Leon Kennedy

You swirl the contents of a crystal glass of dark red wine, bring it to your lips, taste the alcohol on the tip of your tongue for a few moments, and only then swallow. You try your best not to grimace at the drink, but your interlocutor still catches your sour expression. No, you really liked the wine he bought, you just... You weren't used to its taste. Never before had you tried anything stronger than champagne, stolen furtively while your parents were drunk and "civilized" in celebrating Christmas.

The whole atmosphere he had prepared seemed to create more intimacy than what you had to do afterwards: the dim flames of the candles, the drops of wax trickling down them, falling onto the iron stands; the table where you are now having dinner was previously in a completely different place, but Leon, apparently, thought it would be better to drag it closer to the window and he was right.

Your previous failed first time was unsuccessful in the word "completely." You thought that everything between you was happening too quickly, the very offer to go to a motel caused bewilderment. But when he began to carefully, feeling the boundaries, but still take off your clothes, you could not stand it and ran away, forcing your lover to run after you in the rain and apologize.

As Leon later admitted, one of his friends advised him to do this. "I wanted... For us to get closer, you know? He said, this is an important stage in the relationship! Forgive me, please, I'm such a fool!" - Kennedy apologized, desperately trying to catch up with you.

This evening everything was different. And today you felt confident that you were ready. Scott had been hinting at you ten times a week, unobtrusively asking your opinion, and a couple of hours before the meeting he had written an intriguing message about something interesting waiting for you. And your expectations were more than met.

"Did you cook it yourself?" you wonder, chewing pasta with bacon - the poor guy already spends almost all of his salary from his part-time job on you.

"Yeah. Do you like it?" Leon props his head up with his hand, trying to understand your feelings from your facial expression.

"Very."

You both felt a prickly, almost weightless tension in the air from the shared excitement and anticipation. Before Kennedy, you had only kissed a couple of times, and even then only a quick peck on the cheek. In general, it seemed that your first date would be your last: it seemed too serious to you. "I won't pay attention to photos anymore," you thought, sitting in a cafe and regretting that you had ever asked your friend to help you register on a dating site.

Who knew it would go this far? Especially with that "boring" - you certainly wouldn't call him that now - guy from the police academy.

You've never thought about your lover's body before. And now you run your palm over his chest, still hidden under the fabric, feel how he tries to kiss you as gently as possible so as not to ruin the moment, how he tries to suppress his own impatience.

Kennedy pushes you towards the bed, pulls away, finally taking off his T-shirt and exposing his sculpted abs. The man's palms immediately reach for you, taking all the attention and not letting you look at your torso longer than necessary. Judging by the abruptness of his movements - and where did all the restraint go? - Leon is clearly unhappy with the fact that you are still dressed and is trying to fix it.

Your beloved presses lightly on your shoulder, forcing you to lower yourself across the neatly made bed, and he hangs over you, not bothering to take off your blouse, but simply unbuttoning the buttons, revealing your lacy bra.

He is worried. You feel it in his wildly rising chest, in his blue gaze running along the route "eyes-lips-chest", in the fabric of the blanket clenched near you.

Leon sighs deeply, closing his eyes for a second and leans even closer, burying his nose at the junction of your neck and shoulder, giving you both a short respite.

"You smell so good," Kennedy mutters, not raising his face.