Page 92 of Crew Princess
I felt her rising.
I couldn’t keep her down, not when Cross called.
I broke out, my voice hoarse and raw, “Only you. Only for you.”
He groaned, his eyes closing as he thrust again, pushing deep and holding. Then, the pain flooded me. Everywhere.
It wasn’t just pain. It was everything. I felt it all.
Love.
Agony.
Hurt.
Anger.
I could smell the sweat on our bodies. I could smell that Channing or Heather had laundered my pillowcase recently. I could smell the lilac perfume Cross had bought me as a gift and I was obsessed with. And I could taste my tears—not the ones from when he brought me to climax, only to have my body climb once again for another, but the tears from the past. The tears of missing my mother, of missing my father, of denying myself visits with him, the tears of holding back from my brother and not fully loving him as family, the tears of seeing Jordan hurting, of seeing Zellman ripped up about Sunday, and most of all, the tears of feeling the torment inside of Cross over his family being ripped apart.
I experienced it all.
And I could see inside of him too.
He was right there, staring back at me, and I saw the deep yearning he kept checked because he knew I held myself back so much.
But I had to. I couldn’t endure life if I lived it like this, feeling everything. I couldn’t, but right now, with my legs winding tighter around his hips, this was the only place I had to be.
His lips found mine, holding, claiming.
He began moving harder, deeper, then paused and rotated his hips, moving so he touched every part of me, and I almost screamed. Pleasure nearly blinded me. My back arched again. I was almost off the bed, only my head and hips keeping me there. Cross lifted with me, his mouth moving to taste my nipple as he growled and grabbed my waist, holding me down. He began shoving, and I was a frenzied mess, pushing back just as hard.
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
He moved up, tasting them, and found my lips. “I love you,” he breathed.
A deep groan left me. “I love you.”
As we both pushed over the edge, he found my hand, his fingers sliding against mine, and thrust once more. Both of us came down, our bodies jerking from the ferocity, and then, calm.
Utter. Complete. Quiet.
It filled me just as much as everything else had, and I lay still, totally still, savoring it.
I felt him. I felt us.
His lips were at my throat, and then I felt them brush over my face. He was tasting more of my tears.
I gasped, the inevitable pain slicing me as my climax moved along and living filtered in.
“Cross,” I cried, my voice still hoarse. “Cross.”
He shifted, gathering me in his arms. He feathered kisses over my cheeks, my forehead, then lingered on my lips.
“I’m here. Don’t, Bren. Please. Stay with me. I know you’ll lock her back up, but not tonight. Not till the morning.”
I couldn’t. The denial was quick on my lips, but seeing his agony, knowing how much he needed me, I stifled it. I held on, and I pulled him back to me. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He searched my eyes.
