Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3)

by Elizabeth Hartey

  Chapter Thirty

  Heaven

  I awake to the smell of deliciousness. For a moment I forget where I am and how I got here. When I roll onto my back, the twinge between my legs reminds me.

  “Mmm, D.” Remembering last night’s sex marathon flushes me in heat from head to toe. I revel in memories: D’s hard body pressed against mine, his glorious tongue and huge sex pushing into me, marking me as his. “Mmmm,” I repeat, with a catlike stretch.

  “Hey, kitten. Hope you’re hungry and that sound means my attempt at breakfast smells good enough to eat.” D is standing in the doorway leaning against the frame. He’s wearing loose sweatpants, which hang low on his trim hips, no shirt. The lovely vee-shape lines where his abs meet his hip flexors are taunting me as they point down to the most magnificent penis in the world—at least, I think it is. I’m somewhat lacking in comparative research. No. It has to be the most magnificent. There couldn’t possibly be a better one. D’s arms are crossed over his chest, accentuating their size and girth. Maybe he can spoon feed me because I may never get out of this bed again. Food, water, and D. What else could a girl ask for? On second thought, who needs food?

  “Good morning.” I roll onto my side to face him and prop my head on my hand. “Hey, D. You know what I was thinking?”

  He saunters toward me and sits down on the edge of the bed. “What’s that, Gorgeous?” He strokes my hair off my face.

  “Remember when you said you wanted my opinion on the color you painted the condo?” I chew on my lip for a second.

  “It was last night, Pip. I haven’t had that many concussions. I remember.” When I don’t say anything, he asks, “What? You don’t like it?”

  “No. It’s great. Very clean. Very contemporary.” I chew on my lip again.

  He must sense my hesitation when he glances around the room and asks, “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Well…you do realize the walls are all white, right? Every room…white.” I wrinkle my face in an I’m-so-sorry-to-tell-you-this gesture. Maybe he’s color blind.

  “What?” He chuckles. “No, they’re not. Stop kidding around, Pip. Our food is getting cold.”

  “D.” To make sure he can hear me, clearly, I sit up, pulling the covers around my chin. “Every room is white. I mean, I like it. It looks good with your black and gray décor.”

  “Pippa.” He shakes his head in exasperation. “The woman at the paint store helped me pick it out. It’s called Misty Storm or Stormy Mist or some shit like that. She even offered to come over and make sure it matched my furniture. Why would she offer that if it was white? White matches everything.”

  “Hmm. How old was this woman?” I ask while trying to keep a straight face.

  “I don’t know. Twenty, thirty. I didn’t ask to see her ID while I was buying paint.”

  “And did you let her come over…to match your paint?”

  “No. I didn’t have time. I had practice. But she wrote her number down on the receipt if I wasn’t happy with the color. Why? You want to talk to her?” Men are such simple creatures, aren’t they?

  “The paint is white.” I push him off the bed with my feet and stand up. “Now, could I have another shirt, please, since you shredded the one I was wearing last night? And then let’s go eat. It smells delish and I’m starving. I seem to have worked up an appetite last night.” I grin and flutter my lashes at him.

  He throws me back onto the bed and stretches out over me. “You little smart ass. I’m starving too, and there’s something else around here that’s delish and good enough to eat.” He kisses down my neck.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” I push on his shoulders. “Not until you feed me. It’s the rules,” I tease him.

  “I think the rules are dinner first, babe.” He chuckles and brushes the tip of his nose across mine. “But we broke all those rules big time last night.”

  “Then you can at least feed me the morning after Walk of Shame Breakfast.”

  “No deal. There will be no walk of shame anything around here. But I do intend on feeding you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, while I snack on some sweetness in between.”

  “Is that right?” I slide my hands into his pants, grip his ass, and squeeze—as best I can since it’s not easy to squeeze hard muscle. He rolls his hips into me. I’m the one who ends up moaning and arching into his thickening shaft. He responds with a devious chuckle.

  “Oooh. You do realize you can’t hold me captive here? I have to go home at some point today,” I pant out the meager rejection while my hips are practically screaming ‘keep me here forever.’

