★★Mariella's POV★★



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We finally arrive at the restaurant, and just as I reach for the door handle, Leon beats me to it, opening the door and offering me his hand.

He's... being a gentleman now?

I hesitate for just a second before accepting his hand. His grip is firm, and he helps me out of the car. His men, like shadows, fall into place around us, forming a protective circle.

As I step out, Leon locks eyes with me, his devilish smirk making my pulse quicken. "Hi, angel," he says, the words smooth as velvet, dripping with intent.

I release his hand and brush past him, pretending I didn't feel that spark. Call it petty, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Not yet, anyway.

His hand comes back to my waist, pulling me toward him with a possessiveness I can't ignore, and we make our way into the restaurant. Some of his men head inside first, clearing the way, while others remain posted at the door.

Inside, the stares are inevitable. A few heads turn as we pass, and an elderly woman's jaw drops as she looks me over. Her husband doesn't seem to mind either. I can't help but smirk—let them look.

We head up to a private lounge, a place with a clear view of the city. The lights of Paris twinkle in the distance, a perfect backdrop for the tension simmering between Leon and me.

As we approach the table, Leon pulls out the chair for me, his voice low but unmistakably admiring. "Belle (Beautiful)," he says, his eyes lingering on me a little too long.

I sit down with a confident smirk, fully aware of his gaze tracking every movement. He makes his way to his seat, and I can feel the weight of his attention on me as I glance out at the city.

But his eyes don't leave me.

I hear him shift slightly, then his voice cuts through the quiet, a little too amused. "You done?"

I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward with a playful challenge in my gaze. "Done with what?"

He leans forward too, his lips barely an inch from mine as his gaze drops to my lips, the smirk returning. "There's that pretty voice, that I love," he murmurs.

My cheeks flush, and I quickly look away, hoping he doesn't notice the effect he has on me. But of course, he does.

He chuckles softly, his voice low and husky. "Even when you blush, you're just... breathtaking." His words hang in the air, charged with something I can't quite place.

Lock in, Mariella.

As I gaze at him, my eyes narrow, and I attempt to conceal the sly smile spreading across my face. "You're pathetic," I say, my tone laced with annoyance, trying to sound unimpressed. But he simply tilts his head to the side, his eyes sparkling with mischief, like a puppy daring me to challenge him.

"and you're mine," he declares, his voice low, thick with an undeniable confidence that sends a shiver down my spine. His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but there's something about the way he says them—so sure, so possessive—that makes my heart race.

I can't lock in.

I blink, taken aback by his audacity, my eyes widening as I try to process what he's just said. "Please," I scoff, raising an eyebrow, irritation dancing on my tongue. "I'm not yours."

But instead of backing off, he just chuckles, a low, almost predatory sound that sends a thrill through me. His smile spreads across his face, slow and seductively smug, like he's savoring the moment, knowing exactly what he's doing to me. "Oh, sweetheart, I beg to differ," he murmurs, leaning in just enough to make the space between us feel charged. "You don't even realize it yet, but you're already mine."

That smirk of his? It's dangerous. And damn, it's making it hard to remember why I'm supposed to be mad.

His next words, however, cut through the air like a blade, leaving me breathless. "And that's not what you said when you rode my tongue a couple of weeks ago," he whispers, his voice smooth and dripping with sensual intent. I can feel the heat flood my face, and before I can stop it, a gasp almost escapes me. My throat tightens, my body reacting against my will.

I hastily pat my chest, attempting to calm myself, but the tightness in my chest doesn't ease. My eyes frantically scan the room, a quiet panic settling in as I search for any signs that someone may have overheard his words. No one seems to be paying attention, but the tension between us could cut through steel.

My gaze snaps back to his, and I shoot him a warning glance, my cheeks still flushed. "Leon, lower your voice," I hiss, my voice barely above a whisper. But he just laughs, a low, throaty sound, and his eyes glint with amusement. Despite myself, my heart is pounding faster.

How the hell does he manage to make my pulse race even when I'm furious with him?

"Oh, come on, baby," he teases, his voice like velvet, wrapping itself around me. "I bet you've been dreaming about riding my face again." His words send a jolt of electricity through my body, and I can feel a tingling sensation coursing through my clit, my thighs instinctively clenching. It's as if my body is betraying me, responding to his provocative statement with an unbridled hunger.

