“In the ring,” he says, pulling his brows together, “someone cared. My trainer wouldn’t let me get by with crap or acting like an idiot, but outside of the ring, no one cared.”
“I cared.”
“Maybe a part of me thought you shouldn’t.”
“Maybe…maybe I should’ve cared more.”
“Oh, no,” he says, sweeping an arm under my legs and picking me up in a bridal carry. “We’re not going down that road.”
He carries me with ease, a teasing grin on his face as we walk down a blank hallway and into a room at the end. There’s a huge bed with silver-grey blankets and more pillows than any one person should ever need. Instead of laying me down easily, he tosses me into the center. I bounce as I hit, sending a few pillows toppling to the floor.
Everything smells like a mixture of his cologne and soap, a scent I could fall asleep and wake up to with no problem, a scent that reminds me of Cross. It’s a scent that warms my heart.
His phone begins to ring and he pulls it from his pocket. After a quick glance, he holds the side until it stops and then tosses it on a dresser. A few seconds later, he’s stretched out his long frame beside me.
“Was that important?” I ask as he rolls over on his side to look at me.
“Nope. Nothing is more important than you in my bed right now.” One hand rests against my stomach, just below my breasts. He tenses his fingers and they press lightly into my skin. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“It’s about time,” I tease, my breath coming out in ragged heaps.
“I’m warning you, because once I start, I won’t be able or willing to stop. It’s a very slippery slope.”
He’s giving me an out. I do a quick internal inventory, looking for a reason to get up and walk out. There’s nothing to warrant that, but there are a hundred reasons to reach over and wrap my hand along the back of his neck. I guide his head toward mine, and our lips touch.
Immediately, every muscle in my body relaxes, every care in the world dissolving under his touch. His lips move tenderly, but there’s an undercurrent of possession that is undeniable. It’s freeing to be in his hold, to know that it’s him guiding me, protecting me, because if there’s one thing about Cross I’ve never once felt unsure about, it’s that he’d never let anything happen to me.
Being with other men was never like this. It was a mess of awkward touches, weird hang-ups, and a strange dance between the two of us that demonstrated how unsure, how wrong we were with one another.
I lie on his bed, his body hovering over me, his lips kissing every thought and feeling into mine. Our mouths move together, mine opening, his tongue slipping right past my lips, as if this is the way things are supposed to be.
Lifting the hem of his shirt, I drag it up and over his head. He breaks the kiss just long enough to let the fabric rush by then crashes his mouth to mine again. The silky strands of his hair glide through my fingers, the stubble on his cheeks roughing up my palms as I find every way possible to make contact with his body.
The muscles of his back flex as he moves off me, the lines in his sides stretching as he climbs off the bed and to his feet. He grins salaciously, panting as hard as I am.
“Why do you still have clothes on?” I ask, running my eyes down his tanned, taut skin.
“Why do you?”
I flinch for one brief moment, waiting for the fear I have of getting naked in front of another person to kick in. At that exact second, when I feel the niggle of embarrassment start to work its way in, Cross decides to smile—not the sexy one, the one that makes me want to take off my clothes because my libido is running wild, the other one…the shy one, the one that builds me up in a way that makes me want to be with him. They are two very different things.
Lifting my hips, I skim my shorts down my legs and kick them off. They sail through the air then he catches them with one hand.
“Best answer ever,” he says, tossing them to the floor.
“I didn’t think you’d mind, but you still have your pants on, and that’s a problem.”
His chest rumbles with a chuckle as he works his pants and boxers down his body one glorious inch at a time. “It’s gonna be a big problem.”
I see what he means.
He palms his cock in his hand, the tip of it almost reaching his belly button. It’s swollen, ready for me, a bead of pre-cum sitting at the top as he squeezes the shaft.