Chapter Fifteen #2
Cross started to the door, and she felt her stomach plummet. I take it back. I don’t want you to leave. But she wouldn’t ask him to stay. Maybe this was how it was all supposed to work out. Addison had said it herself, this was probably a mistake. Maybe he was thinking the same thing.
Cross grabbed the knob, but instead of walking out, he closed the door.
He circled the room, sliding off his cut and draping it over the back of the chair.
He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head.
This wasn’t the first time she’d seen his bare chest, but her internal response was the same.
Her blood heated, and butterflies swarmed her belly.
Bulging biceps, a sculpted chest leading down to his defined abs. This man should never wear a shirt.
In a move she hadn’t expected, he sat on the edge of her bed, unlaced his boots and pulled them off.
He still hadn’t said a word. When he stood, he reached for his belt buckle, unlatching it in one pull.
He lowered his zipper, dropping his jeans to his ankles.
He bent down, shucked them off, and kicked them toward the dresser.
Aside from his underwear, he was completely exposed.
He held out his arms. “Been cut by a knife more times than I can count. The one on the left was the deepest.” He lifted his arm, and she glanced down at the rippled, pink skin. “Spent four hours watching Ghost pick out glass shards, then another having him stitch me up.”
There were several raised scars scattered on his forearms and biceps but none deeper than the one he’d pointed out.”
“Is he a doctor?” she asked but kept her eyes locked on his scar.
“No. But the closest thing the club’s got to one.
Hate hospitals, so I leave it to Ghost to patch me up for everything.
” He lifted his arm over his head and slid his fingers over a patch of ruined skin.
“He wouldn’t do this one. Said a bullet wound was above his pay grade, so I had to go to the hospital. Bitched the whole way there.”
Cross got shot? Her mouth fell open.
“How…”
He cut her off before she could ask how it happened. Cross took a few steps toward her and gave her his back. “Shit ton of road rash. Look close and you can still see the pavement. Three fucking wipeouts and I got the reminder on me for life.”
She reached out, sliding her hand gently over his shoulder blade. Her gaze scanned over his back. With all his tattoos, most of the scars weren’t visible, but still…there were a lot. He turned around, and she dropped her arm to her side.
He angled his head, pointing to his cheek bone.
“This was what started it all when I was fourteen ’cause I thought it was a great idea to take out my dirt bike in the middle of the night with no helmet.
Flipped it and went face first into the curb.
” Cross snorted. “I got a lot of fucking scars, Addison.”
He grabbed her waist, but made no move to lift her shirt. “Showed you mine. Now show me yours.”
The sentiment was sweet, and she found herself almost overcome with emotion. But this was different. There was no explanation needed as to how she acquired her scar. They both knew it.
“I don’t want you to see it.”
“Why?”
“It’s ugly.” It was a lame excuse.
Cross smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah? Compared to my” —he cocked his brow— “pretty scars?”
That wasn’t her best argument. She inhaled a breath and spoke her truth.
“I don’t want you to stare at it.” And think of Knox. It was a vulnerable admission.
“Uh, baby—” His hands slipped up her shirt, spread over her breasts, and he slid the tip of his fingers over her nipples.
Addison gasped, and he leaned closer, brushing his lips over her ear. “Your shirt comes off, the last thing I’m gonna be looking at is your scar. Trust me on that.”
Her nipples beaded to tight points when he pinched them. Addison locked her thighs, trying to resist.
“Cross,” she whispered, but it came out as a plea.
He wrapped his arms around her back, picked her up, and carried her across the small room.
When her legs bumped against the mattress, Cross maneuvered her onto the bed.
He gripped the edge of her shirt, lifted it over her head, and immediately crawled over her body, forcing her to lay down.
Before her head hit the pillow, he dropped his mouth to her breast and sucked her nipple between his lips.
The strong pull had Addison arching her back and giving in to the sensation.
She closed her eyes, blindly driving her hand over his head.
His soft, thick hair threading through her fingers.
In her mind, she was slightly conscious of his careful attention to her breasts, purposely avoiding her scar.
He was sending a silent message. It only took a second for her mind to forget all about it.
He spread his mouth across her chest and took her other breast into his mouth, sliding his free hand down her stomach and into her leggings.
“Cross.” She moaned.
His finger strummed over her clit, teased her until she wiggled her legs, spreading them apart, and his finger dipped inside of her. She swiveled her hips and rode his hand, desperate for more. She fisted his hair, not even realizing the strength of her hold until he pulled back.
Cross pushed up on his knees, ripped down her leggings. She scissored her legs, whipping them across the room. Cross yanked off his underwear and without warning, sunk into her.
“Ahhh…” She moaned, reaching her arms around his back and hooking her legs around his thighs. He lowered his mouth, licking the seam of her lips.
“You feel so fucking good.” He groaned, thrusting inside her.
This felt different. It was more intimate.
Not only the sex but the closeness between them.
As if they’d broken down yet another barrier.
Her entire relationship with Cross had started with a wall.
Addison thought it was all him. But she’d had her own up.
They were slowly chipping away at each other’s.
He deepened the kiss. With each stroke, he dipped his tongue between her lips, mimicking his moves.
Addison would’ve been completely content having him over her until she was screaming his name.
Sometimes missionary was underrated. But Cross had other plans.
He pressed his hand on either side of her head and rose, pulling out, in the process.
She immediately felt the loss and instinctively turned toward him.