Leon's eyes lock onto mine, and he flashes me a triumphant smile, clearly aware of the effect he's having on me. He leans back, his movements fluid and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. The air is charged with tension, and I can feel the chemistry between us crackling like a live wire, waiting to be unleashed. The question is, how long can I resist the undeniable attraction between us, and the forbidden desires that threaten to consume me whole?

Just then, the waiter arrives with a soft smile, breaking the tension. "Bonsoir, (Good evening,)" she says, her voice cool and professional, as if she hasn't just interrupted the sizzling moment between us. "Je m'appelle Flora. Je serai votre serveuse. Que puis-je commencer pour vous les gars?, (My name is Flora. I will be your waitress. What can I start for you guys?)" Her French is smooth, but the way Leon looks at her—too casually, too possessively—makes me tense.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my legs instinctively crossing as I glance up at him. He's smirking, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

Damn him.

"Ma femme et moi, nous prendrons une carbonara aux champignons avec un Spritz. S'il vous plaît, (My lady and I will have a mushroom carbonara with a Spritz. Please,)" he says with an ease that stings. The words hang in the air like a claim—his claim.

I'm about to protest when I catch myself. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about my preferences, my boundaries, or what I might say.

He's just... too confident. Too certain.

When the waiter walks away, I shoot him a glare. "I didn't order," I mutter, the frustration evident in my tone.

Leaning back, he lets out a low chuckle, unbothered by my irritation. "I ordered for you," he says, spreading his legs further, that casual arrogance that makes me want to hit him... or kiss him. I'm not sure which.

"You don't even know what I like," I say, scoffing, but it's hollow. My body betrays me as I feel the heat in my cheeks.

"Don't I?" he teases, raising an eyebrow with that trademark glint of mischief in his eyes. His gaze is a challenge, daring me to deny it. "Trust me, baby. You'll love it."

The way he says it—so damn confident, so certain—like he's already won this battle without even trying. Part of me wants to call him out, to tell him he's wrong, but the way his words settle in the air makes me hesitate.

God, he might be right.

I can't help the smirk that curves my lips. "You're so sure of yourself," I mutter, the words almost a challenge, though I know deep down it's a dangerous game he's playing. A game I'm tempted to lose.

Leaning in just a little closer, his voice drops an octave, low and intimate, as if he's sharing a secret just for me. "I know you better than you think. And, baby, I know exactly what you need."

His gaze lingers, and my breath catches in my throat. Every inch of him is too close. Too damn tempting. I should be pissed—I should be—but the heat in his eyes makes the anger dissipate into something much darker. I shift in my seat, desperately trying to focus on something—anything—but the way his presence fills the lounge, the way his words wrap around me, it's impossible to think of anything else.

A few minutes pass, and then our food arrives. The waitress sets my plate down in front of me, followed by our drinks, and as I glance at my dish, my stomach tightens.

Mushroom carbonara?

How in the living hell does this man know what I like?

I blink, glancing between my plate and Leon, who's watching me with that smug, knowing grin. My brows knit together in suspicion.

"Did you research me, Joe Goldberg?" I quip, narrowing my eyes playfully.

Leon rolls his eyes, exhaling through his nose. "Eat," he orders, effortlessly sliding a fork into my hand, his fingers barely grazing mine in a way that feels entirely too deliberate.

I shoot him a look but don't argue. Instead, I stab into the pasta, twirling it around my fork before scooping up a generous bite with mushrooms coated in creamy sauce. As soon as it hits my tongue, my eyes flutter shut for a moment.

Oh my God.

I chew slowly, savoring it. I hate to admit it, but... it's perfect. Way too perfect. I didn't even know the French could make pasta this good.

When I open my eyes again, Leon is watching me. Not just watching—studying me, his elbow propped on the table, his fingers resting against his lips like he's enjoying the sight of me more than his own meal.

I narrow my gaze. "Stop staring at me like that," I mutter, but my voice lacks real heat.

He chuckles under his breath, finally picking up his own fork and taking a bite of his food.

The conversation lulls, but it's not awkward. We eat in silence, listening to the quiet hum of the city around us, watching pedestrians wander by. The streets glow under the soft afternoon sun, the distant hum of conversations and laughter creating an oddly peaceful atmosphere. For once, it's calm. It's... nice.

But then, I glance at Leon again—only to catch him still watching me.

I cock my head, an amused smirk playing at my lips. "Is this a date?" I tease, arching a brow.

Leon stills for half a second. Then he clears his throat, setting his fork down as his gaze flickers to mine, assessing me. "Are we still fighting?" he counters smoothly.

I pause, tilting my head in mock consideration. His eyes never leave mine, watching for my reaction, waiting for me to call him out or give in.

