Taming the billionaire's innocent

It had become increasingly clear to Leo Moretti that Seraphina Wynn knew almost nothing about romantic intimacy. She only knew how to smile politely in front of camera. She knew how to hold his hand during charity galas when the pressure of being the face of the Wynn Foundation bore down on her shoulders. She even knew how to kiss-sweet, short pecks that made Leo feel like a teenager again. But anything other than that? She was extremely, frustratingly innocent. Seraphina’s kisses were so soft and brief like a warm breeze brushing across his skin. She puckered her lips and gently pressed them against his with a delicate "mwah" that made him want to groan in equal parts pleasure and exasperation. She smiled every time, clueless to the effect she had on him. Leo, New York’s most notorious billionaire playboy, had kissed supermodels, actresses, heiresses but nothing, nothing, had ever left him feeling like he was standing on the edge of something so dangerous and beautiful as when Seraphina kissed him like he was her first crush. Though maybe he was. He wanted to show her more so much more. He wanted to kiss her until her knees grow weak, until her innocence cracked and revealed the woman he suspected lay underneath. But he did not. Because Seraphina Wynn was not just anyone. She was the only daughter of Vincent Wynn, a real estate tycoon and former senator. A sheltered heiress raised in the polished marble halls of upper Manhattan, homeschooled by nannies and groomed for quiet perfection. Leo wanted to corrupt her. And that was the problem. Every instinct he had told him to press her against the wall of his penthouse, to kiss her until she gasped his name in that breathless and confused voice she used whenever something new overwhelmed her. But every moral thread he’d managed to stitch together over the years warned him that she was not ready and also that crossing the line might ruin her. He wanted to protect that innocence. And yet…he wanted to ruin it too. It was during a gala at the Met surrounded by art, fashion and champagne that Leo realized his restraint might not last much again. Seraphina arrived in a floor-length white satin gown that hugged her slim figure in ways he didn't expected it. Her long auburn hair was swept into soft waves over one shoulder, her diamond drop earrings catching the light each time she turned to greet someone. She found him near the bar, nursing a scotch. "You clean up nice," she teased, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. Her perfume hit him instantly, a subtle mix of gardenia and vanilla. "You look like trouble," he murmured. She laughed, unaware that every man in the room had turned to look at her. He escorted her across the ballroom, ignoring the paparazzi flashing pictures through the window, ignoring the questions people whispered as they passed. To them, Leo Moretti and Seraphina Wynn were opposites. He was danger; she was elegance. He was scandal; she was grace. But that night, Leo started to wonder if maybe she wanted danger. If maybe she wanted him. Later, he offered to drive her home in his sleek black Maserati. She accepted, unaware that the moment they reached her family’s Fifth Avenue penthouse, he would walk her to the door and lose control. The elevator ride to the 27th floor was excruciating. When the doors opened, she turned to him with her usual bright-eyed smile. "Thank you, Leo. Tonight was..." "Dangerous," he finished, stepping forward. She looked up, blinking. "Why dangerous?" "Because if you kiss me again," he said, voice hoarse, "I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop." She gasps "Then maybe you should not stop." He didn’t. Not that night. But he also didn’t go too far. Instead, he kissed her senseless against the door of her penthouse, his hand tangled in her hair, his body pressed flush against hers, her soft gasp melting into his mouth. Then, just when it became too much, he pulled away. "Goodnight, Sera." She blinked up at him, dazed. "Leo..." He cupped her cheek, ran his thumb across her bottom lip, and stepped back. "Go inside before I change my mind." She opened the door and slipped inside, but not before giving him a look that haunted him the rest of the night. He slept with the taste of her on his lips and her innocence on his conscience. Seraphina lay awake that night in her oversized canopy bed, staring at the ornate chandelier above. Her fingers lightly touched her lips, remembering the way Leo’s kiss had lingered today deeper, full of something that made her heart race and her thoughts scatter. She didn’t understand it, not fully. But she wanted to. In a world of charity events, etiquette lessons, and guarded security convoys, Leo was the one unpredictable variable in her life. He was the one thing that didn’t follow the script. When he looked at her, it was never with obligation, It was always with hunger, something wild and barely restrained. She could feel it even when he tried to hide it. And tonight, that hunger had brushed against her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned softly into the pillow. "I need to figure this out." She could ask her stepmother. But Everly Wynn was more of a boardroom strategist than a warm confidante. Asking about kisses and warmth and fluttery feelings would only be met with well-meaning but clinical detachment. So she grabbed her phone, googled "why does kissing make my stomach feel funny," and promptly fell down a rabbit hole of articles, forums, and videos that left her even more confused and a little flushed. The next day, she decided she wouldn’t just research it. She would learn it experience it. And there was only one man she trusted enough to teach her. "You want me to what?" Leo stared at her across the rooftop lounge of his Midtown penthouse. The skyline glittered behind her like a thousand diamonds. Seraphina folded her hands in her lap, forcing herself to stay composed. "I want you to teach me." "Teach you?" He ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair, his expression unreadable. "Seraphina, this isn’t the kind of thing you just... ask for." "Why not?" she challenged, lifting her chin. "You said yourself that experience is the best teacher. You have experience. I want to learn." Leo leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You have no idea what you're asking." "I do." "No, you don’t," he said, voice low, heated. "If I touch you again, Seraphina, I’m not going to be able to stop. And when I take something, I don’t give it back." She held his gaze. "I trust you." He stood up suddenly, walking to the glass edge of the rooftop and gripping the rail. She waited. After what felt like an eternity, he turned back, his jaw clenched. "Fine. But on one condition." "What?" "If we do this, you don’t get to hide from me afterward. You don’t run. You don’t pretend this didn’t happen." Her breath caught. "Deal." He stepped toward her, slow and dangerous. The air crackled. "Then your education starts now." His mouth claimed hers before she could respond to a kiss that burned, that devoured, that took her breath away. His hands slid to her waist, drawing her closer until she was wrapped in heat and want. The city lights vanished behind the fog of sensation. She clutched his shirt, overwhelmed, but she didn’t pull back. She parted her lips and let him deepen the kiss, her world spinning wildly as his tongue traced hers with confident hunger. When he finally pulled away, her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips swollen. He leaned in again, brushing a kiss to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. "This is only the beginning, Sera. If you want me to stop, tell me now." She didn’t say a word.