Cross grasped her hip and rolled Addison onto her side facing the wall. He hooked his arm under her thigh and looped it up and over his leg. In this position, she was completely open, but it gave him all the access.
He slid his cock inside her, resting his hand between her legs, teasing her clit. When she dropped her head into the crook of his neck, he thrusted deeper. She reached back, weaving her fingers through his hair, and his lips pressed against her shoulder.
Addison arched her back and pressed her ass against his hips. Cross’s sharp groan echoed through the room as he fucked her harder, caressing her clit until she screamed.
“Cross!”
Addison gasped, losing her breath. He trailed his fingers over her stomach and cupped her breast, tightening his hold as he jerked deep inside her body.
She may have reached her peak, but Addison wasn’t ready for it to be over.
She grabbed a fistful of his hair, and Cross grunted, pounding harder.
He squeezed her breast, and slammed against her, seating himself deep until his cocked pulsed.
The mattress dipped, and she could feel Cross relax against her back, sliding his lips over her shoulder, spreading small kisses.
His hand skimmed over her chest and he slowly slid his fingers in between her breasts over the length of her scar.
It was about eight inches long, starting near her collarbone.
Her doctors had been happy with her level of healing and the results.
“People suggested I should get a badass tattoo to cover it,” She muttered.
His hand stilled, and he tugged her onto her back.
“No.” His tone was deep and raw, his gaze hard but not threatening. She cupped his jaw, and he pressed his cheek into her palm. The moment felt intimate.
Cross bowed his head and his lips traced over her scar between her breasts. His shoulders bunched, and then tensed as he dropped his forehead to her stomach. “It’s perfect the way it is.”
I agree.
****
He could’ve stayed in bed with her all day.
A part of him wanted to. It was the polar opposite of how he was with women.
One, done, and get the fuck out. Cuddling was never part of his MO.
Talking wasn’t either, but they’d spent over an hour curled up in her bed, bullshitting.
Nothing deep, though she did push to know where he’d been last night after leaving her at the clubhouse.
Cross brushed it off, repeating what he’d initially told her about it being club business. But he knew she wasn’t buying it.
When he heard the toilet flush, he ripped off the covers and got dressed. If she came back in wearing just a T-shirt, he knew they’d be in bed all day. It was tempting. But he had another idea.
He was sitting on the bed and putting on his boots when she walked through the door. She moved off to the side and leaned against the wall.
“Leaving?”
He read through her faux indifferent tone.
He laced up his boots, got up from the bed, and stopped in front of her. “We both are. Put on jeans and bring a jacket.”
She scoffed. “Telling me how to dress now?”
He smiled, leaning in and kissing her.
“Yeah,” he muttered against her lips before breaking the kiss and walking out of the bedroom. “Meet me outside.
“Wait, Cross.”
He glanced over his shoulder as he walked down the hall. Addison’s head was poking out from her bedroom.
“Where are we going?”
He turned, walking backward. “You’ll see.” He pointed to her feet. “Wear boots if you got them.” He spun around, walked out the door, and over to his bike.
He rarely wore a helmet but always kept one in his saddlebag. It was a safety measure in case they crossed state lines to a place that required one by law. The last thing any of them needed was to get busted for a small infraction.
He bent down, retrieving the helmet. He would’ve preferred a full face for her, but it wasn’t an option. By the time he stood, she was heading toward him down the walkway and eyeing his bike. He mounted it.
“Get on.” He offered her the helmet, and she stepped back, holding up her hands.
“I don’t think so.”
Her gaze trailed over the length of the bike, and she shook her head.
He rested his arm on his leg, smirking. “You scared?”
“Very and I’ve got no shame admitting it.” She scoffed.
Really? Usually women were eager to get on the back of his bike. Not Addison.
“Gotta do things that scare you.”
“Clowns freak me out too. Can’t we just go to the circus?”
Cross laughed, shaking his head, and once again offered her the helmet.
“How about we take my car?” There was a desperate plea in her tone.
“No.”
She flattened her lips. “Well, then you take your bike, and I’ll follow you in my car.”
Cross chuckled. “No. Get on.”
She sighed. “A quick ride around the block?”
“The place we’re going is about an hour away.”
She whined softly which had him steeling his features in an effort to tamper down his amusement.
“I need to baby step this, Cross.”
“No, you don’t. C’mon.” He waved the helmet.
When she made no move to take it, Cross reached out, grasped her wrist, and pulled her closer. He placed the helmet in her hands, giving her no choice but to take it.
“Will you go really slow?”
Was she really that afraid? He could admit it had a risk of danger, but he wouldn’t be taking any chances with her on the back.
He smiled. “No. But I’ll be careful with you.”
She wasn’t fully convinced, so he added an element that he knew would get her on his motorcycle.
“You wanna know more about Knox, right? Let me show you what he loved the most.”
The ride. There was nothing on earth Knox loved more than riding his bike.
She narrowed her gaze. “That’s dirty, Cross.”
It was, and he had no shame. He took the helmet from her hands and put it on her head, strapping it snuggly.
“Hannah’s going to kill me,” she muttered.
He didn’t understand, and she didn’t elaborate. He pointed to the metal peg.
“Put your left foot on there, grab my shoulders, and swing your other leg over.” They were simple directions, but she hesitated as if she was about to perform brain surgery. Cross didn’t rush her. If this was what she needed, then he’d wait. He just wanted her on the back of his bike.