Mariella, stop being petty.

I exhale, pressing my lips together before finally responding, "Is the grass purple?" I joke, feigning innocence.

Leon smirks, slow and lazy, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He leans in just enough to make the space between us feel charged. "Well then, yes," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a thrill down my spine. "It is a date, baby."

Heat rushes to my face, and I curse internally as my fingers twitch against my glass. My palms grow clammy, my pulse a little too fast.

I bite my lip, trying—failing—to suppress the smile threatening to break free.

Fuck him.

I glance around at the bustling shops below, the neon lights flickering in the night air, and then turn to him with a playful smile. "Can we go for a walk and get ice cream?" I ask sweetly.

He exhales, his gaze dropping to the table for a second before flicking back up to me. "Fine" he says, but then his voice drops, thick with frustration. "But for the love of God, Mariella, can you please put on my jacket? At least cover your ass, baby."

I smirk, pushing back from my seat and stepping in front of him. Instead of reaching for the jacket, I tease him with the hem of my dress, letting my fingers skim the fabric as I tilt my head innocently. "You don't like it?" My voice is light, knowing exactly what I'm doing.

His jaw clenches. His eyes darken as they roam over me, lingering on every curve. Running a hand through his hair, he exhales sharply before standing, towering over me. In a swift motion, his hands find my waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make my breath hitch.

His lips brush against my ear as he murmurs, voice husky, "Darling, you know damn well I love this dress. I love it so much I think it would look even better crumpled on the floor of my bedroom." His grip tightens, dragging me against him so I can feel exactly how much he means it.

I press my palm against his chest, my fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt as I look up at him through my lashes. My lips curl into a slow smirk. "Mmm, that's a shame," I purr, my voice dripping with mischief. "Because I was thinking about leaving it on a little longer... just to drive you insane."

His breath grows heavier, his grip flexing around my waist like he's barely holding himself back. His eyes burn into mine, dark with hunger. "Keep this up, baby," he murmurs, his lips grazing my jaw, "and I'll forget all about ice cream and find a much sweeter way to taste you."

I shiver at his words, my fingers teasing the collar of his shirt as I look up at him with a wicked smile. "Mmm... but then who's really playing the dangerous game?" I purr, tilting my head just enough to let my lips barely ghost over his. "Because once you get a taste... I don't think you'll ever want anything else."

As we step out onto the streets of Paris, the cool night air brushes against my skin, but Leon's jacket is warm, his scent clinging to the fabric in a way that makes my stomach flutter. His fingers tighten around mine, his thumb absently tracing small circles against my skin as we walk side by side. The cobblestone streets are alive with the hum of a violin from a street performer, the murmur of tourists, and the golden glow of string lights hanging above.

We pass a small souvenir stand, the shelves packed with tiny Eiffel Tower keychains, striped berets, and postcards of the Seine. I stop, picking up a miniature Eiffel Tower and holding it up with a smirk.

"Think I should get this? You know, in case I forget where I am."

Leon huffs a soft laugh. "Wouldn't be the worst idea, considering how easily distracted you get."

I gasp dramatically, placing a hand over my chest. "Excuse me? I am the very definition of focused."

Leon simply raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. I narrow my eyes and shove the tiny Eiffel Tower back onto the stand, moving on.

A perfume boutique catches my eye next, delicate bottles arranged like gemstones behind the glass. I tug Leon toward it slightly. "You think I should get a new scent?" I ask, tilting my head up at him.

He studies me with amused curiosity. "Depends," he murmurs. "What do you wear now?"

I smirk, feigning mystery. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He steps closer, leaning down so his lips graze my ear. "I do," he whispers, and the warmth of his breath against my skin sends a shiver down my spine.

I clear my throat, ignoring the way my pulse flutters, and pull him toward a stand selling delicate gold jewelry. I pick up a dainty bracelet, running my fingers over the thin chain. "What about this?" I ask, holding it up. "You think it suits me?"

Leon watches me with a smirk before taking the bracelet from my fingers and slipping it onto my wrist himself. His fingertips graze my skin, lingering just a little too long. "Looks good," he says, his voice softer now. "Then again, everything looks good on you."

I bite my lip, glancing away. "Are you always this smooth?"

He tilts his head. "Are you always this resistant?"

I scoff. "Resistant? To what?"

"To me," he answers, voice teasing but laced with something deeper.

I huff, shaking my head. "Come on, let's get that ice cream before you start thinking too highly of yourself."

