Act III Chapter 7 – "You're mine now"
Léo didn't even have time to answer. Gwen's lips crashed against his—hungry, almost brutal. This wasn't a shy kiss.
It was four years of silence, stolen glances, and whispered promises in the dark, all exploding at once.
She was still straddling him, thighs clenched tight around his hips, hands planted on either side of his head. The kiss deepened, turning desperate. Léo felt his body respond against his will, a low growl rising in his throat.
Gwen pulled back just enough to catch her breath. Her green eyes sparkled with electric fire.
"You talk too much," she breathed.
With a sharp tug, she grabbed the two sides of his black shirt and yanked. Buttons flew off with a sharp pop, some rolling across the bed. The fabric tore without resistance. Léo raised an eyebrow, half amused, half stunned.
"Gwen…"
She didn't reply. Her fingers were already sliding over his bare chest, tracing scars she didn't know. She moved lower, past his belt without hesitation, and slipped her hand straight into his pants.
Léo jolted, breath catching in his throat.
"Fuck, Gwen…"
She wrapped her fingers around him, feeling how hard he already was.
A slow, almost triumphant smile curved her lips.
"Looks like I don't disgust you," she murmured, her voice slightly shaky despite the confidence she was trying to project.
Léo let out a rough laugh—half smile, half sigh. He placed one hand on her waist, as if to hold her there.
"You're completely crazy…"
But he didn't push her away.
She kept stroking him slowly, discovering the heat and hardness of his cock under her fingers. Her movements were clumsy, a little too fast, but filled with fierce determination. Léo closed his eyes for a second, jaw tight, then slid his hands up her hips, under her hoodie, and caressed the bare skin of her back.
"Easy…" he whispered against her mouth.
She shivered when he touched her. Tiny blue sparks danced along the back of her neck for a moment, light as electric kisses, before fading.
Léo groaned in pleasure, surprised by the sensation.
Gwen slid down his body, kissing his chest, his abs, until she reached his belt, which she yanked open impatiently. She tugged his pants down just enough to free his throbbing length. She stared at it for a second, as if memorizing every detail, then leaned down.
Her tongue brushed the tip shyly at first, then she took him into her mouth.
Léo let out a rough sigh… which quickly turned into a startled grunt when he felt her teeth scrape awkwardly against his skin.
"Ah! Gwen, wait—"
He pushed himself up on his elbows, one hand threading through her colored hair. She lifted her head, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with embarrassment and frustration.
"Shit… I… I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice suddenly small. "It's… it's my first time doing that."
Léo looked at her for a long moment, breathing hard. The raw honesty mixed with the shyness she was desperately trying to hide hit him square in the gut. He finally understood.
He gently cupped her face in his large hands and pulled her back up to him. At 6'4", he easily dominated her even while lying down. With a smooth motion, he flipped her onto her back, reversing their positions effortlessly. Gwen found herself underneath him, eyes wide.
"Then we'll do this differently," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
This time he kissed her slowly, taking his time to taste her, to calm her. His hands slipped under her hoodie and removed it with gentle but firm insistence.
He discovered her skin, her breasts, the curve of her hips. Every caress was measured, patient, as if he wanted to show her this wasn't a race.
Gwen moaned against his mouth when his fingers found the waistband of her pants. He undressed her with almost cruel slowness, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. When he reached between her thighs, he stroked her for a long time—first with his fingertips, then with his tongue—until she was trembling and arching beneath him.
"Léo…" she panted, fingers twisted in his dreadlocks.
He finally moved back up, positioning himself between her legs. He was massive above her—6'4" of muscle and scars against her smaller frame. Gwen looked at him, eyes bright, almost pleading.
"I love you," she whispered again, like both a promise and a threat.
Léo entered her slowly, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust. Gwen let out a small, muffled cry, nails digging into his shoulders. He froze, forehead pressed to hers.
"Breathe," he murmured. "I've got you."
He began to move—deep, controlled strokes. Gwen clung to him like she might drown. Her hips started following his rhythm, awkward at first, then growing more confident.
