Crossing the Line (The Cross Creek Series Book 2)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “Don’t stop. Please.” She ground against his hand to hammer the words home. But he didn’t need any encouragement, thrusting into her core with as much need as she had for him to fill it.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered, his strokes growing faster, harder, even more flawless. “Take it, beautiful. Take everything you need and come for me.”

  The words detonated deep in Scarlett’s body, triggering a release that flew through her in wave after hot wave. She arched up, her lower back bowing against the support of Eli’s forearm, her toes pressing into the carpet beneath them. He held her steady the whole time, his arms growing stronger as her knees weakened, and she rode out the pleasure with one last cry.

  Slowly, her senses recalibrated—the whispering rush of the air conditioning, the clutch of soft cotton between her fingers, the rapid rise and fall of Eli’s chest against hers. Eli drew back, an unspoken question flashing through his stare, but Scarlett answered it out loud.

  “Yes.” God, did that husky, honeyed voice belong to her? She lifted her chin, sliding her mouth over his before stepping toward his bedroom. “I’m still sure.”

  The three words were all he needed. Desire rebuilt in her belly, sparking stronger with every step as he led her over the carpet and down the narrow hallway. Not stopping until they’d crossed the shadowy threshold to his bedroom, Eli turned, his fingers finding her shoulder and tracing a slow line to her wrist. The gesture wasn’t overtly sexy; in fact, the barely there contact was actually almost sweet. But then he lifted her wrist to his mouth, his lips parting over the wild hammer of her pulse point, and that weak-in-the-knees feeling slammed back into her, full force.

  “Ohhh.” Scarlett shuddered out a sigh, surprised at the deep sensation that could come from a move so seemingly innocent.

  Eli trailed his mouth higher. “See?” he asked, shifting to press his mischievous smile against the sensitive spot of her inner elbow. “There are so many places I want to touch you.”

  “But I want to touch you, too.”

  Eli stilled, but now it was Scarlett who didn’t hesitate. Reaching out, she cupped the smooth skin on his hardened jawline. She stroked her way softly toward the curve of his ear until he shuddered, and a bright lick of desire unfolded inside of her at his reaction.

  “Don’t you see?” She stroked again, her breath growing heavier as he kissed higher up her arm in return. “I don’t just want to feel good, Eli. I want to feel you.”

  He moved all at once, reaching down to pull his T-shirt over his head in one swift yank before returning the favor with her top. They traded pieces of clothing until nothing stood between them but his dark-gray boxer briefs and her black lace bra and panties, and Scarlett’s pulse hammered faster at the sight of him in the moonlight slanting past the blinds. She’d known Eli had to be packing some serious musculature—the outline beneath his clothes as they’d worked side by side for the last two weeks had been indicator enough.

  But now that he stood nearly naked in front of her, she realized her imagination, as wild and vivid as it had been ever since Eli had kissed her in the horse barn, hadn’t done him justice. Shoulders chiseled like a Michelangelo gave way to a broad chest, the sun-bronzed, work-hardened expanse of his abs tapering to a deep “V” around his muscle-wrapped hips. His fully erect cock pressed a clear outline against the cotton of his boxer briefs, and sweet Jesus, Scarlett had never wanted anyone under her hands or inside her body so much.

  One look at the glint in his eyes told her the desire was mutual. “Come here,” he said, the two gruff syllables making her breath catch in her chest. His hands were on her the second she took the step, bracketing her rib cage and guiding her back until her legs hit his bed. The covers were rumpled but soft, and she slid between them, inhaling a scent that was part laundry line, part cedar, and part something uniquely Eli.

  “I’m still a man of my word.” Lying down beside her, he drew her face-to-face, his mouth brushing over hers. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Scarlett. I won’t rush through having you.”

  “Okay,” she said, a smile hooking at the corners of her lips, so decadent that Eli could probably taste it. “But I’m a woman of my word, too, cowboy. I want to touch you, and I’m done waiting.”

