（Untitled） #2
His eyes shot down, then back to the road, then down again, like he couldn’t decide whether to watch the road or me. The humid night air clung to my skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat that came from him.
“Fuck,” he muttered. The car accelerated again, the engine growling like a beast straining at its leash. His fingers twitched on my thigh, but he didn’t reach for my pussy.
I let out a soft laugh, my fingers working faster, circling my clit now.
The wet sound of my fingers slipping inside and then backing out filled the car.
Cross’s jaw clenched, the muscle there jumping, and I could see the bulge in his jeans growing.
It made me remember how his pierced cock had felt pressing against the back of my throat — how he’d tasted when he came.
“How far until your place?” I asked, my voice husky.
I arched my back slightly, letting my head fall back against the door.
My free hand slid up my stomach, fingers tracing the edge of the lace slip before dipping beneath it to cup my breast. My nipple hardened under my touch, and I pinched it lightly, a soft moan escaping my lips.
Cross’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Less than five minutes.”
“I can make it work,” I said, starting to finger myself. “Though your interior may be ruined after I’m done here.”
The car swerved slightly as Cross’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and pulling my fingers away from my pussy. He brought them to his mouth, eyes locked on mine as he sucked them clean, tongue swirling around each digit.
“You’re gonna make me crash,” he growled, releasing my wrist. His hand dropped to my thigh again. “And I’d rather not die before I get to fuck you.”
I smirked, pulling my hand back and licking my own fingers. “But what a way to go, no, daddy?”
His apartment building came into view. The tower loomed, windows burning blue-white against the night, black metal balconies jutting like rib bones from the spine. I could smell the magnolias mixing with the exhaust of a busy city coming in through the air vents.
He drove around the building, to the underground parking lot, and I sat up, turning in the seat when he slipped into a parking space. I reached down for my silver shoes on the floor.
“You’re staying the night,” Cross said. It wasn’t a question, and I wasn’t about to argue.
“Okay.”
I got out of the car and padded, barefoot, toward him, feeling the rough, cool pavement of the underground against my feet. Without my heels on, he felt like a giant. I slid my hand into his.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse was a slow, electric thing. The mirrored walls reflected us back in fragments — his dark silhouette, my flushed skin, the way his fingers laced through mine like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.
I rested my head against his shoulder. “I’m hungry, though,” I said eventually. “Like food hungry.”
Cross exhaled through his nose. “Food, huh?” His thumb drew idle circles on the back of my hand. “What do you want?”
“Something greasy. Cheese fries. A burger. Maybe a milkshake if you’re feeling generous.” I tilted my head up to look at him. He looked horny yet amused.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The doors slid open with a quiet ding, and we stepped into his penthouse.
The city sprawled beneath us, a glittering web of lights stretching out to the horizon.
He tossed his keys onto the entryway table with a clatter and turned on the lights.
The chandelier in the foyer turned on instantly, washing everything in warm glow.
The place looked exactly the same as yesterday — massive, colossal almost, and minimalistic. There were no little trinkets or homey things anywhere in the penthouse, apart from some plants in brass pots. Just a large U-shaped couch, some armchairs, a TV, and a grand piano, bathing in the moonlight.
I let go of his hand and walked further, feeling the plush red rug under my feet. When I looked back at him, he was on his phone, scrolling.
I set my bag on the couch, dropped my shoes to the floor, and stretched, feeling my back crack.
“Food’s on the way,” he said, slowly moving my way while his gaze was still locked on the phone. “Twenty minutes.”
“Cheese fries, burger and a milkshake?” I asked.
“And a milkshake,” he muttered, pocketing his phone. He stopped just short of touching me.
“What flavor?”
“Chocolate.” His eyes ran down my face, stopping at my lips, then lower. “And strawberry.”
“Two of them?” I tipped my head.
“You said you were hungry.” He shrugged.
I smirked, letting my fingers trail down the front of his shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric.
“Good,” I said, stepping back toward the couch. “In the meantime, we can feed you.” I sat back, spreading my legs and traced the edge of the couch with my toes, watching the way his gaze darkened as I let my knees fall open just a little wider. The lace of my dress rode up.
“Yeah?” He smirked and stripped out of his leather jacket, leaving it over the back of an armchair. “You’re giving me desert before the main course?” he asked, getting on his knees. Fuck, the sight made my stomach flutter. There went those butterflies again.
“I’m nice like that,” I said as my fingers slipped beneath the lace, brushing over my clit. The touch felt good, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning — but I bet his touch would feel even better. “I’m so wet, baby,” I teased him.
His hands slid up my thighs, fingers hooking into the sides of my thong before he yanked it down in one swift motion. The fabric caught on my ankles, and I kicked it off.