  “Why? My pantry is well-stocked. We have everything we need to survive here for months.” He rubs his palm over my boob and then teases the puckered nipple between his fingers. I know there are a million logical reasons why we can’t stay here for months, but, I can’t seem to think one rational thought.

  “You do not play fair, Wolfe. You know I can’t think straight while you’re feeling me up.” I look down and watch him lavish my girls with kissing, licking, and sucking. My head tilts back, and my eyes flutter closed.

  “Okay. You win,” I mumble in blissful senselessness. “I’ll give up my PT career, and you can give up your hockey contract. We’ll live off sex forever.”

  He pulls his mouth off my tit with a pop. “Way to kill the mood, Andersen, with that smart, practical brain I like so much.” He gets up and walks across the room to his dresser, leaving me frustrated and panting.

  “So, it’s my brain you like me for?” I grumble while my body continues to swoon.

  “Of course. What kinda guy do you take me for?” He throws a t-shirt as he walks back toward the bed and it lands across my chest. “Did you think I only loved you for those perfect, plump, kissable lips?” He bends over me and kisses my lips. “Or those gorgeous round, lickable tits?” He drags the shirt across my chest. The friction causes my already sensitive nipples to pucker further. D licks at one hard peak and then the other. “Or maybe you thought I only liked you for this warm, tight little cunt.” He slides a finger into me where I’m once again dripping with need for him.

  “Mmm,” he hums. “You might be right. This sweet pussy is right up there with your brain when it comes to all the reasons I like you.” He tugs me up into a seated position. “Now put the shirt on, Gorgeous, and let’s eat breakfast so I can spend the rest of the day fucking you on every surface in this enormous condo.”

  I finally manage to stand my speechless, befuddled-self up. When I have the shirt halfway over my head, my arms tangled in the sleeves, D gives me a light smack across the ass. I jump and let out a yelp.

  “Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that round, fuckable ass.” He grabs one cheek. His fingers have no problem sinking into my soft flesh. I pull the shirt down over my head. “Nobody has an ass like this.” He licks his lips and kneads my ass cheek.

  “You are the devil, Damon Wolfe.” I shake my finger at him.

  “And you’re my Heavenly angel.” His mouth tips up in a sly grin.

  “Nevertheless, there’s only one reason I like you.” I grab his swollen shaft through his pants. He blows out a breath at the unexpected invading touch. “It’s this long. Thick. Fuckable. Cock.” I follow up each adjective with slow strokes up and down.

  “Fuck, Pip,” he groans and pushes his fabric-covered erection into my palm.

  “Now let’s eat so I can have my way with you.” I smirk and sashay my way out of the room, swaying my hips as I go.

  “Ahh. Fuck,” he moans behind me. I can only imagine the way he must be adjusting his disgruntled penis. A satisfied grin crosses my face as I make my way to D’s restaurant-equipped kitchen.

  “You little minx,” he calls out with a laugh. “I’m going to have to fuck you even harder today to teach you a lesson.”

  “Promises, promises,” I call back.

  ***

  “My kingdom for a coffee,” I groan as I look around the high-tech, stainless-steel appointed kitchen for
a simple coffeemaker. Every appliance is commercial grade, and there are double everything: two six-burner stoves, two enormous ovens, and a walk-in refrigerator. Seriously? Who needs a walk-in refrigerator unless they’re preparing state dinners? Wait. I misspoke. There’s a regular built-in refrigerator as well. A regular, double-wide built-in refrigerator. This kitchen is insane.

  There’s something delicious smelling warming on one of the million-dollar stovetops. Maybe the stove cooked the food all by itself. Because if I had a kitchen this high-tech I’d expect it to robotically whip up meals—Jetson-style.

  “Is Cappuccino okay?” D walks in behind me. I take a quick glance over at him to assess his current situation. It looks like he’s got the over-excited-penis-thing worked out.

  “Cappuccino sounds amazing. Did you order out?”

  “Nah.” He crosses the room and turns on another stainless-steel contraption which has about a thousand knobs and several tube things. “Batt insisted I needed one of these frou-frou things when he was staying here,” he yells over the loud grinding noise. Apparently, the space-age looking thing grinds the coffee beans before brewing them.

