He’s already kneeling on their bedroom floor when she steps out of their bathroom, the scent of her bubble bath still clinging to her as the steam rises from her skin. He’s got candles lit and she lets the towel slide to the floor in a heap while their light flickers off the walls, casting perfect shadows across his face when he looks up at her. Jocelyn walks over to the bed, fingers trailing over his shoulders as she does and settles herself on the edge of their mattress. He’s watching her with hungry eyes and she offers him a small quirk of her lips, her finger crooking and inviting him over wordlessly. He slides closer with more grace than any man on his knees has a right to until he’s close enough to touch her if he wanted, and he does, but she’s not granted him the permission to do so. She’s always taken the lead between the two of them, from that first dance to their first kiss, and this is no different.
Their eyes lock for a heavy moment, lust and desire hanging hot between them while the flames dance around them until she settles those long legs of hers over his shoulders and says, “Make me come.”
His mouth is on her ready and eager before she’s even had a chance to settle back against the bed, fingers moving over her, inside her, as skilled in this as they will be in surgery one day if not more so. He knows her body in a way she’s sure even she hasn’t figured out, knows how to work her until she’s breaking apart under his attentions and whimpering his name. It’s a precarious balance between them, the times when he starts to test the limits of what she’ll allow and the times she lets him get away with taking more control than she’s willing to give. His free hand moves up her thigh and moves toward her breast only for her to still it with one of her own, her voice when she tells him to stop. To get on the bed. To close his eyes and lay still.
He complies with the not quite orders, not quite requests easily enough, skin sliding against skin when they switch positions. She leans towards the nightstand long enough to reach inside the drawer and pull out a slim vibrator and a small bottle of lubricant. Jocelyn slicks up both her fingers and the toy with practiced ease before settling herself over him backwards, slowly, body taking him in inch by careful inch until there’s no difference between where one starts and the other ends. She draws slick fingertips over the puckered ring of muscle teasingly. It’s easy in this position to slide in a finger, then another, to listen to the sharp hiss of his breath when she starts to thrust them in counterpoint to the movement of her body on his cock.
It isn’t until she’s close again that she removes her fingers and slips the vibrator inside him to take their place. She enjoys this, can only imagine the look on his face as she fucks him with the toy, increasing the power of the vibrations just that little bit more with each pass of it over his prostate, but she’s reduced to her own imagination based off the sounds he makes.
“Joc. Jocelyn.” The need is plain in his voice and she smiles though she knows he can’t see it. She’s close again and her hand reaches back to grab his, to place it against her clit while her fingers move over his until she’s clenching down around him and telling him to come inside her. She can feel his body shudder and her fingers intertwine with his as she readjusts herself, falls into a heap at his side to pull that hand and the arm attached around her. A glance at his face shows dark lashes against tan skin, the fact that his eyes are still closed pulling a ghost of a laugh from her. She presses her lips to the edge of his jaw, words whispering over the permanent stubble he seems to wear these days. “You can open your eyes now, darlin’.”
That shock of hazel when he does sends something straight through her that has her tightening her grip on his hand like she might lose him somehow if she doesn’t hold on for all she’s worth, like the scales of power might tip and become unbalanced if she’s not careful, or worse, that she might welcome it if they did. Leonard is no Clay though, he doesn’t need to control everything to be content with it, and that was what had drawn her to him in the first place. She’d been proving a point then, and when she suggests they sleep so she can avoid thinking about it further, she’s proving another to herself.