As we continue walking, the city hums around us—café tables filled with couples, the clink of wine glasses, the scent of fresh pastries drifting through the air.

"So," Leon says after a moment, his voice dipping into something more curious, "tell me something about you that no one else knows."

I glance up at him, arching a brow. "That's a dangerous request."

He smirks. "Then it's a good thing I like danger."

I hum in amusement, pretending to think. "Alright... I don't actually like sweets that much, but I just wanted an excuse to walk with you."

His smirk falters for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his features before he recovers. Then, in true Leon fashion, he pulls me closer, our arms brushing. "So, you schemed your way into a romantic Parisian stroll with me? Should I be flattered or worried?"

I grin. "A little bit of both."

Leon chuckles, shaking his head. "Alright, my turn. You want to know something no one else knows?"

I tilt my head. "Sure."

He leans down, his lips brushing just barely against my ear as he whispers, "I like it when you wear my clothes."

A shiver runs down my spine, and I turn to look at him, my eyes narrowing playfully. "Leon..."

"Hm?"

"You're insufferable."

He grins, squeezing my hand. "And yet, here you are... still holding onto me."

I roll my eyes, but I don't let go.

We make our way toward the gelato stand, the vibrant colors of the ice cream drawing me in like a moth to a flame. The air is thick with the scent of sugar and fresh waffle cones, and I practically vibrate with excitement as we reach the display case.

But then—disaster.

Too many options.

My eyes dart over the flavors, my brain short-circuiting as I try to choose. Coconut and pineapple? No, maybe strawberry? But the hazelnut one looks so creamy. Oh wait, what about the caramel swirl? I make a small, distressed noise, my fingers tapping against the counter.

Leon sighs beside me, arms crossed, his patience clearly running thin. "Mariella, it's ice cream, not a life-or-death decision."

I shoot him a glare. "You don't get it! This is serious. What if I pick the wrong one and regret it forever?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something in French under his breath before stepping up to the counter. "Elle prendra de la vanille et du caramel, s'il vous plaît." (She'll have vanilla and caramel, please.)

I blink. "Wait, I—"

"Too late," he interrupts, giving me a smug little smirk. "Decision made."

The server hands me the cone, and I huff, taking an exaggerated bite just to be petty. But the second the creamy vanilla and rich caramel hit my tongue, my eyes widen. "Oh... damn. That's actually really good."

Leon scoffs, taking a slow lick of his own ice cream. "Obviously."

I narrow my eyes at him but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "What if I had wanted something else?"

"You didn't," he says easily. "You were spiraling, and I saved you."

I roll my eyes but lean into him slightly as we step away from the stand, my free hand brushing against his. "Fine. But don't think this means I owe you anything."

Leon hums, clearly entertained. "Oh, sweetheart, you owe me everything."

I nudge him with my elbow, but I don't argue. Mostly because my ice cream is perfect, and maybe—just maybe—so is he.

I glance at Leon's men, standing patiently nearby as I take another bite of my ice cream, my eyebrow raising. "What? They don't want any?"

He glances at me, his expression unreadable. "No, they're working."

I cross my arms, pouting slightly. "They can't have a break and enjoy a little something sweet?"

He scoffs, amused, but his gaze softens slightly as he looks at me. I catch the glimmer of a smile creeping onto his lips, and I take that as a silent 'yes.'

"Marco," I call, turning to the man who's been hovering nearby. "Tell your buddies if they want ice cream?"

Marco looks between me and Leon, his eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and respect. He gives Leon a quick nod, then smirks and relays the message to the rest of the crew. They all look pleasantly surprised but nod eagerly, agreeing to join.

I grin, turning back to Leon. "But Leon's paying. He can sugar daddy us all," I tease, winking at him.

He looks at me, blinking in confusion for a moment, clearly trying to process what I just said. "Sugar what?"

I lean in just a little, lowering my voice to a playful whisper. "Isn't that right, daddy?"

The effect is instant—Leon exhales sharply, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He clears his throat, nodding quickly as all his men scatter to check out the flavors.

I take a seat at one of the nearby tables, the men beginning to gather around, but Leon's eyes are still on me. He watches me with that mix of admiration and something else—a look that makes my pulse quicken as I take a slow lick of my ice cream.

As I'm enjoying my ice cream, I suddenly feel a tiny body crash into me, little hands gripping my leg as a small boy buries his face into my side. His messy curls tickle my arm, and when he tilts his head up, I see his big, watery brown eyes staring at me with a mixture of confusion and hope.

