Taming Cross

He reaches out his right hand and takes my left one, threading my clammy fingers warmly through his stronger ones. He looks down at our hands.

“It makes me angry that he had you. It makes me angry because he didn’t deserve you. No one does.” He looks into my face. “Especially not me. I lied to you.”

“That’s true.”

“I’m an ass**le, Merri. I…didn’t think I was, but now I know I always have been. I’m not brave like you are. When people started following me, I was afraid.”

“Of course you were,” I whisper. I bring our joined hands to my mouth so I can press a kiss on the back of his knuckles, because the least I can do is assuage his guilt. “Cross, you rode into Mexico, into cartel territory, alone, with only this.” I squeeze the fingers of his right hand gently and look into his eyes. “Please don’t ever think that you’re not brave. I don’t know of many people who would do something like that. Something so…selfless.”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t call it selfless. I couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.”

“It was still selfless,” I say. “I’ve made bad choices, too, so I can’t judge. And even if it did take you a year, I’m never going to feel anything but grateful toward you, promise. So we can go our own separate ways and as long as your dad never tracks me down or tries to hurt me, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to go separate ways.”

His words feel like a stone thrown into the waters of my heart. I just sit there for a moment, unable to move or think. Cross’s handsome face is blurry from my tears, but his voice is quiet and strong. “Meredith…” His hand around mine tightens. “I didn’t expect to feel this way. I didn’t want to. But I do. I know it’s fu— it’s weird, okay? It’s crazy weird…because of my father mostly. But I want to be with you. I want to get to know you more.”

I shake my head, pull my fingers from his and scoot away. I press myself against the door and whisper, “You should want to leave.”

“There are reasons why I can’t.” He scoots toward me, thumbing my cheek. “And they are here—” he leans in close to kiss my temple— “and here—” his perfect lips find my mouth and taste it gently— “and here—” he says, kissing me just above my br**sts.

He leans in close enough to steal the air out of my lungs and presses a kiss against my forehead. “And that’s why I can’t walk away, even though I know I should. My father might have found you first, but you were always mine.”

He is all around me. I can smell him, feel the warmth that radiates off him. I can feel his arm thread through my hair and then his mouth takes mine. The kisses start out soft and slow, excruciating. I’m shivering. But pretty soon they turn hungry. I’m pressed against the door and Cross is gently over me, smelling of vodka, breathing my name. The skin of his back is so soft and so warm. My hands are under his t-shirt, crawling up his hard, lean sides, blinded by lust until I feel the gauze.

I tug my mouth away from his and run my fingers through his hair. “I wish I had been there for you. I hate to think of you alone.”

“I’m not alone right now.”

His lips and tongue find mine, and we are lost again; the sum of us is skin and teeth and tongues. My greedy fingers find the button of his jeans and he is in my shirt, tearing the blouse, moving my bra, taking my br**sts into his mouth.

I’m breathing so hard I’m nearly screaming when he moves off me, grabbing something from the ground beside us and rising up over my head. I see a flicker of blue eyes between his arms and he says, “Move, Merri.”

I scramble up and hear the sound of breaking glass. Holy shit. He broke one of the glass panes on the door. He starts to stick his right arm through, and I yelp, “No!”

With a quick glance around me—there are only trees—I pull my shirt off and he wraps it around his arm before he reaches through the broken pane. He leans up a little and I watch his ass tighten through the sagging jeans as he works with the lock. The door swings open, and Cross grins.

“Come on, woman.”

We’re tangled up again the moment we crawl up on a bed. Cross’s mouth is magic, making the little cottage bedroom spin, tracing down my belly. I’m pulling on his hair, stroking his neck. I’m breathing hard and tugging down his jeans.

“Fuck, Merri.”

Cross is lying on his side; we pull his jeans off together: one of his hands, both of mine, and I am stunned to see he’s naked underneath. Mother Mary, he’s so big and beautiful; just the sight of him makes me ache between my legs.

I push him gently back against the pillows and climb on top of him. I kiss his neck and stroke his thighs, and he groans, “Damn. Oh…damn.”

He finds my lips with his and tugs at the top of my leggings.

“I’ll help you.”

But he’s managed to get the leggings to my knees, and now he’s stroking his fingers gently along the borders of my thong. I’m so wet I can barely straddle him without grinding my hips against his dick.

“I’ll get these pants off.” I draw away from him and pull them off, grateful for a chance to catch my breath. I’m too caught up in this. I feel like a teenager. For a second, as I pull the cottony leggings over my ankles, I think about being on my knees those other times, but then Cross leans up and strips off my thong.

He lays me on the pillows and crawls on top of me. He splays his right hand on my thigh, then walks it inward. When his fingers touch me there, I gasp. He smiles the sweetest little smile down on me. “You’re beautiful,” he says. He strokes me one more time. “Is this okay?”

I nod, and his head is lowering over me. I feel one finger glide inside and then his lips touch me. Oh God, his tongue. I’m warm and slick down there and he is stroking me. Stroking inside, lapping outside. It isn’t long before I’m shaking violently, pressing my knees around his head and gasping his name.

His finger inside me is exquisite, stroking me just right, while his tongue glides down my center, teasing my most sensitive place, pushing me closer and closer to the edge till I can’t breathe. I grab his left shoulder, sinking my nails into the muscle there. He licks me from top to bottom, curling his finger inside me, whispering, “God you’re sexy,” and it’s his voice that does it: low and hoarse, it vibrates through me, sending me just over the edge.