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 cock 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 breasts 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 cock 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.”
“Why not?” He looks annoyed, but I can already see through it. He’s shocked; he’s working his way to upset. I’m going to hurt him.
I need to make this sound logical—like it’s not based on secrets and omissions from my past. I heave a deep breath and tuck my wayward hair behind my ears. “What if I want to write about my experience? What if I want to confront your father? How do you know he won’t show up here right now?” I take a step back, bumping into a dresser, and Cross takes a small step toward me. The look on his face is enough to break my heart: so earnest, with something warm glowing in his pretty eyes.
“I don’t,” he says. “But I know that I’ll protect you. I’ll always try.”
Always. He said ‘always’. I pretend he doesn’t mean it.
“You would turn in your own father?” I ask him.
He nods. “If that’s what you want.”
He looks so sincere, that I feel tears spring into my eyes. I want to throw something else at him, some other reason why this just can’t work, but my throat is closed up tight. “I just don’t understand,” I cry. Oh yeah…I’m crying now. Crying wasn’t in my plan, so I turn to face the wall.
Cross’s hand touches my back, gentle as you would be with a baby, and before I can gather my defenses, he’s turning me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and murmurs, “Talk to me. Tell me why you’re upset.”
I can only cry harder, because I can’t answer that. I can’t say anything to him. Or rather, I know I won’t. I just stand there, relishing the comfort he’s doling out like the selfish girl I always am, and I don’t say anything at all. My mind is racing. Finally, I push away and look into his eyes. “Is it because you know I never had sex with any of them? With your father, with Jesus, with anybody else I didn’t choose? Is that why you can…be with me?”
He frowns. “That helps,” he says frankly, “but that’s not why.”
“Then why?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” He rubs his hair, the motion sharp; frustrated. “Why are you here with me? Is it obligation? Pity?”
“No,” I rasp. “I just…really like you.” I should never have said it, but I couldn’t seem to keep it in.
“That’s how I feel,” he says gently. “You’re very likable. And lickable.” He touches his forehead to mine. “I just like you, Merri. Isn’t that enough?”
I pull away from him and make some space, so there’s no chance he’ll touch me when I say this. “You don’t know everything about me.” My voice is shaking. I’m about to lose it, so I know I need to go. “You don’t get it, Cross. Things have happened to me that can’t unhappen.” I choke on a sob. “I just don’t get… How can you not judge me? What if I told you that I did have sex?”