  “It makes espresso, Cappuccino, and even regular old coffee. He said he couldn’t drink the swill coming from my Keurig. I thought he went out to buy a simple brewing coffeepot and he comes back with this shit.” He waves his hand at the machine and blows out a breath.

  “He even ordered me a case of organic coffee beans. I swear to God the pain in the ass has one too many X chromosomes.” D chuckles as he works the device like an experienced barista. Steamed milk and a cinnamon sprinkle later, he hands me a perfect Cappuccino with a frothy heart swirled on the top.

  “This is beautiful. Almost too pretty to drink.” I stare down at the cup and try to keep my puerile heart from reading too much into the frothy artwork.

  “Go ahead. Taste it. I used cashew milk.” I take a sip and moan at the warm lusciousness. “My little moaner. I’m already an expert at your moans.” D smirks. “I’d say that means you like it.”

  “I am not a moaner,” I protest. D stares at my mouth as I lick the foam from my top lip.

  He takes the cup from my hands, places it on the island, and tugs me into his arms.

  “Oh, you’re a moaner and a whimperer.” He traces my lips with his tongue. “And a screamer.” He nibbles my bottom lip. “And a little wildcat when you’re coming.”

  Right on cue, I whimper, and he laughs. “See?” He grabs my ass and kneads it. “Now let’s eat this mediocre food I’ve prepared so I can get back to making you scream my name.” Once again, he leaves me in a dizzy haze as he releases me and turns to the stove to flip the warming omelet.

  “Can I help?”

  “Nope. All done. Have a seat. I’ll serve you.”

  I sit at the granite island, which is roughly the length of a football field. There are twelve stools along one side. It occurs to me this condo is either designed for a huge family, a boutique hotel, or a guy who intended on doing a lot of entertaining. I wonder how many other women he’s entertained here. I clutch my hands around the coffee mug at the thought and sip at the silky, warm comfort.

  D serves me a plate piled high with a veggie omelet and bacon. Vegan bacon.

  “Wow. A girl could get used to service like this.” I chomp down on a healthy bite of omelet. “This is delicious. And you made vegan bacon.”

  “Trying some new things.” D quirks a brow as he scoots in next to me with his full plate.

  “I don’t get it. The guys always said you were a disaster in the kitchen when you were in college.”

  “I didn’t have any interest when I was in school,” he explains while eating. “Anyway, Batt’s a gourmet cook. He prepared meals for us almost every day. Now that I live alone it’s time to learn how to adult.”

  “A man who can cook has so many other interesting talents and claims to be here to serve me.” I let out an over-exaggerated sigh. “I may just have to keep you, Hockey Jock.”

  “Oh, you’re stuck with me now, Pip-squeak. I can’t promise the cooking will always be good, but the other talents are all yours.”

  Okay. This is definitely no hit and run. D sounds as if he wants to give this, whatever it is, a long-term try.

  “How did you learn to cook?” I ask in between forkfuls and hopeful thoughts.

  “Anyone can cook if they really want to. If you can read, you can cook. Follow the directions. No big deal. And Batt taught me a few tricks when he came to stay with me after we…I mean…” He stops mid-sentence and slides his food around his plate. “Batt stayed with me for a little while after Dak’s wedding.” He glances over and shrugs.

  “Really? You must be special. I thought Batt never took off. He didn’t even take off when we all went on the ski trip to Big Bear. How did you manage to get him to agree to that?”

  Batt never, ever, takes off. Everyone knows that. I don’t think he would take off if he severed a limb. He’d tell the doctors to stitch it on fast because he has to get back to the studio.

  “It was his idea. He thought I needed…I mean…he wanted to see my new place.” D offers a reticent explanation for Batt’s visit.

  Hmm. Maybe D needed some brotherly comforting after we parted on not so good terms. Or perhaps I’m reading too much into a simple visit from his brother. Either way, I need to tell him what happened that weekend. I can’t keep it from him if we’re going to have a relationship built on honesty and trust.

