He smiled slowly and it was lethal. She felt the beauty of it like an arrow to her heart. “Well, yeah,” he said easily. Without elaborating, he moved on into the living room with his plate of food, immediately asking Nana questions about the show.
She stood in the kitchen a little longer, trying to regain her breath and composure and figure out just what the hell was happening here. Was Cruz Walsh . . . courting her? It didn’t seem possible. It certainly couldn’t be as simple as that. Not with their history . . . not with her family.
Carrying her plate of food, she joined them, sinking down on the couch beside Cruz. It was the only place to sit, but she was careful to keep space between them. Careful not to touch. They ate and watched the television. Well, she mostly just stared at the actors moving and talking.
At one point, her phone vibrated on the table beside the couch. It was from her sister.
Can you watch Noah tomorrow night? Douchebag backed out on his night with the kids and I already made plans. Can’t find anyone else. Dakota has plans, too.
Douchebag was her sister’s pet name for her ex-husband. She typed back. Sure.
Her sister was a pain in the ass, but she loved her nephew.
Setting her phone down, she noticed the episode was over and Nana was dozing in her chair. Cruz noticed, too. He moved swiftly, relieving Nana of her plate before it slid off her lap to the carpet.
Gabriella stood and gathered all three of their plates. “She ate well,” she commented. “I’ll have to get that baked ziti for her again. She loved it.” God. She was rambling, nervous as a schoolgirl.
She set the plates aside and roused her grandmother. “Nana, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
She roused groggily and reached for her cane, pushing up.
Gabriella escorted her into her bedroom. Not so much because her grandmother couldn’t get herself ready for bed, but because it gave her a reprieve from Cruz. He wasn’t going to follow them into Nana’s bedroom. The problem was that ten minutes later Nana was in bed and snoring, dead to the world, and then Gabriella had no choice but to go out there and face Cruz again—racing heart and libido and all.
Sucking in a breath, she reminded herself that she was a big girl. If she didn’t want to sleep with him, then she wouldn’t sleep with him . . . even if she wanted to. Gah.
All the dishes were gone from the living room, ostensibly gathered up by Cruz. Great. He was helpful, too.
She moved into the kitchen and started on the dishes, super aware that he was near the table, boxing up all the leftovers. He’d brought so much. They’d have leftovers for days.
They worked in silence. Once the last dish was put away, she turned to face him, wiping her hands dry on a dish towel. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Maybe tomorrow we can do this at my place. I can actually cook. Grill some steaks.”
She dragged in a deep breath. A man that cooked. She thought that was a unicorn. Cody could hardly boil water for pasta.
“Tempting,” she murmured. Her gaze flicked over him. All of him was tempting. But what was she doing here? She couldn’t date Cruz Walsh. And she had never done no-strings sex. She didn’t judge those who did . . . it just wasn’t her.
“Then say yes.” He shrugged like it was a no-brainer. And for him, it was. He had nothing to lose. No family members sitting in judgment. The community already judged him, so there was nothing for him to worry about on that score.
Meaningless sex wasn’t anything new for him. He could get sex from anyone. He didn’t need it from her. For whatever reason, that caused a pang in her heart.
She hesitated, and the longer she hesitated, the more solemn his expression became. “You can’t.” Not a question. A grim pronouncement.
She nodded slowly, wondering at the regret knifing through her. She was rejecting empty sex. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t matter. “I can’t.”
He continued, “Let me guess. It’s my name, right?”
“Your name?”
“Yeah. If my name was anything else . . . if I was anyone else, you’d say yes.” He laughed mirthlessly.
“You can’t pretend who you are . . . who I am . . . doesn’t matter,” she bit out.
“I just think you’re overthinking it.” His gaze crawled over her, leaving a wake of heat and longing everywhere his eyes landed. “I’m not proposing.”
Humiliation stung her cheeks. Did he think she was angling for that? “No, no, of course not.”
“You haven’t just ever let yourself go? Followed your gut . . .” He inched closer, backing her up against the counter. Their bodies weren’t touching, but they might as well have been for how suddenly breathless she felt. She arched away and that only seemed to thrust her breasts out. His gaze dipped down before traveling back up to her face. “You’ve never followed your desires? Given in to impulse?”
No. She never had. That seemed like behavior for the young and reckless, and she had never been young and reckless even when she was young. It certainly didn’t seem right to behave that way now when she was thirty. That was the height of irresponsibility.
He closed that last bit of distance between them, aligning his body fully to hers. His deep, dark voice rolled over her. “Just fuck for fucking’s sake? Because you wanted it?”
She gasped. His words were like their own aphrodisiac. No one had ever talked that way to her before (well, except him in previous days). She knew it was wicked, but his purring dirty talk shot liquid heat straight to her core and she could only think one thing: more.
More dirty talk. More him. She wanted him to follow through and fulfill on all the touching and kissing and fondling. Which was damned confusing because she was telling him the opposite, telling him that she couldn’t do this.
His eyes were suddenly too much. His closeness too much. She twisted around and turned until she was facing the counter—until she had nothing to stare at except plain wood cabinets, but he was still there. She felt him behind her, radiating heat and desire.
