Chapter 11
Addison
Cruz Conley kisses like a starving man. Desperate, needy, insistent. We stumble across the threshold of my cabin, and somehow my legs end up wrapped around his waist, my arms around his neck, as he slams the door shut behind us.
My tongue tangles with his, my hands running up his neck and fisting his hair. He groans into my mouth, and I squeeze my legs tighter around him.
“Bedroom,” he breaks our kiss to murmurs against my lips.
“Behind me,” I breathe before recapturing his mouth with mine, causing him to groan.
He strides across the room, kicks my bedroom doorway open, and then steps inside, tossing me down on the bed. Propped up on my elbows, chest heaving, legs already spread wide, I stare up.
Cruz stands over me, backlit from the single lamp in the living room.
He’s wearing those same sweatpants I’d been eyeing in the kitchen.
Gray, sticking to his skin in all the right places—one in particular.
His eyes capture mine, in them a fire that feels familiar yet new.
He’s looked at me like this before. In anger, irritation, but maybe all along, it was something else.
He grabs the sides of his jean jacket, shrugging if off and tossing it aside, exposing a tight t-shirt overtop muscles so defined I almost whimper aloud. Next to go is his shirt, and then he leans over, bracing himself with fists on either side of me. Close enough to touch me, yet he doesn’t.
“You sure you wanna do this, Princess?” he whispers, and though he might be trying to seem calm and composed—in charge, in control—in this moment, I see him for what he truly is. A man desperate for something only I can give him.
“Cruz,” I breathe, reaching up to grasp his neck, squeezing just hard enough to pull him toward me. Surprise flashes in his eyes. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to make your next two months a living hell.”
A grin spreads across his face, and his eyes darken. “Whatever you say, Princess.” And while I still might hate that stupid name, I hate it a little less right about now.
Then, without warning, strong hands grip my waist and flip me over onto my stomach. I yelp in surprise, and then my breath hitches in my throat as I feel his hands roaming across the exposed skin between where my tank top ends and my shorts begin.
“You know it took everything in me not to fuck you in that kitchen, right?” he murmurs, his hands sliding lower, over my ass, squeezing. “Especially once you started yelling at me.”
“Why didn’t you?” I fire back.
“Health code violation,” he quips, and I giggle softly.
His hands continue their perusal, and then his fingers find the waistband of my shorts and slowly, slowly, he starts pulling them down.
He pulls them slowly down my legs, then tosses them aside and reaches for my underwear.
I glance over my shoulder, and our eyes meet as he slowly exposes me to the room, sinking to his knees and pressing kisses along my legs as he pulls my panties down them.
A moment of clarity hits me squarely in the face. Cruz Conely, on his knees, kissing my legs. We’re doing this. We’re about to do this.
And despite all the reasons not to, I can’t find one I care about right now.
I was sent here to get over my fear and come back better, but maybe I just needed to fuck a cowboy.
“You might not like the idea of being taken care of, Princess,” Cruz murmurs against my skin, his breath warm, “but please,” he presses his lips to my inner leg, “let me take care of you right now.”
Fuck.
Suddenly, Cruz grabs both of my legs and yanks me to the edge of the bed, and I yelp. I feel his fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs, my ass, exploring me closer and closer until …
A soft moan escapes me as his finger slides along my center.
“Addison,” he murmurs, and the sound nearly breaks me in half, “you’re already so wet.” Inserting a finger inside of me, he continues, “I’ve barely touched you, honey.”
I bury my face into the covers, feeling myself redden in embarrassment.
“So much for hating me.”
I look back at him. “I already told you I don’t.”
He smirks, that stupid smirk I hated at first that I’m now finding … tolerable. He slides another finger inside of me, and my mouth opens in a silent gasp. “Yeah, you definitely don’t hate me.” He curls his fingers downward, and I cry out, gripping the bedsheets.
“That’s a good girl.”
It’s humiliating, being praised by him, but I can’t help the fact that it makes me even wetter. And he’s aware of that, I know it.
He curls his fingers again, finding my g-spot, pressing hard and making slow, deliberate circles. I gasp, my hips bucking on their own accord, opening me obscenely and humiliatingly wider for him. But the worst part? I don’t even care.
I’d beg him for more if he asked me to.
He pumps his fingers in and out of me until I’m a whimpering, pathetic mess. Then he stands and takes a step back, pulling his sweats down and stepping out of them.
“Do you have a condom?” he asks.
I wrack my fuzzy brain, then remember. “My purse,” I say. “On the counter.” I don’t make it a habit to have sex with random men, but I do consider myself a prepared woman. Honestly, I’ve probably given them out to friends at the club more often than I’ve used them myself.
