3. Lola #2
His brows lift and I step inside. He doesn't move until I reach back and shut the door myself. Understanding arrives slowly across his face.
"This doesn't mean you've won anything," I tell him.
"I didn't know we were keeping score. And for the record, I'm still pissed at you."
"I'd be worried if you weren't."
I grab his shirt and kiss him before he can say anything else.
Cross lets me control it for about three seconds and then his arms close around me.
The kiss turns hot immediately and I drag his shirt over his head, breaking the kiss only long enough to get rid of it.
I've seen Cross shirtless before. It happens when you spend enough time around bikers who treat shirts as optional in summer.
But I've never allowed myself to look. He has a broad chest, tattoos over one shoulder and down his arm.
An old pale scar beneath his ribs. He watches me watching him.
"Problem?"
"Trying to find one."
"Take your time."
"Still an asshole."
His mouth curves. "You came back."
I kiss him to shut him up. His hands move over my waist and back, rough palms leaving heat everywhere they touch.
When his fingers catch the edge of my shirt, he stops.
Just long enough for me to lift my arms. After that, clothing becomes a problem we solve quickly.
Cross kisses me against the door, then across the few feet to his bed, and somewhere between the two I stop thinking about everything except the man touching me.
Years of wanting him while believing he couldn't stand me make every response feel sharper. His mouth moves down my throat, his hand slides along my thigh, and when his fingers find exactly where I need them, my breath breaks. Cross lifts his head and the satisfaction on his face pisses me off.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"My face likes being right."
I catch the back of his neck and drag him into another kiss and he laughs against my mouth. The sound disappears when I get my hand between us.
"Fuck, Lola."
That reaction is worth ten years of arguments. "Still feeling clever?"
"Not particularly."
"Good." I stroke him again and feel the last of his control pull tight. His hand closes over mine, slowing rather than stopping me. "You sure?"
I meet his eyes. "I'm naked in your bed with my hand on your dick. Work it out."
Cross's laugh is rough. "Fair enough." He kisses me again, and then his fingers return between my thighs with considerably less patience.
The pleasure builds quickly, too quickly, and I bite down on his shoulder when it hits, but he keeps his hand there until every shudder has worked its way through me.
When I finally open my eyes, he's watching me. "Don't look smug."
"Been waiting years for that. Give me a minute."
Something in my chest twists, so I solve the problem by pushing him onto his back and climbing over him. His hands settle on my hips.
"Better?"
"Much."
I lower myself onto him slowly, stopping when the stretch catches me. Cross immediately loosens his grip.
"Easy."
His thumb moves over my hip and I sink the rest of the way and watch his jaw lock. That feels like winning something. For a few moments, I control the pace. Cross lets me, his hands following the movement of my body instead of directing it. I lean down and bite the same shoulder again.
His restraint finally snaps and he rolls us, putting me beneath him in one smooth movement.
There is nothing soft about it, but nothing careless either.
Cross pays attention even while his control starts to go, changing the angle when my breathing changes, doing it again when my nails dig into his back.
I don't want tenderness tonight. I want the man who spent years refusing to touch me finally showing me what that restraint cost. So I meet him just as hard.
His mouth finds mine as the pressure winds tight again, and when I come this time, Cross follows moments later with his face buried against my neck and both arms locked around me.
For a while, neither of us moves. Eventually, Cross rolls onto his side and pulls me with him, not possessively enough to trap me, just close enough to make it clear he wants me there.
I stay even though nothing feels solved and that's almost a relief.
"We're not pretending that meant nothing," I say.
Cross looks at me. "Wasn't planning to."
"But it doesn't mean everything's suddenly fine either."
"I know that too."
"I still don't know what I'm doing here."
His expression shifts slightly. "I know that too."
There's something in the answer I don't like. "You think I'm going back."
"I think Cyrus is your father and Perdition has been your whole life. One night doesn't erase that."
It isn't an accusation and that bothers me more than if it were.
"You don't trust me."
"I trust that you saved my life."
"That's not the same thing."
"No."
I start to sit up and Cross catches my wrist, but there isn't enough pressure to stop me if I want to go.
"I've wanted you for years, Lola. Don't confuse me being careful with me not wanting this."
My anger falters.
"How much?"
His eyes hold mine.
"More than was smart."
Somebody knocks hard on the door and Cross closes his eyes. "Fuck."
Judge's voice comes through the wood. "Kane wants both of you. Now."
Cross is out of bed immediately and the change in him tells me this isn't about us.
"Cyrus?"
"Has to be."
"You don't know that."
He pulls on his jeans and looks at me. "Yeah. I do."
I dress quickly, the warmth of the last hour disappearing beneath something much colder. My father has finally decided what he wants from Kingdom Come.