“You’ve never done that?” His voice husked against the back of her head, rustling her hair.
“No,” she managed to get out. She had only ever had sex within the bounds of a relationship.
“It’d be hot. Just physical. Nothing going on in your head except how I feel inside you.”
Before she could stop herself, a moan escaped her lips.
His hand delved into her hair, lightly at first. She dropped her head back, her gasp ragged. His breath fanned hotly over her ear, and his touch grew firmer, fingers spearing through her hair and rubbing her tingling scalp. Still moaning, she arched her neck to the side, guided by the hard hand in her hair, granting him her neck. His mouth landed on her throat, kissing gently. At the first stroke of his tongue to her skin, her knees buckled. He caught her by pressing in closer, sandwiching her between the counter and his body.
She was on fire. She pushed back against his erection, grinding her bottom into his hardness, moaning as his wet mouth loved her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut and she bit her lip to stop from crying out loudly. It was bad enough she was already moaning like an animal.
Was it possible to orgasm with your clothes on? She felt like she was seconds from coming. God, she wanted his dirty words to become a reality. She wanted him inside her.
She inhaled a ragged breath, trying to pull herself together.
Her desire couldn’t be repressed, however. Not anymore. It rushed through her like a high-speed train.
Her body ached and hummed. He felt so good against her it was frightening.
With a frustrated choke, she turned around again, squeezing between him and the edge of the counter. He looked down at her, so much taller, bigger, the dark of his eyes almost black as he gazed at her.
He braced his hands against the counter’s edge, loosely caging her in.
“Cruz,” she whispered, a thread of wonder in her voice that he was here, real and not a figment of her imagination conjured from the past. She flat
tened a hand against his chest. To push away or because she had to touch him, she wasn’t sure.
“Yes?” he prodded.
She lifted her chin, grabbing for something, some lifeline to save her from sinking into the sea of him. “I’m not the same naïve starry-eyed girl obsessed with you.”
He smiled. “You were obsessed with me? Interesting.”
“No! Not . . . obsessed.”
“No? Too bad. Because I was obsessed with you. In prison you were who I thought about when I dreamed about freedom and what I was missing on the outside.”
Her heart constricted at that confession. It was too unreal to be . . . real.
She stared up at his mouth—that beautiful mouth. She stopped just short of begging him to kiss her with it.
His heart beat hard against her palm, but hers beat harder. It was all so awkward. Almost like she didn’t know what to do next, which was ridiculous. She’d done this before.
But never with him. Never with a man that oozed sex.
Maybe that was just it. She had never been with anyone like him. Never someone so . . . well, hot. His body was a weapon, cut and muscled, humming with strength and the promise of sexual gratification.
Her shaking hand inched its way up his shirt, stopping at the hard curve of his shoulder. Maybe just one time wouldn’t hurt. They both deserved that, didn’t they? Maybe once and then they would have it—each other—out of their systems. She’d be gone soon. Back in Austin. Why not?
She rose up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his warm neck. He tensed and shuddered as she feathered tiny kisses along the bristly edge of his jaw, reaching the corner of his mouth.
Air gusted from her lips at arriving there. She stretched higher and slanted her mouth across his more fully. His lips were firm and dry. Soft. Her chest squeezed with a desperate hunger for him to kiss her back. Finally, he did. His head dipped, swiftly catching her mouth with a growl. Taking her hand, he dragged it between them and placed it over his swollen crotch. “See how much I want you, Gabriella Rossi?”
She nodded jerkily. Somehow he did. He wanted her . . . and she believed him. She had never felt more desirable in her life.
He grabbed her by the waist and picked her up, plopping her onto the counter before she could draw another breath. The position brought their lips level. He settled a hand at her waist while his other hand sank into her hair, fingers curling around the base of her skull, pulling her in, hauling her closer until their mouths collided again.
She moaned as his tongue entered her mouth, slicked over hers skillfully, in total control. She leaned in, groaning, stroking her tongue against his, tasting the tartness of the lemonade he had consumed with his meal.
God. He tasted good. Like sex. Yes. She tasted sex on his tongue. She curled her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him, tugging him closer, opening her mouth wider.
She was out of breath and drowning. Drowning in him. She couldn’t think to form coherent words. She could only pant and gasp his name as he sucked on her bottom lip.
He made a rumbling sound in his throat and kissed her deeper, his fingers dropping to her thighs, searing her through the fabric of her leggings. She touched his face, the scrape of his incoming beard delicious against her palms.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. She didn’t know kissing could be like this. Both endless and not enough. Addictive. Drugging.
One of his hands moved up and palmed her breast. Sensation shot through her and she whimpered into his mouth, pushing into his palm.
“Bri,” he muttered against her lips. His hands left her.
She mewled at the loss, but it was only temporary. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and whipped it over her head, leaving her only in her bra from the waist up on Nana’s counter. God. She was in Nana’s kitchen. Her family came and went through this house like it was Grand Central Station. That should have her putting this to a screeching halt.
His eyes went to her chest and she thanked God she was in one of her prettier demi cups. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes in a hard blink before opening them again and fixating on her chest, a glazed quality to his dark eyes. “Do you know how many times I jerked off in high school envisioning you like this?”