I flip back around, smoothing my hair as Cruz fumbles through my purse in the kitchen before returning, ripping the wrapper with his teeth. It’s then that I realize he’s fully naked—and my gaze travels downward.
My eyes widen. Holy shit, the cowboy is hung. I don’t realize my mouth is open until a deep chuckle pulls me back to reality. “Stop drooling, Princess.”
I shut my mouth, sucking in a breath through my nose. “I, um—I’ve never …”
I watch as he glides the condom over the tip of his penis and then down the shaft. I swallow. Will that even fit inside of me?
Cruz squats to a kneeling position in front of me, taking my face in both hands and kissing me.
The kiss is deep, slow, his tongue dancing with mine, and I find my fears melting away.
Still kissing me, his hands leave my face and find the skin of my waist, traveling upward, grabbing the hem of my tank and breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over my head and throw it aside.
He glances down at my heaving breasts, his lips parting ever so slightly.
Then he scoops his hands under my ass, lifting me up and tossing me backward on the bed a few feet.
He moves, crawling across the bed, hovering over me.
He presses kisses to my stomach, to my breasts, finding a nipple and sucking.
I arch my back, moaning softly.
He flicks my nipple with his tongue, then moves to the other breast and does the same. He kisses up my chest, my neck, and I can feel him positioning himself at my entrance.
My stomach dips—from both arousal and just a bit of nerves.
And then he’s pushing himself inside of me.
I gasp at the sensation of slowly being stretched. The pleasure, the pain, of feeling he can’t possibly go father—and then he does. “Holy … fuck, Cruz,” I mutter.
His thumb finds my nipple, drawing slow, lazy circles. “You can take it, Princess,” he murmurs against my ear. “Be a good girl, and take all of me.”
I whimper as I do as he says, surrendering to the feel of him stretching me wide open, pushing my limits, until he’s fully sheathed inside of me.
I didn’t think I could feel this full, this exposed, this fucked. Cruz leans up, his gaze catching mine and his thumb brushing across my cheek. “You okay?” he breathes, and I nod, even though it hurts just a bit.
But it’s the kind of hurt that has me begging for more—a delicious kind of hurt.
He presses his lips to mine and then starts slowly thrusting out and then in.
I moan into his mouth, unable to contain myself.
The pain, the pinch, slowly recedes, now replaced by sheer and utter pleasure—more intense than anything I’ve ever felt.
He establishes a rhythm, and I’m gasping as pleasure shoots through my entire body with each thrust.
Cruz sits up, grabbing and anchoring himself against my legs in order to pump faster, harder. I practically scream at the sensation, stars dancing before my eyes.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, running a free hand up my stomach, squeezing my breast. “Taking me so well.”
I arch my back, whimpering, all sense of dignity dead and gone.
“Doing such a good job.”
He slams into me, and I cry out.
“You take my cock so well, Princess.”
I fist the sheets on either side of me, gasping, whimpering, as the pleasure builds. “Oh my god, Cruz, I think I’m gonna …” My eyes fly open in shock. Never before have I come from penetration alone, but my body seems to be heading in that direction.
“You gonna come for me, Princess?” he asks. “Look at me while you do.”
I swallow, closing my eyes involuntarily as he delivers another thrust.
I feel his fingers grasp my jaw, roughly turning my head toward him, and I open my eyes.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I feel the wave building, and my eyelids flutter.
His grip on my jaw tightens. “Look. At. Me.” My gaze meets his, dark and commanding, and it’s the thing to push me over the edge.
I cry out, at his utter mercy as my orgasm crashes through me harder than any other has. I’m whimpering—no, sobbing—as my limbs shake and my pussy clenches around his cock.
Cruz keeps his hold on my jaw as he pumps into me, chasing his own release. And with a groan, he finds it, stilling inside of me. He breathes hard, leaning over me, his hand moving to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking slowly.
I bite my lip, staring up at him. His cock is still lodged inside of me, thick, pinning me down. He ducks his head to brush his lips softly against mine, and then he sits up, disentangling himself from me and striding from the room without a word.
I blink in surprise, watching him go. I pull the sheets up and around me, about to call out his name, when he reappears in the doorway, a glass of water in hand. He sits on the bed, extending his arm. “Water?” he offers.
I grasp it silently, taking a long, slow sip.
His hand finds my knee, the limb closest to him and not covered by the blanket.
He stares down at it as he draws slow circles with his thumb.
“I can go back to my cabin if you want, or …” His gaze flits up to mine, and gone is the commanding cowboy who just fucked me senseless and in his place is a man who seems … nervous? Hopeful?
“Stay,” I say quickly. I don’t know what it means about us or if it’s a good idea, but it’s what I want.
He smiles softly, relief flooding his features. “Whatever you say, Princess.”