"Maman?" he whispers, his little voice trembling.

I freeze, my heart squeezing at the pure innocence in his tone. I glance at Leon, who's standing beside me, his arms crossed, looking down at the boy with a raised brow.

I crouch down, placing a gentle hand on the boy's tiny shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart," I say softly, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. "I'm not your maman, but we'll find her, okay?"

His lips quiver, and I can see his little hands shaking. "I—I lost her," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

I glance around, my heart picking up speed. The market is busy, people moving in every direction, laughter and conversation filling the air. It would be so easy for a child to get lost in all of this.

Leon shifts beside me, exhaling through his nose. "Great," he mutters. "Now we have a stray."

I shoot him a look before turning back to the little boy, offering a warm smile. "It's okay," I say, rubbing small circles on his back. "We'll find her. I promise."

His tiny fingers curl into my shirt as he leans against me, seeking comfort. Without hesitation, I scoop him into my arms, his little body fitting perfectly against mine as I stand.

Leon watches, his expression unreadable.

"You're really doing this?" he asks, tilting his head.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to leave him here and hope for the best?"

Leon smirks. "Didn't say that. Just... you're something else, Mariella."

I shake my head and focus back on the little one, who has now nestled into my shoulder, his breathing slightly calmer. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Louis," he murmurs, his fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt.

"That's a strong name," I say warmly. "Alright, Louis, let's find your maman."

I walk through the crowd, my eyes scanning for any frantic-looking woman. Leon follows beside me, his usual intimidating presence keeping people from getting too close.

"Lost kids in Paris. Not exactly what I had planned tonight," he mutters, though there's no real annoyance in his voice.

"Maybe not," I reply, rocking Louis gently in my arms. "But I couldn't just ignore him."

Leon watches me carefully, his gaze lingering a little too long.

"You're good at this," he finally says.

"At what?"

He gestures toward Louis. "That. The way you just... knew what to do."

I glance down at the boy, feeling warmth bloom in my chest. "I've always loved kids," I admit softly. "They're innocent. They just want to feel safe."

Leon hums in response, his eyes dark with thought.

Just as I'm about to call out for Louis' mother, a desperate voice rings through the air.

"Louis!"

I turn just in time to see a woman pushing through the crowd, her eyes filled with panic. The second Louis sees her, he gasps.

"Maman!"

I quickly kneel and set him down, watching as he stumbles forward before launching himself into her arms. She clutches him tightly, pressing frantic kisses to his forehead as she murmurs in French, her voice shaking with emotion.

My chest loosens with relief as I watch the reunion, my heart swelling at the sight of them together again.

The woman looks up at me, eyes shining with gratitude. "Merci," she breathes. "Thank you so much."

I smile, waving a hand. "It's okay. I'm just glad he's safe."

Louis peeks at me from his mother's embrace, his tiny lips curling into a shy smile. "Thank you, lady," he whispers.

I reach out, ruffling his curls gently. "Stay close to your maman now, okay?"

He nods eagerly before burying himself back into his mother's arms.

As they disappear into the crowd, I let out a small sigh, feeling a strange mix of happiness and something deeper—something I can't quite place.

Leon watches me, his gaze intense. "That did something to you."

I blink, turning to him. "What?"

He smirks slightly, but there's something softer underneath it. "You were worried."

"Of course, I was," I huff, crossing my arms. "He was just a little kid."

Leon tilts his head, eyes flickering over my face. "You'd make a good mother, you know."

I freeze for half a second before scoffing, brushing past him. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Romeo."

Leon chuckles, falling into step beside me. "Just saying. It was... nice. Seeing you like that."

I glance at him, my lips twitching. "Are you getting soft on me, Leon?"

He grins, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Not a chance, sweetheart."

But the way he keeps looking at me, like I just did something he can't quite wrap his head around, makes my stomach flip in a way I wasn't expecting.

The streets of Paris buzz around us—laughter, the hum of conversations, the occasional ring of a bicycle bell. I let my eyes wander, taking it all in while I enjoy the sweetness of my gelato.

Leon, however, is glued to his phone, his fingers flying over the screen, his attention completely stolen by whatever business nonsense he's dealing with. I roll my eyes and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize I was out on a date with a businessman instead of a mafia prince," I tease, licking my ice cream slowly. "Should I book an appointment to get your attention? Or do I need to start texting you like your little side pieces?"

Leon smirks, clearly amused, but he slides his phone back into his pocket without another word. "Jealous already, baby?" he muses, his tone dripping with arrogance.

