Page 173 of Unruly

Oh, God.

She liked this, too.

Cross’s thumbs stroked her cheekbones while Catherine rode them closer to oblivion. It never took very much for her to find that cusp of bliss when it came to her husband—her body was made for him, and made for this.

Every lift of her hips only made her want to fall right back down on him again. Every inch lower onto his cock seemed like all her nerve endings were being stroked in the very best way.

Her mind hummed.

Her body vibrated.

Her blood sang.

Love.

Home.

And forever.

“Almost, almost,” she told him.

Shaky.

Breathless.

So spun.

His lips found hers again.

Hovering.

Whispering.

Loving.

“Never again,” he promised.

She believed him.

Her heart didn’t give her a choice.

Love always spoke louder than fear.

“You couldn’t have this meeting with me alone?” Andino Marcello asked.

Cross shot the man a look from across the table in the Marcello home. Just the tone of his voice grated on Cross’s nerves. Andino was a Cosa Nostra boss controlling his faction, and so was Cross. Even the slightest challenge from another man would make a boss rise to the occasion.

“I thought it was better to have a mediator,” Cross forced himself to say pleasantly.

For the most part, he liked Andino. Respected him, even, when the guy acted like a decent human being. Andino had a wife he treated well, kids under his feet, a family he protected, an empire he ran with an iron fist, and more.

Yeah, Cross respected that.

Still, bosses didn’t do well when put in the same room together. One boss was always left bowing down or surrendering in some way to the other man. It was instinct—natural. And entirely unnatural at the same time.

Andino was not the kind of man to bend. Neither was Cross. They would simply break each other trying.

“Kind of offensive,” Andino grumbled.