Page 91 of Always: A Legacy Novel

It. Never. Failed.

She let out a slow breath and bit her bottom lip when he tugged the panties down over her hips. Every insecurity she could possibly feel came bubbling up in that moment in a giant rush of embarrassment.

“You’re shaking,” Cross murmured.

“Nervous.”

Of course, she was nervous.

Catherine had never been spread out, entirely open to someone before. She had never allowed someone to touch her—taste her—the way Cross was about to. She didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know what he expected, for that matter.

“Catherine.”

She propped up on her elbows a bit to see him better. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous.”

“Kind of hard, Cross.”

He cocked a brow. “You know you’re perfect, right? You’re damn beautiful, Catherine. And this isn’t even about me, it’s all about you feeling really, really good. That’s all you need to worry about. Everything else is background noise I get to enjoy.”

“That’s … an interesting way to put it.”

“It’s the truth. Are you good, or no?”

“Better,” she admitted.

“Close your eyes and see stars, or watch me get you off, it’s up to you. Just don’t worry about anything else, okay?”

Her nod was all the reply he apparently needed.

Catherine hadn’t been sure what to expect, but that first touch of the rough side of his tongue tunneling against her most sensitive spot was not it. She hadn’t realized how intense that feeling would be, how it would make her back arch off the bed, or her hands fly out to find something—anything—to hold onto.

Jesus, and oh, my God, and shit, shit, shit.

She had not realized the sounds that would crawl out of her throat, how good it would feel when she lifted her lower half into his face to get more, or how it would feel as though she couldn’t catch her breath.

Catherine fisted the blankets on the bed with one hand, and her other found purchase in Cross’s hair. She tried not to pull, not to tug or push, but it was hard because he was right …

“There,” Catherine gasped, “there, Cross ...”

The whine that tore out of her throat sounded almost cattish. Her eyes squeezed shut, and all she could do was feel. His hand slipping up under her bralette, and his thumb stroking the curve of her breast. His other hand dipping between her thighs, and a finger, then two, pressing deep and making her realize she was so very wet.

Had she not felt so entirely good—had she not been lost to the sensations rushing through—she might have been embarrassed, but nothing else mattered.

Not in that moment.

His wicked tongue left her long enough for him to say, “Come on, then, do it, come.”

And he was right back again. Harder strokes. Deeper fingers. Her skin felt like fire racing under the surface, and that familiar tightening began in her stomach. The world tilted on its axis in that moment, making Catherine think she was off-balance in every way. Her hands left the bedsheets and Cross’s hair, instead finding his shoulders, then his neck, and scoring lines over his exposed skin when she tried to right her mind and body back to center.

Cross had been right.

It was better when someone else made her come.

It was better when it was him.

Catherine thought it took far too long for her to calm after the bliss had stopped waging war in her body, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She couldn’t find the embarrassment she thought she might feel, either, not with Cross watching from between her thighs, and his mouth still wet from her.