  They both pressed forward with equal measure, meeting in a hard, hot kiss. Eli explored every part of her, from the places she ached to the ones she’d never even thought of as erogenous, and Scarlett touched him in return—her fingers brushing his collarbone, his navel, the hard length between his legs. His kisses dropped from her mouth to her shoulder to her chest, his mouth hovering over the breast he’d cupped with one heavy palm.

  Yes. There. Right there. All of her need seemed suddenly focused in that one place, the slide of the feather-light lace on her sensitive skin and the provocative promise of Eli’s lips so close to her nipple making her desperate. At her needy exhale, he traced the tip of her lace-covered nipple with his tongue, making her fingers go tight over the spot where they rested at his hip.

  “Ah.” The noise drifting out of her was more moan than actual word. But rather than slow down or scale back, Eli repeated the ministration once, then again. And again, Scarlett exhaled, arching her back to seek out more contact. He gave it readily, reaching around to free the clasp on her bra, tugging the straps from her shoulders in the same move. His fingers cradled her breast, his lips closing over her nipple to lick and suck and taste, and the feel of his mouth on her bare skin sent sparks dancing through her field of vision.

  “Eli.” Scarlett meant to move, to go faster, to touch him, too. But oh God, oh God, she couldn’t do anything but slow down and feel every second of his touch. With a swirl of his tongue, he sucked her again, harder, then faster, then so softly she was sure she’d die or come or both. Testing the weight of her breast between callused fingers, he added the slightest graze of his teeth on her already-throbbing nipple.

  “You want more?” The cool air of his whisper sent another shot of lust pulsing through her core, and Scarlett didn’t think. Just spoke.

  “No.” The word stopped Eli cold, and she spoke quickly to reassure him. “I don’t want more, but I do want you.”

  Curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxer briefs, she lowered them in a decisive pull. His cock sprang free, and Scarlett’s heartbeat spiraled faster at the sight of his nakedness. She closed her fingers around him, his length hot and hard against her palm as she began to pump her hand in an up-and-down glide.

  “I want to feel exactly what I was just feeling, only I want to feel it with you inside of me. I don’t want more. I just want you. Right now.”

  A low curse tore past Eli’s lips, but God, she found it darkly sexy. He thrust in time with her movements, the flex of his muscles combining with the ragged sounds of his breathing to make her sex grow even slicker behind her panties. A push of her free hand had Eli on his back, and with a nimble shift of her weight, Scarlett was straddling his thighs. Her thoughts slowed, breaking through the lusty haze of endorphins as she realized she’d have to backtrack to his truck to get the stash of just-in-case condoms she always kept in her wristlet. She might be right-here, right-now with regard to every other aspect of having sex with him, but no matter how much she ached for Eli to fill the need that had once again become a demand deep between her legs, no way was she not taking five in the name of safety first.

  Thankfully, Eli turned her thoughts into reality. Reaching back to open the drawer of his nearby nightstand, he grabbed a condom, sheathing himself in a few seconds’ worth of careful motions. Scarlett propped herself higher on her knees, sliding from Eli’s body just long enough to take off her panties.

  “Eli.” Her clit pulsed along with her heartbeat, the delicate friction of her movements making her want to whimper as she returned to the frame of his hips. He looked at her, one lingering circuit that traveled from her eyes to her wet, waiting sex, and God, it turned her on more than any tease or touch.

  She eased back, the blunt h
ead of his erection nudging at her entrance. Slowly, Scarlett angled her hips to take more of him, the pressure sending tremors through her center to the pit of her belly and between every last one of her ribs.

  Eli groaned, and somehow the sound was reverent. He levered his hips to fill her in one final push. For just a breath, Scarlett was helpless to do anything but register the sensations rioting through her, each one growing hotter and more intense than the one before.

  Then Eli began to move, and she lost what little control she had over her thoughts.

