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The bathroom was the color of a glacier; marble patterns were everywhere — on the walls, the floor, even the counters — and there was a tall window that overlooked the nearby rooftops.
The shower was in the middle of the room with no separation — no glass walls — nothing, and I had to admit I had never seen anything like it in my life.
The water temperature was controlled via a panel in the wall.
This thing clearly wasn’t in my tax bracket.
“Well, that seems awfully impractical for shower sex,” I commented, tilting my head back to look at the brass shower head embedded in the ceiling.
“Tell me about it,” he said, turning on the water with a few swipes in the panel. “A massive oversight on my part.”
The water came on with a quiet hiss as Cross adjusted the temperature. He turned to me, hands already reaching for the hem of my dress. I lifted my arms, letting him pull it over my head.
“Turn around,” he murmured.
I did, presenting my back to him. His hands slid up my spine, fingers pressing into the knots of tension there before he unclasped my bra. The straps slid down my arms, and I let it fall, the cool air of the bathroom making my skin go in goosebumps.
Cross stepped closer, his chest pressing against my back, one hand sliding around to cup my breast while the other traced the curve of my ass. His breath was hot against my ear. “You’re fucking perfect,” he said, voice low. “Every inch of you.”
Here we go again. I would’ve never admitted out loud how his words made me feel, but they did make me feel a particular way.
I arched into his touch, my ass pressing against something that was growing increasingly harder. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” I murmured, reaching back to tangle my fingers in his hair.
He chuckled — I felt his chest move against my back. “I believe that saying goes differently.”
“Not with me,” I said, grinding my ass against his crotch.
He let out a muffled groan, then stepped back and slapped my ass. “Go. Take your shower. I’ll make you coffee.”
The sting of his palm lingered as I stepped under the rainfall shower head, hot water sluicing over my skin. The steam wrapped around me, almost too thick to breathe through. I tilted my head back, letting the water soak my hair, my fingers tracing the path his hands had just taken.
The bathroom door closed with a soft thud at the same time as I reached for the shampoo, which meant he’d lingered there, watching me.
I smirked to myself as I squeezed the creamy shampoo in my palm. It smelled like him — like sweet argan and musk.
It didn’t take me too long to wash. I was out in less than ten minutes, drying myself off in a crimson towel that I left in the hamper — not bothering myself with it as I walked out.
The only sound in the penthouse was the whir of the espresso machine.
Cross stood in the kitchen, his back to me, the muscles shifting under his skin as he moved.
The counter was already set with two mugs, a carton of half-and-half, and a bowl of sugar cubes.
He didn’t turn around when I walked in, but his voice cut through the silence.
“Black, two sugars. Right?”
“Good guess,” I replied, shaking the water out of my hair.
“Not a guess,” he muttered and froze when I pressed my naked body to his, his breath getting lost somewhere in his chest. He reached back, finding my waist. The espresso machine kept humming, spitting bitter steam into the air around us.
I pressed harder against him, my hand finding the front of his sweatpants and the growing bulge.
My eyes trailed to the balcony door as my hand got under the waistband and wrapped around his semi-hard dick. I felt the piercing against my thumb, and the more I rubbed it, the harder he got in my hand.
“Got your phone at the ready, cameraman?” I asked and pressed my lips against his tattooed back. There was a huge cross inked as a centerpiece and smaller, gothic decorative things woven around it. I wondered, briefly, how much it had hurt to get it.
Cross exhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s on the counter.” His voice was thick, the words barely more than a growl as he reached blindly behind him, around me, fingers brushing my thigh before he grabbed the phone. The screen lit up with a swipe of his thumb, the camera app already open.
I didn’t let go of him as I guided him toward the balcony.
It was already hot outside, and so humid that I started sweating the moment the air touched me. But I figured the sweat would work in our favor — it always looked good on camera. Besides, the breeze from the Mississippi made the heat somewhat tolerable.
“Now that’s a view,” I commented.