  “D…about that weekend. I need to tell you something. The reason I…”

  “It’s okay, Pip. I get it. I understand why you were angry. I behaved like a complete jackass at the reception. And I should have never done what I did the night before when you were feeling your alcohol. I don’t blame you for not wanting to ride home with me.” When he looks up at me from under his dark lashes, for a moment I see the hurt little boy in those beseeching eyes, rather than the hard-edged man. “But if it’s all right with you, I don’t want to talk about it right now. I just want to move on from my moronic behavior and enjoy this day together. I can’t promise I’ll never behave like a moron again, but I finally have you here with me. I don’t want to dwell on all the stupid things I’ve done in the past. Okay?”

  “I…okay.” I shrug. His heartfelt sincerity dissolves my determination to tell him what actually happened. The behavior he’s apologizing for is trivial compared to what he’s doesn’t remember. I’ll have to tell him eventually, but I don’t want to ruin this day either.

  “It must have been nice to spend time with Batt.” I change the subject while finishing off the omelet on my dish. “In college you guys were all together every day, playing hockey, living together, hanging out. I wish we could all spend more time together. Everyone’s so busy adulting these days.”

  “Yeah. I miss being with my bros.” He brings his plate to the sink and scrapes food remnants off into the disposal. “But right now,” he comes back, picks up my empty plate, and dumps it in the sink. No scraping required from my dish. I can eat my weight in food. And I usually do.

  Pulling my chair away from the island, D finishes his thought, “I have a great big sunken bathtub complete with a hundred massaging jets which has your name on it.”

  “D, I told you. I can’t spend the entire day lounging around your house.”

  “Why not?” He bends down and nibbles my earlobe. “It’s Sunday Funday. And I know all kinds of fun we can have together.” He licks just under my ear and dammit, I whimper again. My head drops back against his shoulder.

  “Um…well…” For Pete’s sake. I can’t get my brain to function when he’s touching me. He continues to trail kisses down my neck and then pushes the t-shirt off my shoulder and nibbles and kisses there. Shirt. Clothes. That’s it! “For one thing, I don’t have any clean clothes here.”

  “Sweetheart.” The corners of his mouth tip up in a roguish grin. “You’re not going to need any clothes for the kind of fun I have in mind.” He nips at my
neck.

  “Mmm…well…Sheldon has to go out and they all need to be fed and…”

  “I’ll get someone to go over and take care of the fur babies,” he whispers against my skin.

  “You do not play fair. I have classes bright and early tomorrow. And don’t you have a road trip coming up this week?” I half-heartedly protest as he continues to lavish my neck and shoulder with attention.

  “I was thinking,” he stops kissing and nibbling me and sits down next to me, “you should come with me.” He strokes up and down my thigh. I love how he can’t seem to stop touching me. But the way my brain shuts down and my body responds to his touch is not helpful when trying to have a sensible conversation.

  “Come with you where?” My mutinous legs open wide with an automatic invitation to come right in.

  “On the road trip. Four different cities. I can get you a suite in the hotels we’re staying in. I’m not ready to leave you for a whole week.” He strokes higher, causing the all too familiar clenching my V-Jay does whenever he touches me—or looks at me, or breathes on me, or, hell, whenever he’s within a hundred-mile vicinity. She seems to be her own personal Wolfe-radar-tracking device.

  I clamp my wanton legs together. “I can’t go on your road trip. I have a full schedule of classes next week leading up to my interning at the Acute Care Center. Besides, you’re just coming off the DL. I don’t think Coach Donnelly would be too happy about the distraction.”

  He blows out an exasperated breath. “Okay. Fine. My levelheaded, sensible, delusion-shattering Pip-squeak.” He hops up and sweeps me off my chair. “Then you’re spending the whole day as my prisoner here. I’ll take you home in time to get a good night’s rest.”

  He carries me into the en-suite bathroom—which is almost as big as his four-hundred square foot bedroom—and stands me up in front of the double, black marble vanity. In the middle of the room is a rectangular, black sunken bathtub the size of a small pool. As D promised, it has hundreds of shiny chrome jets.