Page 71 of Cross Checked
The question was so quiet it should have felt gentle.
It didn’t.
It felt like a match dragged over a fuse, and my answer came before shame, fear, or common sense could reach it.
“No.” The word left me breathless.
Cade’s whole body reacted to it. A subtle flex moved through his shoulders as he stroked that massive erection again with a sharp inhale and the smallest tilt of his head, like he had just heard something he wanted so badly it hurt.
“No?” he repeated.
I swallowed. “No.”
His mouth parted slightly, and for one second, he looked like he was fighting something inside himself bigger than both of us.
Then he said, “Then stand there and watch what you do to me.”
My pulse slammed so hard I felt it everywhere.
I should have run. I should have laughed it off, apologized again, closed the door, and spent the rest of my life pretending this had never happened.
But I didn’t move.
Cade held my stare as his fist settled back into motion, slow at first, controlled enough to feel deliberate. The room seemed to shrink around the sound of his breathing, the low music downstairs, and the blood rushing in my ears. He kept his eyes on me like looking away would be worse than anything else happening between us.
And holy fuck, I watched.
I watched the tension pull through his jaw when he began stroking again. Watched his free hand slide over his chest like he needed somewhere else to put the need as he fisted his cock. Watched his head tip back for half a second before his gaze came back to mine, darker than before.
“Do you have any idea,” he said, voice wrecked, “how hard that got me?”
I stood there holding his water bottle like an idiot, lips parted, body humming so violently I felt detached from it. “I…”
The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.
“You look drunk,” he said, his voice dropping another inch. “Fuck-drunk, and I haven’t even touched you.”
A shocked little laugh escaped me before I could stop it, and the sound did something to him.
His expression cracked for one second, heat breaking through the control, and a rough sound tore from his chest as his hand tightened impossibly against the smooth, veined line beneath the head of his cock.
I took one step into the room.
Cade’s eyes sharpened instantly. “Careful.”
I stopped.
“If you touch me,” he said, each word low and deliberate, “I’m touching you back.”
My whole body went molten. I folded my arms over my chest because I did not trust my hands.
His mouth curved then, strained and beautiful and devastating. “Fuck, you look good sweaty.”
My breath broke.
He heard it. I knew he heard it because his eyes flared, and whatever restraint he had left became visible in the hard line of his throat, the tension in his shoulders, the way his body seemed to hold itself back from crossing the room. He stayed where he was. Let me stand there. Let me choose to keep watching.
And I did.
