Page 241 of Cross Checked
He switched to my other breast, giving it the same devastating attention, sucking and laving until I was whimpering, a continuous, needy sound. The kitchen light hummed above us, casting our tangled shadows against the far wall.
“I need more,” I panted. “Please, Cade.”
He straightened, his lips swollen, his eyes glazed with lust. He didn’t speak, just hooked his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and the cotton panties beneath them, and began to slowly, carefully, peel them down my legs. Every brush of his knuckles against my inner thighs sent shivers through me. He knelt on the kitchen floor to slide them the rest of the way off, tossing them aside with my other clothes.
Now I was completely bare, sitting on the cold granite countertop, exposed under the bright kitchen lights. A flush of self-consciousness tried to rise, but the way he looked at me, kneeling there between my spread legs, blew it away. He looked wrecked. Awed.
His hands slid up my calves, my knees, settling on my thighs. He pushed them wider, his gaze dropping to my pussy.
“Look at you,” he said roughly. “Picking fights, ignoring medical advice, driving me insane, and somehow still so fucking pretty I can’t think straight.”
Then he leaned forward and licked a slow, firm stripe right through the lips of my pussy.
“Ah! Oh, shit!” I jolted, a shockwave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain radiating out from where his mouth touched me. My hands slapped against the countertop for balance.
He didn’t let up. He ate me like a man starved, his mouth hot and demanding, his tongue circling my clit before dipping inside me, fucking me with slow, deep strokes. The sounds were obscene—wet, sucking noises, his low groans, my shattered cries echoing in the quiet kitchen—and I hoped everyone in this house was asleep or had AirPods in.
“Cade, oh, oh, right there, please!” I babbled, my hips trying to rock against his face, but his hands on my thighs held me firmly, gently, in place. The dual sensation—the ruthless, skilled pleasure of his mouth and the tender, restraining grip of his hands—drove me out of my mind. The coil in my belly tightened impossibly fast, a consequence of pent-up need.
“I’m gonna… I can’t…” I sobbed, my fingers clutching at his hair.
He hummed against me, the vibration pushing me right to the edge. Then he pulled back, breathing hard, his chin glistening. “Not yet,” he growled. “I wanna be inside you when you come.”
Before I could protest the loss, he surged to his feet, fumbling with the drawstring on his pants. He shoved them down just enough to free himself, and my mouth went dry at the sight. He was thick, hard, the tip already slick. He braced one hand on the counter next to my hip, the other guiding himself to my entrance.
He paused, his eyes locking with mine. The intensity there was a physical force. “At the risk of being accused ofmedically supervising you again,” he said dryly, “this okay? You sure?”
“Yes.” I reached for him so fast it pulled at my ribs. “Before you talk yourself out of it, yes.”
He pushed in.
Slowly.
An excruciating, beautiful inch at a time, filling me so completely it stole the air from my lungs. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat as he seated himself fully, our bodies joined. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming. My inner muscles pulsed around him, adjusting, clinging.
“Bliss…” He exhaled hard and pressed his forehead against my shoulder. “I had a whole speech. It’s gone now.”
He began to move. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of him against every sensitive part of me. The counter was cold and hard beneath me, his body hot and hard over me, and the contrast was dizzying. Each thrust was measured, careful of my injuries, but no less powerful for it. He was everywhere. His smell filled my senses—sweat and cedar and him. The scratch of his stubble against my neck. The solid weight of him.
“Look at me.”
“Cade—”
“Look at me, Pip,” he rasped.
“I am.”
“Watch. This is what you picked a fight for.”
I forced my eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. The love and the lust and the sheer, wild possession I saw there shattered me.
“You’re mine,” he stated, punctuating each word with a deep, driving thrust. “Every. Part. Of. You. That bastard never touched this. This is mine.”
“I know,” I gasped, the truth of it cracking my voice. “I know, Cade.”
His control began to fray. His thrusts grew faster, harder, his rhythm becoming more urgent. The kitchen echoed with the sounds of our bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, his ragged pants, my high, desperate whines. The coil inside me, which had never fully unwound, snapped back tight with a vengeance.
“Cade, I’m gonna—”