The little blue sparks returned, light and flickering across Léo's back, his neck, his shoulders. Every time he thrust deeper, a tiny blue arc danced over his skin, amplifying the sensation without ever hurting. Just enough to drive her wild.
When the orgasm hit her—violent and sudden—Gwen's eyes flashed with pure electric light, two green lightning bolts that lit up the room for a split second. She cried out his name, body arched against his, nails buried in his back.
Léo followed shortly after, groaning into her neck, one hand fisted in her hair.
They stayed tangled together for a long time, breathless, skin slick. Gwen wouldn't let him go.
Her fingers kept tracing tiny sparks across his shoulder blades, as if she wanted to mark him.
"You're mine now,"
she whispered against his throat, her voice still trembling.
"Forever, Léo."
He didn't answer right away. He simply held her tighter, heart pounding hard against hers, fully aware that what they had just started wasn't just sex.
It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.
——
Don Javier was in his office, alone, playing with a lighter.
Flames flared, died, then flared again. The chair rocked gently from side to side.
Knock, knock.
"Cough, cough… Come in," he called, still coughing.
The grey‑haired man walked in and closed the door behind him.
"Gregorio," said Don Javier. "Please, have a seat."
"Sir…," the man began.
"None of that between us, my friend," Javier cut in.
Gregorio hesitated for a moment.
"Hm. I see… Emilio, then."
"I'm listening," Javier replied, making the flame dance under his eyes.
"The whole organization is worried about you," Gregorio said.
Emilio kept playing with the lighter in silence, his gaze lost somewhere between the flame and the window.
"We all think you're playing with fire with those two. No one understands what you're trying to do."
"Hm… I see," Javier answered softly.
"I'm serious, Emilio," Gregorio insisted.
"That girl alone could bring the whole organization down if she turned on us. Why train her that much? The only thing keeping her in check is your threat. And we both know it's a bluff.
"
A faint smile crossed Javier's face.
"You know me well," he admitted. "It's easier to control a monster through its mind."
Gregorio leaned slightly over the desk.
"The day that girl finds out you've been lying, she'll wipe us out. And no one will be able to stop her."
Emilio snapped the lighter shut and rolled it between his fingers.
"Someone will," he said.
Gregorio stared at him.
"You mean…"
"It's exactly what you're thinking," Javier confirmed.
A heavy silence settled between them.
"Monsters are powerful, sure," Javier went on. "But in my humble opinion, nothing is stronger than love."
He sank back into his chair, eyes drifting up to the ceiling.
"You know, I was in love once… And I would have burned every last one of you for her. Believe me."
His tone had changed—less theatrics, more weight.
"Her name was Andrea," he continued.
"She had that doe‑eyed look I loved so much. No matter how many bad choices I made, she… yeah, she knew me better than anyone. She knew exactly how to calm me down… or stop me."
He paused. His fingers toyed with the closed lighter without flicking it on.
"I miss her wisdom."
Silence.
Gregorio lowered his gaze a little. He didn't often hear his boss talk like this.
"So yes, my friend, you're probably right," Emilio said at last, a bitter smile on his lips.
"Maybe I'm going too far. Maybe I really am playing with fire…"
He straightened and gestured toward the city beyond the glass.
"But look at what mankind built after the fire."
Gregorio stayed quiet for a moment, then asked more softly:
"What happened to this… Andrea?"
Javier's eyes went distant for a second, past the city lights.
"She ran from me," he replied.
"The real reason is… hazy. A strange mix of unspoken truths and well‑hidden lies. Either way, she left. And me… all that's left is the cold man you know today."
"She was a coward," Gregorio muttered.
Javier let out a humorless chuckle.
"Yes. She was, yeah. But never forget one thing."
He pointed a finger at Gregorio, his gaze suddenly sharp again.
"Cowards live longer."
Gregorio stared at him, surprised by the nuance in his voice.
And then he understood.
That line Javier so often threw out in a mocking tone had never been just a jab. It was also a kind of respect. Maybe even regret.
Maybe Emilio, too, would have preferred to run… rather than dive headfirst into an ambition that, now, was devouring him alive.