock like the good girl you are.”
That was all it took. Leanne shattered, her body clamping down around him as her orgasm crashed over her. She screamed, her voice echoing through the greenhouse as her knees nearly gave out. Louis didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, his own release building as her walls milked him.
“Fuck, Leanne—” His voice broke as his orgasm hit, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he spilled himself with a groan. He buried his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he rode out the last waves of pleasure.
For a long moment, they stayed like that—Louis still buried inside her, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths slowly steadying. Then, with a soft kiss to her shoulder, Louis pulled out, his cock glistening with their combined release.
Leanne turned in his arms, her legs unsteady as she pressed her forehead to his. “That was…” She swallowed, searching for the words. “Incredible.”
Louis cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “You’re incredible,” he corrected, his voice soft but firm. “And you’re mine.”
Leanne smiled, her heart swelling. “Yours,” she agreed. She pressed a slow, deep kiss to his lips, tasting herself on him, tasting them. When she pulled back, her expression turned playful. “But if you ever compare me to a flower in front of other people, I will knee you in the balls.”
Louis laughed, the sound rich and warm, filling the greenhouse. “Noted.” He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring it. “Now,” he murmured against her lips, “how about we actually clean up before someone catches us?”
Leanne grinned, stepping back just enough to grab her sweater from the floor. “Race you to the fountain?” she teased, already pulling it over her head.
Louis shook his head, buttoning his jeans with a smirk. “You’re insatiable.”
“And you love it,” she shot back, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door.
He didn’t argue. Because she was right. And as they stepped out into the cool night air, the greenhouse locking behind them with a soft click, Louis knew one thing for certain:
This was only the beginning.