（Untitled） #3
Cross didn’t waste time — his mouth was on me in an instant, tongue dragging up my slit with a slow pressure that made my hips lift off the couch.
And that piercing — I had noticed it earlier but for some reason hadn’t made an explicit mental note of it, but it was there, going through his tongue and he kept gliding it over my clit.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair.
His free hand slid up my stomach, pushing the fabric of my dress aside to palm my breast, thumb rolling over my nipple.
The sensations — his mouth on my pussy, his fingers inside me, his hand on my breast — sent me spiraling faster than I expected.
My thighs clamped around his head as I convulsed, but he didn’t stop, and the only thought I had when he kept going was — fuck, I’m gonna squirt.
My vision blurred as I looked down at him, his jaw working steadily while his fingers pumped in and out. “Come on,” he said, “I know you want to. Be a good girl, Mary.”
I clamped down on him, legs trembling and rigid at once, feeling the vibration of his breath against my oversensitive clit.
My legs squeezed involuntarily, trapping his head between my thighs while my body shook, every nerve ending raw and firing as I came all over his chin, gushing warmth.
The rush of it left me breathless, my chest heaving as I collapsed back against the couch.
Cross didn’t pull away — his tongue lapped at me lazily, like he was savoring the last drops of the sweetest honey.
His fingers were still inside me, curled just right, keeping the orgasm alive albeit waning.
I tugged at his hair, hard enough to get his attention. “Enough,” I panted. “Enough, baby…”
He pulled back with a wet sound, lips glistening, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The smirk he gave me was that cocky rockstar special.
“Turns out I was, indeed, famished.” His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
He grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and tossed it back down. “Food’s here.”
I almost laughed at that, letting my head fall back against the couch when he stood up. “Perfect timing,” I muttered.
“Five minutes,” he told me, rearranging his jeans, before walking toward the elevator. “Mi casa es su casa, doll.”
I inhaled, hearing the ding of the elevator doors, and draped my arm over my face.
I think I must’ve dozed off because the next time I opened my eyes, the TV was on, running silently in the background, and there was a fluffy yellow blanket laid over me.
Not to mention the sky behind the window was beginning to color in the deep shades of an early dawn.
Cross was on the couch next to me, now wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, mindlessly running his fingers through my hair as he watched the TV.
I half moaned, half yawned. “That feels good.”
His fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their slow, rhythmic strokes. “I aim to please,” he said, voice rough.
“What’s the time?” I asked, smelling cold, greasy fries in the air.
“Early. Five. Ish.”
“Mm.” I stretched out, turning toward him.
The blanket pooled around my waist as I sat up. A takeout bag sat on the coffee table, its contents half-eaten — cheese fries congealing under a sheen of grease, a burger wrapper crumpled beside it. Cross had already demolished his portion, judging by the state of it all.
I reached for a cold fry, popping it into my mouth. It was stiff, the cheese hardened, but I didn’t care. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since… forever. Or at least six hours ago.
Cross’s fingers trailed down my spine, sending a shiver through me despite the warmth of the blanket. “You good?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Just hungry.” I popped another fry in my mouth and turned to face him, tucking my legs beneath me.
The TV cast forever-changing blue light across his bare chest, highlighting the ink scribbled on skin — lyrics, symbols, a few faces I didn’t recognize.
A quote by Oscar Wilde. We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
“I think I want to take a shower and then have you fuck me on the balcony.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What happened to ‘no p in v’ unless a camera is rolling?”
“Oh, it will be rolling. You have a phone, don’t you?”
His fingers found my hair again, twisting a strand around his knuckle. “It’s gonna be super shaky.”
“Won’t go on OnlyFans,” I said, reaching for another fry. “That’s gonna be for you.”
His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “For me, huh?” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You gonna let me fuck you raw, then? What was the song... No rubber — no one would touch her? Something by G-Eazy.”
“Maybe,” I whispered, turning my head to catch his lips with mine. The kiss was slow, deep, the taste of salt and grease lingering between us. His hand slid up my thigh, fingers teasing the edge of my dress.
“Shower first,” he murmured against my mouth, pulling back just enough to stand. He offered me his hand and pulled me up from the couch. The blanket fell away, landing on the ground at my feet, and I followed him through the penthouse.