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I got away from him. I fought him off.
This time.
Next time, Peach’s might not be in running distance.
Next time, he might be more prepared.
Cross didn’t calm down until I did. At least, that’s my impression of how the night went. I was mostly a mess; even when he lay me down in his bed and leaned my body, tenderly, against his own, I felt cold, like I had a fever. And my wounds throbbed, my lungs ached, my muscles sore. Cross fed me two aspirin and made me drink some tea – the tea tasted older than me, but it was warm, and it soothed me a little bit. After that, I just waited. Waited for sleep to come.
Cross talked to me, stroking my hair, promising me he’d find Jase, telling me what he’d do to him when he found him. He told me how much he’d missed me, even when I was right at his side. I fell asleep with his voice in my ear, lulling me into the safety of sleep.
But when I woke up in his arms, daylight streaming across us, I didn’t want to be safe anymore. I only wanted one thing, and he was laying right beside me, twitching in his sleep. By body, broken the night before, suddenly felt like it was on fire. Maybe it was all the left-over adrenaline. Maybe it was all those things Jase said, about me belonging to him, about what he was going to do to me.
I didn’t belong to anyone but Cross. And no one could touch me but him. I wanted to prove it, once and for all. I wanted him inside me.
It wasn’t hard to wake him; he didn’t even really seem to be sleeping. I traced one of his biceps with my finger, and his eyes fluttered open, fully awake in the span of a second.
“Bex, what is it? Something wrong? What can I…”
“Shh,” I said, putting a finger to his lips. “I’m in your bed, Cross.”
He studied me, eyes stormy with confusion and concern.
“Last night…”
“Cross,” I said, grabbing his chin and pulling it towards me. “I’m in your bed.”
I reached down and pulled off my shirt. He couldn’t see it yet, but I’d already kicked off my panties, the only thing I’d slept in.
“Please,” I murmured, watching him watch me, feeling like his touch was the only thing that would keep me sane.
“Yes, Bex,” he groaned, and slid himself over to me.
He moved slowly, avoiding my battered lips, keeping his kisses light as they moved along the bruises on my neck. I shuddered and thought of that old idea of kissing a wound to make it better; his lips were a salve, melting away the pain and fear Jase left on my body. Cross was careful not to lean his weight on me, though his hips ground between my legs, and I could feel how hard he was, my body sparking in response. Nibbling my earlobes, his breath whipped a hot storm through my mind, blowing away anything but the pleasure of this moment in his arms.
Slowly, he let his mouth trail lower, moving down to my collarbone, tracing it with his tongue. His hands were rough on my flesh, age and history carving cracks in his palms, but he used them softly on my breasts, holding them like small birds as his tongue explored the space between them.
As his mouth made a slow and lazy circuit around each breast, I found myself whimpering, my back arching, trying to force his lips against my nipples, needing that contact. And he obliged, covering first one, then the other, with his lips, cupping my breasts from below as he flicked them with his tongue and sucked them into his mouth, pulling away only to tease them more with his breath.
My hands ran through his hair, each strand flowing like water between my fingers, his chest between my legs now, and then his mouth on my stomach, and then his head between my legs, every movement carefully orchestrated to send my body into a frenzy. His stubble tickled my inner thighs, his fingers tracing patterns on my lower stomach, his mouth kissing everywhere but my center.
His hot breath alone was enough to make my hips jerk, his eyes flicking up to take in the sight of me spread before him. Squirming and straining, I opened my mouth to beg. But this time, he motioned me to be silent, and I threw myself back against the pillows in mingled frustration and delight.
“Good things come to those who wait,” he growled, voice husky and low. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as he continued his torture, kissing across my lower stomach and down each thigh, using his tongue to trace the same patterns as his fingers. My pussy dripped for him, my clit swollen and throbbing and needy. I found myself making pathetic little cries; he didn’t want me to speak, but I couldn’t remain silent. I couldn’t wait anymore. If I had to wait another second, I was going to implode.