  Wrapping his hands low around her waist, he lifted her body, just by an inch before lowering her back into place. Scarlett’s inner muscles clenched, her need deep and hot and endless. She adjusted her weight, pressing forward as Eli thrust, retreated, then thrust again. On an exhale, she caught his rhythm, leaning in even farther to grip the bedsheets on either side of his shoulders. Her hips canted back, and he pushed up against her even though he already filled her to the hilt.

  “Yes.” The word spilled out of her, the only thing she could manage. They moved together, Eli’s strong, wide hands holding her steady as he moved beneath her over and over. His breath grew sharper, his movements less smooth, and oh God, she wanted all of him.

  “Yes. Yes,” Scarlett said. Release built low in her belly, dancing just out of reach. But Eli heard her, offering her desperate need no quarter as he slipped his hand between the tight press of their bodies, his thumb circling her clit. Between the merciless strokes where they joined and the blunt pressure of his cock stretching her so completely, Scarlett was lost. She gasped as her orgasm took control of her, making her tremble and cry out.

  “Scarlett.” Her name, shaped by such ragged sounds, made her sex clench again. This time, Eli lifted her up nearly far enough to part their bodies before thrusting deep enough to steal her breath. He moved with nothing but sheer intensity, their hips meeting with a slap of flesh on flesh, until suddenly, he went completely rigid, then climaxed with a guttural moan.

  Everything slowed save Scarlett’s heartbeat. Her body went loose, and her joints became liquid as she dropped over Eli from shoulders to chest to the spot where they were still locked together. The brightness of her pleasure ebbed away bit by bit, slipping into the night like the moonlit shadows on Eli’s walls. After an amount of time she could only guess at—and probably poorly—he moved her carefully to his side and murmured a quick “be right back.”

  Scarlett’s thoughts rebooted in a series of breaths, and even though she knew she should get up, find her clothes, and start rummaging up something to say to keep them from the inevitably awkward small talk that almost always arrived post-sex, she couldn’t force herself to move.

  Nothing about this felt awkward.

  “Hey. You okay?” Eli asked, his words a soft rumble from the doorway. Although he’d paused to throw on a pair of shorts, his muscles still stood out in the low light, as nuanced and beautiful as if someone had drawn him.

  “Are you kidding?” She laughed, because honestly, she felt too fucking good to do anything but. “I just had two otherworldly orgasms, and got to watch you have one of your own. I’m pretty sure saying I’m okay would be the understatement of the freaking century.”

  His quick burst of laughter marked his surprise at her no-holds-barred truthfulness, and he slid under the covers next to her. “Otherworldly, huh?”

  “Mmm. I should’ve known that would go right to your head.”

  “Oh, it’s gonna go somewhere, alright. I just hope you weren’t planning on leaving this bed any time soon.”

  Eli kissed her just in time to capture her shock full-on with his mouth. “Seriously?” Scarlett asked. “You want me to stay?”

  His expression softened for a split second before his mischievous half smile took over. “The way I see it, we’ve got nearly seven hours before daybreak. Seems a damn shame to waste ’em apart when we could be doing something much more fun together.”

  The suggestion sent a pang through her belly that quickly headed south. “I like the way you think, cowboy.”

  “Oh, stick around, bumblebee,” Eli said, kissing her lips just once more before starting to move lower. “There’s plenty more good ideas where that came from.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Eli woke up in slow stages. Which wasn’t anything groundbreaking or even beyond the realm of completely normal. But the soft, warm body next to him definitely was out of the ordinary. The fact that said body belonged to Scarlett, who—oh by the way—was not only next to him but also as naked as the day she was born and holding his leather-bound, special-edition copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare in her bed-sheet-covered lap?

  Screw out of the ordinary. This was downright fucking insane.

  And judging by the curiosity in her shrewd, gorgeous stare, all his ugly truths were about to be right in the middle of it.

  “Uh,” Eli grunted, his heart pinballing off every last one of his ribs, even as he tried to cover his expression with a whole lot of nothing-doing. “Morning. It is morning, right?”

