Page 117 of Crossing Lines

He exhales slowly, the tension draining from his body. “Okay.”

“Did you doubt me?”

“I never thought you were working against me, but if you did have an interview without telling me…that would hurt.”

“Of course I’d tell you,” I say, lifting a hand to his cheek, his stubble rough against my palm. His eyes close briefly at the touch. “A lot of shit is happening, and I feel like people trying to pit us against each other just might be our new normal. But I don’t want us to allow them to do that.”

“You’re right,” he says. His fingers wrap around my wrist and gently pull my hand from his face, pressing a kiss to my palm. “It’s just…I don’t doubt you. I doubt myself. I keep missing all the signs from people who want to fuck me over, and it makes me question my own judgment.”

“I get that, I do. And I also get that no matter how much I tell you I won’t fuck you over, it won’t penetrate. Only my actions will show you that I’m serious.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he says. “This is a me issue, and I think I need to start therapy to work through it all.”

“What if we both start therapy? I’ll work on my issues with my mom, and you’ll work on your history with Mert and Harold.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in therapy.”

“I guess,” I say, stepping closer, the space between usshrinking until there’s nothing left but our shared breaths. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“Hmm, and what else have I been a bad influence on?” he teases.

“Well, you’ve now gotten me used to eating my favorite cereal, and I can’t bring myself to buy the box that’s on sale just because it’s cheaper. I also don’t think I’ll ever be able to have sex without hearing the wordsgood girlagain. But you’ve also made me believe in myself and my capabilities as a designer. And worst of all, you’ve shown me that you like me just the way I am, flaws and everything.”

“Sounds to me like I’m a bad influence.” He brushes his lips against mine in a whisper of a kiss. “I’m not sure why you even keep me around.”

“It’s for your money,” I say with a straight face before breaking out into laughter. “What? Too soon to joke about that?”

“Depends.” He lifts me in his arms and my legs go around his waist.

“On?”

“What my therapist says.”

Another laugh bursts out of me.

“You say I’m a bad influence,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “But you’ve corrupted me, wrecked me, in all the best ways.” He pulls back and stares deep into my eyes. “I’ve never felt more alive than I do in your chaos. Before you, I couldn’t remember what it was like to have fun, to laugh, hell, even to sleep. But now I sleep because I can’twait to wake up next to you. Life’s better with you in it. And I think I might love that more than anything.”

That’s the sweetest, most heartfelt thing someone has ever said to me. Tears well and slip down my cheeks. Wiping them away, he kisses me softly, showing me that I’m precious, cared for, and deserving of everything in life and more.

The kiss turns into something edged with desperation, both of us needing to consume the other. We rip each other’s clothes off, and when we’re both fully naked, he lays me down on the new weight bench.

“You have the most perfect fucking pair of tits I’ve ever seen.” He sucks my right nipple and then switches to the other side. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I say without any hesitation, because I do.

“Good, I’m going to tie you up. Is that okay?”

“Definitely.” And it is. Getting tied up and not having to do any work? Sign me up.

He grabs the exercise band and wraps it around my wrists and the bench so that I can’t move my arms. The entire time he works, I stare at his hard dick. When he’s done securing me, I say, “If you don’t let me suck your dick right now, I’m going to scream.”

I scoot so that my head is hanging off the bench and lick my lips. He unzips his trousers and takes out his dick, stroking himself a few times before running his tip over my mouth. I lick him and he pushes forward ever so slowly, before pulling out.

“Do you want to deep throat me?” he asks.

“Yes, I’ve been wanting to for months.”

He groans. “Is your throat ready for me?”

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