His hands moved to my stomach, pressing against it, pushing my hips down so they couldn’t jerk towards him anymore. I whimpered one more time before I felt him moving, slow enough to kill me, towards my slit. My lips, puffy and tingling, were the first to feel his tongue, sliding gently between them, all the way up to my swollen clit.
My cry of relief filled the apartment as he wrapped his tongue around me, suckling it between his lips. My toes curled, my thighs snapping shut around his head, my hands now digging into his hair. He kept his pace slow, his movements ginger, his tongue rolling over my clit over and over again, then flattening to lap over it, the warmth and wetness a paradise all its own.
My body shuddered, dripping, as he drove each sensation to its peak, only to move away just before I tipped over the edge. He wouldn’t let me come; not yet. He pressed his fingers against my slit, inched them inside as his tongue began to quicken around my clit, my pussy automatically gushing and clenching around him.
Driving upwards, he teased me, so close to my G-spot, but not quite there, stroking the walls of my pussy like I was his favorite toy. And I was. I was his toy, his doll, his tailor-made sex slave. He had that power over me, and I reveled in it. His fingers inched closer and curled, his tongue flicking my clit from the bottom in a steadily quickening rhythm, stopping every so often to suck me between his lips. His eyes flashed to mine. He found my G-spot, and stroked it.
I was gone.
My body shimmered, bucked, shook underneath him as pleasure roared through me, my bones seeming to rattle against each other with the force of it. His tongue and fingers held me through it, my muscles gone to jelly, my skin a thousand stars. My pussy clenched around his fingers, again and again, and flooded into his palm. He lapped at my juices like sweet honey, never ceasing to stroke my G-spot, the sensation almost turning to pain as my body went into overdrive.
When I finally had to push his head away, he wiped at his mouth, crawling upwards and putting his fingers against my lips. I sucked them clean, tasting myself on him, liking it. Liking how dirty I was with him. Liking that he made me that way.
I moaned around his fingers, feeling the head of his cock pressing against my slit. This would be the first time in ten years that he entered me, and I was impatient, didn’t want to wait. But I wasn’t dumb, either.
“You got something?” I managed to pant, pushing on his chest gently.
“Fuck…uh…” he looked
genuinely frantic. How could he not have a condom? What kind of man didn’t keep condoms handy? He looked down at me. “Why? You not on the pill? ‘Cause frankly, Bex…that’s not a problem for me. After all, I do aim on keepin’ you...”
Oh, fuck. Why’d he have to say something like that? Something so damn hot, I wanted to say fuck the condom and pull him into me, go bareback for days.
“That ain’t why I’m asking,” I moaned. “Please tell me…”
“Alright,” he grunted, and fished around in the table beside the bed, coming up with a victorious smile. He slipped the condom on and moved between my legs again, then leaned down to whisper in my ear. “We’re gettin’ tested, today. I ain’t waitin’ one more day to fuck you raw, girl.”
His words were every single dirty thing I wanted, his body so close to mine, the raw smell of musk and sex and man tickling me from my nose to my feet. I needed him filling me, as only he could. I grabbed his hips, and pulled.
He slid into me with a groan, his cock driving deep inside me in the very first thrust. Still wet and tender, he felt like he was splitting me in half, my pussy filled to its limit with his heat.
He locked his eyes on mine, my hands moved to his biceps, and he began to fuck me. Slow, steady, thrusts. Sliding out slowly, then driving in, deep and fast, pushing himself against my womb like he wanted to fuck every inch of my body. And I would have let him, if I could, my body swelling and roaring with pleasure as he laid into me, eyes never leaving mine.
As he sped up, the sound of our bodies smacking together filled the room, and my knees lifted to wrap around his waist. He reached down with one arm, slipped it around my waist, and pulled up on my lower back; the next time he thrust, it was like he was fucking me for the very first time all over again, a blissful mix of pleasure and pain as he slid to my very core.
We were sweating, moaning, savages bent only on bringing each other to that ultimate peak; knowing Cross, he wouldn’t come until I did. I wrapped my calves around him and let him ravage me, my head rolling back and my hands moving to my breasts, squeezing them and pinching the nipples for him to watch.