I scoff. "Jealous? Please. I just prefer my company to be present." I take another long, slow lick of my ice cream, deliberately swirling my tongue around it before sucking lightly at the tip.

Leon's smirk falters, his jaw tightening as he watches me. I pretend not to notice, my lips slightly parted as I take another slow, exaggerated lick, letting a little bit of ice cream smear at the corner of my mouth. "Mmm," I hum, closing my eyes briefly as if savoring every bit of it. "So sweet."

When I open my eyes, Leon is staring—his expression unreadable, but his eyes are definitely darker, more intense. His grip flexes slightly at his sides.

"You're pushing it, Mariella," he mutters, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "Am I?" I take another slow lick, letting the cold cream melt against my lips before catching a little drip with my tongue. "I'm just enjoying my dessert, Leon. Is that a crime?"

His jaw clenches. "You know exactly what you're doing."

I smirk, watching the storm rage in his darkening eyes, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, as if he's seconds away from grabbing me. His restraint is slipping, and I love every second of it.

I smirk, watching him struggle to keep his composure, knowing damn well I'm testing his patience. His dark eyes burn into me, his jaw tight as he fights the urge to react.

"What's the matter?" I purr, stepping even closer, the air between us charged. "You don't like watching me eat?" My voice dips, smooth and daring. "Or is it getting to you that something else is making me sound like this?"

I let out a soft, sultry moan, just to push him further over the edge—but it quickly turns into a giggle as I watch his fingers flex like he's restraining himself from grabbing me right here in public.

I tilt my head, feigning innocence as I swipe my finger into my ice cream and bring it up to his lips, deliberately slow. The cold treat smears onto his bottom lip, creating a mess that only fuels the fire already burning in his gaze.

"Oops," I whisper, my voice honeyed with mischief. "Let me get that for you."

Before he can react, I rise onto my toes, my tongue darting out to lick the ice cream off his lip. I take my time, my tongue tracing along the soft curve of his bottom lip, savoring the cold sweetness mixed with the heat of his skin.

Leon inhales sharply, a low, guttural groan escaping him as his hands snap to my waist, gripping me like he's claiming me, like he's finally had enough of my teasing.

"You just love to play, huh?" he murmurs, his voice thick with something dangerously possessive. His hands slide up, fingers grazing my collarbone, my throat—trailing lightly, teasing the way I just did to him. But then his grip tightens, firm, unyielding, sending a shiver down my spine.

I smirk, my lips barely brushing his. "Wanna play, then?" I whisper, challenging him.

And before I can blink, his lips crash onto mine, his tongue invading my mouth with a hunger so fierce it steals my breath away. The kiss is raw, desperate, fueled by all the teasing and tension that had been building between us. His grip on me tightens, pulling me flush against him as his tongue swirls into my mouth, tasting, claiming, owning.

I moan into the kiss, melting into him as his hands roam my body, gripping, exploring, making it clear that he's done with my little games. His teeth nip at my lower lip, pulling slightly before he deepens the kiss again, drinking me in like he can't get enough.

As we're kissing like no one is around, completely lost in the moment, we suddenly hear a small voice break through the air.

"Look, mommy, they're having sex!"

I pull back abruptly, my eyes wide as I glance at the kid who just interrupted us. The kid's mother, clearly mortified, is rushing to cover his eyes, her face twisted in disgust. "Liam, continue à marcher (Liam, keep walking)," she says, sounding flustered.

I immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment, glancing up at Leon, whose smirk is impossible to miss. His eyes are hooded, lips swollen from our kiss, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

He pulls me closer, his arm snug around my waist, his breath warm against my ear. "What, you think the kid's not gonna figure it out sooner or later?" His lips curve into a smirk as he adds, "Better he learns from us than some awkward high school health class."

I smirk, trying to keep my composure, but my breath still hitches from the kiss. "It's inappropriate." I say, still feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

Leon gives me a look, his hand sliding up my back to rest on my neck, and his lips are dangerously close to mine. "Let's not forget you started it, darling." He grins, knowing full well I can't deny it.

I shove him lightly, but I can't hide the slight smirk pulling at my lips. "Let's just go," I mutter, avoiding his eyes now, still feeling the heat from the kiss.

He scoffs, clearly enjoying how flustered I am. "Fine," he says, but there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.

We continue walking, the awkward moment lingering between us, but I can't shake the feeling that this is far from over.

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I got carried away with this chapter lol

I've tried to make it playful and make it seem like their building connections.

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