  “Oh hey.” Scarlett smiled through the soft glow of the hallway light, which she must’ve turned on at some point between when he’d finally drifted off a handful of hours ago and now. “It’s about a quarter to five, but I couldn’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No. I . . .” He trailed off. He didn’t regret any of the night he and Scarlett had spent together, not laughing with her over a few beers at The Bar, and certainly not the incendiary sex they’d had not once but twice after that. Not even the odd sense of calm he’d felt as she’d finally settled in at his side and fallen asleep had rattled him. But she was at Cross Creek to tell stories, the more personal, the better. If she found out his was the biggest doozy of them all . . .

  “We don’t have a whole ton of time before we have to leave for the farm. We should probably just go ahead and get moving.”

  “We should,” Scarlett said. Only she didn’t move from her spot beside him. Instead, she gestured to the book in her lap. “I didn’t mean to pry, but this was on your nightstand, along with two journalism textbooks, a writer’s notebook, and a pretty-well-loved copy of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. They’re kind of hard to miss.”

  Eli scraped in a breath. Smile. Cover. Don’t panic. “Doorstops,” he said, tacking a brittle grin over the lame excuse for an explanation.

  Of course, she didn’t buy it for a second. “You need two bookcases’ worth of doorstops for the three doors you have in this entire apartment?”

  Eli followed her gaze to the pair of low, stuffed-to-the-gills bookshelves lining the wall beside his bed, his gut doing its best impersonation of a corkscrew.

  You could tell her.

  The whisper came from some hidden place within him. Looking at Scarlett, with her platinum hair framing her face like an untamed halo and her green eyes that seemed not only to see everything but to get everything, Eli knew the voice wasn’t full of shit. He could tell her; hell, a part of him was goddamn dying to let loose with the words. His defenses hadn’t been finely honed for kicks, though, and they forced one shoulder up into a shrug.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  The sheet tucked around Scarlett’s body rustled softly as she turned, not away but closer toward him. “I’m a little torn here. I’d like to help you out if you need a sounding board, and my gut is telling me that you do . . . but you’re not talking. If you want me to back off—”

  “They’re mine. The books are mine. The journals, too. They’re . . .” Relief pumped through him, as palpable as any touch. “Mine. All of them.”

  “So you’re a writer?” she asked gently, and even though his brain told his mouth to form the words “you know what, forget I said anything,” his gut overrode every syllable.

  “You know the way you feel about photography? How you love it and want to be taking pictures no matter what?” At her nod, Eli continued. “Well, that’s how I feel about words. Writing, s
pecifically, but obviously reading, too. I just . . . when I’m writing about what’s going on around me, I feel more like myself than when I’m doing anything else. The words are just it for me.” He heard himself a half second later, and okay, yeah, he’d officially done a double gainer into a great big pool of crazysauce. “Which sounds like I should be hugging it out and getting in touch with my inner light, or whatever, and that sounds epically stupid, I know.”

  Scarlett folded her lips together, and if he had to guess, it was to hide the smile that had managed to sneak over her face anyway. “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

  But man, now that he’d popped the cork on his feelings, they wouldn’t stop flying out. “Maybe not to you.” Eli ran a hand over his crew cut, letting it rest on the back of his head before turning more fully toward her on the bed. “Photography is your passion, and it’s how you make your living. You travel all over the world, and you take pictures. You do what you love.”

  “Clearly, you write.” Scarlett gestured to the stack of journals lying on top of the bookshelf nearest to them, and irony pushed a laugh right out of him at her choice of words.

  “Not so clearly, I’m afraid.”

  Understanding dawned on her face. “Nobody knows.”

  Eli closed his eyes. Took a breath. And told her the balls-out truth.

  “I’ve loved writing since I was in high school. I spent four and a half years and all my savings getting my BA in journalism online, and I’ve written every last shred of copy for the farm’s marketing and advertising for the last eight seasons under a handful of different guises. But no. Nobody outside of this room knows that.”