The place looked exactly the same as yesterday — massive, colossal almost, and minimalistic. There were no little trinkets or homey things anywhere in the penthouse, apart from some plants in brass pots. Just a large U-shaped couch, some armchairs, a TV, and a grand piano, bathing in the moonlight.
I let go of his hand and walked further, feeling the plush red rug under my feet. When I looked back at him, he was on his phone, scrolling.
I set my bag on the couch, dropped my shoes to the floor, and stretched, feeling my back crack.
“Food’s on the way,” he said, slowly moving my way while his gaze was still locked on the phone. “Twenty minutes.”
“Cheese fries, burgeranda milkshake?” I asked.
“And a milkshake,” he muttered, pocketing his phone. He stopped just short of touching me.
“What flavor?”
“Chocolate.” His eyes ran down my face, stopping at my lips, then lower. “Andstrawberry.”
“Two of them?” I tipped my head.
“You said you were hungry.” He shrugged.
I smirked, letting my fingers trail down the front of his shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric.
“Good,” I said, stepping back toward the couch. “In the meantime, we can feed you.” I sat back, spreading my legs and traced the edge of the couch with my toes, watching the way his gaze darkened as I let my knees fall open just a little wider. The lace of my dress rode up.
“Yeah?” He smirked and stripped out of his leather jacket, leaving it over the back of an armchair. “You’re giving me desertbefore the main course?” he asked, getting on his knees. Fuck, the sight made my stomach flutter. There went those butterflies again.
“I’m nice like that,” I said as my fingers slipped beneath the lace, brushing over my clit. The touch felt good, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning — but I bet his touch would feel even better. “I’m so wet, baby,” I teased him.
His hands slid up my thighs, fingers hooking into the sides of my thong before he yanked it down in one swift motion. The fabric caught on my ankles, and I kicked it off.
Cross didn’t waste time — his mouth was on me in an instant, tongue dragging up my slit with a slow pressure that made my hips lift off the couch. And that piercing — I had noticed it earlier but for some reason hadn’t made an explicit mental note of it, but it was there, going through his tongue and he kept gliding it over my clit.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair.
His free hand slid up my stomach, pushing the fabric of my dress aside to palm my breast, thumb rolling over my nipple. The sensations — his mouth on my pussy, his fingers inside me, his hand on my breast — sent me spiraling faster than I expected. My thighs clamped around his head as I convulsed, but he didn’t stop, and the only thought I had when he kept going was —fuck, I’m gonna squirt.
My vision blurred as I looked down at him, his jaw working steadily while his fingers pumped in and out. “Come on,” he said, “I know you want to. Be a good girl, Mary.”
I clamped down on him, legs trembling and rigid at once, feeling the vibration of his breath against my oversensitive clit. My legs squeezed involuntarily, trapping his head between my thighs while my body shook, every nerve ending raw and firing as I came all over his chin, gushing warmth. The rush of it left me breathless, my chest heaving as I collapsed back against thecouch. Cross didn’t pull away — his tongue lapped at me lazily, like he was savoring the last drops of the sweetest honey. His fingers were still inside me, curled just right, keeping the orgasm alive albeit waning.
I tugged at his hair, hard enough to get his attention. “Enough,” I panted. “Enough, baby…”
He pulled back with a wet sound, lips glistening, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The smirk he gave me was that cocky rockstar special. “Turns out I was, indeed, famished.” His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and tossed it back down. “Food’s here.”
I almost laughed at that, letting my head fall back against the couch when he stood up. “Perfect timing,” I muttered.
“Five minutes,” he told me, rearranging his jeans, before walking toward the elevator. “Mi casa es su casa, doll.”
I inhaled, hearing the ding of the elevator doors, and draped my arm over my face. I think I must’ve dozed off because the next time I opened my eyes, the TV was on, running silently in the background, and there was a fluffy yellow blanket laid over me. Not to mention the sky behind the window was beginning to color in the deep shades of an early dawn.
Cross was on the couch next to me, now wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, mindlessly running his fingers through my hair as he watched the TV.
I half moaned, half yawned. “That feels good.”
His fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their slow, rhythmic strokes. “I aim to please,” he said, voice rough.
“What’s the time?” I asked, smelling cold, greasy fries in the air.
“Early. Five. Ish.”
