As I shatter into pieces, I can hear him laughing. I hear him mutter, “Jesus Christ, that’s sexy” and I can’t believe I just did that with him. I can’t believe how not weird it feels.
I draw my knees together, expecting to feel spent. Then I open my eyes, and there is Cross sitting, shirtless, on his knees with an enormous hard-on jutting up toward his beautiful abs. I look into his face, that face I’ve come to love so much, and his eyes are gleaming and I know—I know for sure—that I want to take this further.
“Cross, come here.”
He palms himself, looking heavy-lidded and slightly predatory. His voice is soft, though; gentle. “You don’t have to. It’s not a trade.”
I scramble up and clasp his left wrist. “I know, you crazy man. But I still want you.”
This time it’s me easing him down. I help him settle on the pillows, never breaking his hypnotic gaze as he settles on his back, with more weight on his left side than the right. I’m shaking as I situate myself between his legs.
His eyes are wide and glazed. He’s breathing hard. He licks his gorgeous lips, and his right hand finds my knee and squeezes. “No pressure, Merri. I can finish this myself if you just lie beside me.”
I shake my head. “I want to touch you.” Need to touch him.
I was only going to touch him, but the moment my palm skates across his soft, thick head, finding him damp there, all I can think about is taking him inside my mouth. The idea makes me nervous, so I start by licking down his shaft. It’s long and velvety and hard as steel; as I stroke him, my left hand gently cups his balls and Cross groans. His right hand strokes my shoulder as those blue eyes find mine. “Merri, are you sure?”
“Shhhh.” I reach out and, smiling, shut his eyes. I stroke with my right hand and roll his balls with my left, and I want so much to take him inside my mouth, but I’m scared. Scared he’ll push my head down. Scared it’ll bring back memories I don’t want.
I lean down and Cross strokes my cheek, and that’s what lets me know that it will be okay. Cross is different. I wrap my mouth around his c**k and squeeze my cheeks around it, and he nearly comes off the bed. “Merri. Oh my God.” He groans my name again as he rocks gently into me, and I can tell by the way he’s shaking that he’s struggling to hold on.
I flick my tongue over the weeping slit at the top of his head and his hips jerk as I cup his tight balls. I take him deep inside my throat and keep things moving for a few more minutes. Then, when I’m sure he’s wet enough, I pull him out. His eyes flip open and his hips lift automatically, but he doesn’t grab for me or try to force me back.
While I work him with my hands again, I whisper, “Close your eyes.”
With his hand cupping my knee, it feels so easy—doing what I want. Moving gently but quickly, so I don’t lose all my nerve, I pull his length toward me a little, hold my breath, sit up a little, and sink down over him.
Cross’s eyes fly open. “Merri.”
His eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls slightly open as I start to ride him.
“Merri. Oh God. Come…lay on me…so I can feel you.” He leans his head back as I lift and plunge, lift and plunge, taking him deep inside me. My eyes are open as I wait for memories to surface, but I see his face, his eyes—grateful and surprised—and he’s so lost to his lust that I feel safe.
Up and down, up and down, and when I sink down on him, he moans and shudders, grabs my ass. I speed up a little, moving with him in a rhythm that is only ours, and as he strokes my shoulder, I feel safe enough to give him what he asked for. I lean down over him, pressing my br**sts against his chest and pumping him with the strength of my lower body. Kissing his throat as I gently stroke his hair and push and pull. His c**k inside me is so big and hard, I’m on the cusp of orgasm already.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he wraps my hair around his hand and shuts his eyes. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful Merri.”
Our lips meet for a long, open-mouthed kiss, and as his tongue strokes mine, his eyes fly open. He comes with a strangled moan and locks his arm around me. Somewhere far away, I think about moving off him quickly, but it’s far away—because then I jerk on top of him, pulling his hair as I’m lost in my own release: so sweet and unexpected.
Afterward, we lie there holding each other. Cross keeps kissing me: my cheeks, forehead, chin, mouth, throat. When he pulls away, the smile on his face is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. “That was amazing—what you did.”
“You made it amazing,” I murmur as I walk my fingers down his chiseled, scar-marked chest, below where the gauze covers his shoulder.
We lie there for a long time, while the sun sinks outside the window and the shadows crawl across the wall, and he just strokes my hair. I close my eyes and decide I’m happy with what happened. It helped me bury some old memories, and it was something I wanted to do with Cross, because despite the impossibility of our situation, I care about him—a lot.
He’s wrapped around me, pressing his face into my chest, and I love holding him. I find my mind wandering, daydreaming about the two of us in our very own bed, and that’s when the day starts crashing down around me.
What am I thinking?
A future with Cross Carlson can never be. Not just because of his father: for a lot of reasons. Reasons I will never tell him.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Abruptly, I pull away from him and force my body off the bed. Cross’s eyes are wide. “Where are you going?”
I find my leggings and start to pull them on, looking down at what I’m doing, throwing him a glance as I search for my shirt. My heart is pounding hard, a warning of what I’m about to lose, but I never had it. Now the only thing to do is go.
Cross is up a few seconds after I am. I steal a glance and find his face is carefully neutral as he pulls his jeans on, then looks up at me, a breathtaking man in sexy jeans. He holds my gaze. “Where are we going?”
“Tell me the truth,” I say, straightening my shirt as I attempt to bide my time; weaken the blow; shift the blame; something. “None of this is guilt? Really?”
His eyes widen like I’ve suggested he murders infants. “No, of course not.”
“So it’s lust?” I smooth my bra and torn shirt, then force myself to look back up at him. His mouth is open and he’s wearing an expression that says it’s a lot more complicated than lust. I know I can’t stand to hear what he will say, so I cut him off. “Even if it’s only lust, it can’t go anywhere after this.”