The city was still quiet — asleep this early on a Sunday morning. From the balcony, New Orleans looked like someone had pressed pause on a retro film — no cars, no bodies on the sidewalks, just rows of motionless apartments and dark office windows.
I walked around Cross, so I’d be facing him, and pushed down his sweatpants. He was rock hard and mouthwatering, the head flushed, a bead of pre-cum welling at the tip. And the piercing — oh God, the piercing — it glinted in the morning light and looked so damn suckable.
I swiped the pre-cum away with my thumb, bringing it to my lips and licked it clean with a slow drag of my tongue.
Cross exhaled through his nose, his grip on the phone becoming white-knuckle hard.
I smirked and turned against the railing, leaning against the metal as I arched my back. Luckily, I was not afraid of heights because the ground from up here looked very far away.
“Remember, this video is for you,” I said, pulling my hair to the side so he would have a better view of my back and my ass by extension. “You can come in me, rockstar. In fact, that’s preferable. Be as rough as you want.”
He let out a low cross-breed between a laugh and a groan. The phone stayed steady in his hand, but I could see the way his breathing sped up when I glanced back at him over my shoulder.
“Fuck, Mary,” he breathed. “We’re really filming this?”
“That’s the deal.” I wiggled my ass for him and the camera. “No penetration unless you’re filming.”
He didn’t need more encouragement. One big hand gripped my hip while the other held the phone higher, angling it to catch everything. The city stretched out below us — office towers and muted neon signage glaring from every direction, each window a tiny, anonymous observer.
His pierced cock dragged slowly up and down my pussy, teasing my clit with the smooth barbell. Every pass made me shiver.
“Spread your legs a little wider, baby,” he said, voice rough. “Let the camera see how wet you are for me.”
I obeyed, widening my stance. He groaned at the sight.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he murmured, almost to himself, sliding a finger up and down my lips, spreading the slickness. “She’s fucking perfect…” He pushed two fingers inside me without warning, making me gasp as he curled them.
Then suddenly his fingers were gone, replaced by the blunt, heavy head of his cock.
The first inch slid in with a slow burn, the stretch making my breath all wonky.
Here, then gone, then breaking in half, when he moved another half inch.
The piercing dragged somewhere inside me, sending an odd tingle straight to my clit, making my knees weak.
“Oh my fucking God…” I gasped, lowering my head over the railing.
Cross groaned, his hand tightening on my hip. “You feel—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale as I rocked back, taking another inch. The phone was still recording, the lens capturing every dirty detail.
The metal railing bit into my palms as I pushed back, taking more of him until my thighs trembled. The early morning blurred the edges of everything — the same way my vision blurred when he bottomed out inside me, his hips flush against my ass.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, his voice rough with something raw. The phone’s lens caught the way his fingers dug into my skin, the way my body arched for him.
I moved my hips forth, then rocked back, testing the stretch, and he moaned, his free hand sliding up my spine to tangle in my wet hair. He moved his hips, pairing it with the pull of my hair each time he thrust forward.
“Harder,” I demanded, sweat slicking my skin. “Fuck me like one of your groupies.”
Cross let out a sharp laugh. “Groupies don’t talk back,” he growled, yanking my head back.
I arched into the pain, into the stretch of him filling me, the piercing inside me — moving.
“Then fuck me like I’m yours,” I panted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The railing dug into my ribs almost unbearably.
The city below was still asleep, oblivious, but up here, the world had narrowed to the wet sound of skin on skin.
His grip on my hair tightened, and for a second, I thought he might actually snap — pull too hard, shove too deep, do something reckless. But then his free hand slid around my waist, fingers finding my clit. He rubbed it, slowly, teasing me, before pinching hard enough to make my vision white out.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a rasp against my ear. The phone’s lens was inches from my face now, capturing the way my lips parted, the way my eyes fluttered shut when he rolled his hips.
“I’m yours,” I moaned. And I didn’t just say it because it sounded hot, though it did sound extremely hot.
The words hung in the thick air between us, heavier than the humidity clinging to my skin. Cross stilled behind me, his breath ragged against my neck. I heard the clatter of the phone as he tossed it over the patio chair.
I ground my hips against him, trying to tease him into motion, but before I could finish a full circle, his cock slammed into me so hard I cried out. His hand left my hip, sliding up to wrap around my throat. He pulled me up against his body, holding me pinned against him.
“Again,” he growled against my ear. His other arm banded across my waist, fingers splayed over my stomach.
“I’m yours,” I gasped.
A rough sound tore out of him. Then he started fucking me like he’d lost control.
Hard. With thrusts that lifted me onto my toes.
“Fuck— Mary—” His voice was wrecked. “You have no idea what you just did.”
Oh, I had some idea.
All those filthy midnight texts when he was half-drunk, sent under the handle of SaintCross69, told me enough about the kind of man he was.
Obsessive, generous… and alone. That was generally the way it went with all famous people.
I suspected that under all that ego, he just wanted to be loved. I could give him that fantasy.
He suddenly pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the wide railing like I weighed nothing. My back arched over the terrifying drop as he shoved my legs open and thrust back inside in one violent stroke.
I wrapped my arms around him, my mouth next to his ear. “Just like that, baby,” I cooed, running my hand in his hair. “You’re fucking me so, so well…”
Cross made a broken sound against my neck — half growl, half surrender — and drove into me harder, if that was even possible. The railing creaked under my ass, and for a moment I feared I might go over. My legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper.
“Fuck…” I tugged at his hair, feeling the pleasure building, and moaned against his neck. “I’m coming— I—"
Cross groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, the piercing rubbing against me in a way that made my vision swim. His fingers dug into my thighs, and then he was coming with a rough curse, his cock pulsing deep inside me.
His forehead pressed against mine, his chest heaving as he fought to steady himself. Our breaths came in labored gasps, and for a split second, I thought I might just pass out. His hands slid up my back, fingers tangling in my damp hair. I could feel his cum already dripping down my thigh.
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
“Think we woke up the neighbors?” I asked, my breathing still fast.
Cross let out a breathless laugh. “If we didn’t, they’re deaf.” His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly before he leaned in to kiss me.
Oh, boy. The things that mouth did to me. I couldn’t understand how one man — a man! — could make me feel this… unsteady. What backwoods voodoo was this?
When he finally pulled out, and the rest of his cum trickled down my thigh, I was properly breathless again. And then—
I felt his fingers on my pussy, spreading me open, moving back to watch the cum drip down onto the tiled floor. “Such a filthy girl.”
Me? Filthy? It’s you who’s—
Suddenly, he was on one knee, his mouth hot against my cunt, lapping up his own cum.
“Oh—” I gasped, and my fingers knotted in his hair as his tongue dragged over me. The piercing in his tongue caught against my clit, and I jerked.
“Too much,” I whimpered, trying to push him away even as my hips rocked forward.
He didn’t stop. His hands gripped my ass, holding me in place as he worked his tongue inside me, groaning like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted. I was so sensitive after the orgasm, I couldn’t tell if it hurt or felt good or both.
“Cross—please—”
He pulled back finally, lips glistening, and looked up at me with dark, satisfied eyes. “Couldn’t help myself.” He pressed one last kiss to my inner thigh before standing, his hands sliding up my sides. “You taste too fucking good.”
I was still trembling when he lifted me off the railing, my legs unsteady as my feet touched the tile. The morning sun was higher now, painting the balcony in shades of gold and pink. Somewhere in the distance, church bells started ringing.
“Sunday morning,” I murmured, leaning against him because my knees weren’t quite working yet. “Shouldn’t you be in church?” I teased.
“Pretty sure what we just did guarantees I’m going to hell.” He reached for his phone on the chair, where the recording was still going, and tapped the stop button. “You sure this is for me?”
I looked at the phone. “Positive.”
What I had in mind for OnlyFans would require a whole lot more stretching beforehand.