“God,” she gasped. The deep velvet of his voice twisted her desire into something almost painful between her legs. She should be appalled, but thinking about him—the boy she used to ogle—lusting after her while stroking his cock to a frenzy? It made her throb and pulse. It made her wet.
His eyes, hungry and intent on her, moved down the slope of her throat to the tops of her breasts brimming from her bra. She felt her nipples tighten under his stare.
She watched him watch her, reveling in his stark beauty, the intensity of those deep-set eyes on her, the slash of his sexy mouth. She was so caught up in the brutal beauty of him that she didn’t initially realize what he was doing with his hands.
One reached for her, covering her breast. He dipped a finger inside the cup of her bra. Air hissed out of her lips when he brushed over a nipple.
She gasped.
His deep voice rippled through her. “Alone in my cell, when I’d think about tits . . . sex . . . it was your face I remembered.”
She could only nod senselessly as he dipped a second finger inside her bra. He rolled and pinched the stiff nipple. Back and forth, back and forth, he toyed with the crest, making the point grow harder with every twist of his fingers.
With a choke, she dropped her head back and thrust out her chest.
“You’re so hot,” he growled.
Hot? Gabriella?
It suddenly occurred to her that she wasn’t Flabby Gabby anymore. Not doing this. Maybe she had never been. He’d wanted her back in high school. How could he have wanted her if she was so undesirable then?
Then he moved to her other breast, rolling that rapidly hardening nipple. She felt a fresh rush of moisture between her legs. She squirmed on the counter, desperate for an end to the ache growing there.
He looked up at her from beneath heavy lids, watching her as he tugged the cup of her bra down and bared one breast. A ripe nipple popped free and he groaned, sinking down so that his hot mouth closed over the tip of her breast like he was a starving man.
She cried out as his warm tongue sucked her nipple deep into his mouth.
Her sex clenched in agony, aching to be filled.
She clutched the back of his head, urging him closer. Everything in her tensed and squeezed, pleasure fixing where his mouth devoured her, his tongue licking, his teeth scraping.
“Cruz!” she cried out again as he suddenly turned on her other breast, yanking her bra down roughly, thrusting the heavy mound high, the straps digging into her shoulders. But she didn’t care. He fed on her like she was a feast spread before him, sucking hungrily, licking and nipping.
Wild, embarrassing little pants escaped her. Especially when his teeth dragged across one hard nipple and his fingers pinched down on the other one.
The pressure inside her twisted into something that she couldn’t stop. She actually did push against it, too alarmed at the force building inside her, too terrified at the new sensations.
Men that cooked weren’t the only unicorns. Orgasms were, too. Most of the ones she ever had were self-administered. Certainly no guy but him had ever given her one from playing with her breasts.
Tremors began to ripple through her. “Oh, oh, oh, oh . . .”
He spoke against her breast, his words muffled as his tongue played on her flesh. “That’s it. Come for me.”
She shook her head. She felt out of control. Out of her body.
“Take it. It’s yours. Let yourself have it.” His voice dropped hard between them, velvet warm, but no less than commanding. His hand flew between her splayed thighs on the counter, rubbing at her crotch. She knew she was damp and his fingers had discovered it. Mortification burned her cheeks at the truth he felt there, at the evidence of her shameless hunger. She was hornier than a hormonal
teen.
Those fingers rubbed up and down and the friction was unbearable. She squirmed, the pressure acute—especially when he grazed her clit. “Oh, you’re beautiful . . . so wet.”
As though he said the magic words, she burst, coming apart with a cry and surging against him. She trembled, gasping, fireworks going off behind her eyes as he wrapped her in his arms.
She couldn’t form coherent speech. Her muscles went limp as noodles, her legs hanging off the counter.
With effort, she lifted her head, her eyes seeking his. He was waiting, watching her. She moistened her lips, ready to invite him to join her at her apartment. It seemed the obvious next step. Just once. At least one time. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
“Gabriella!”
She jerked at the sound of Nana’s shrill voice.
“Gabriella! I forgot to take my medicine with dinner.”
Cruz quickly stepped back. She slid off the counter with shaking limbs.
“Coming,” she called, grateful Nana hadn’t gotten out of bed to discover her half naked on the counter. She shuddered, thinking about how that could have easily happened. Anyone could have walked in on them . . . Cruz’s head bent as he sucked at her breasts. Oh. God. She’d never live it down. She pressed a hand to her heart. Just the idea of it gave her palpitations.
Cruz stretched out a hand, holding out her shirt for her, his dark eyes probing, searching her face. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She quickly donned it, pulling it over her head, feeling much more composed. She moved to the cabinet where they kept Nana’s meds. “You better go,” she heard herself saying.
He didn’t say anything and she sent him a look over her shoulder.
He stared at her grimly. “Now you want me to leave?”
She felt his disappointment. She even understood it. She got her rocks off . . . he hadn’t. Again.
She nodded. “Yeah. Before things get out of hand.” He snorted and she winced, amending, “Before they get any more out of hand. We should probably stop now, Cruz.”
Beautiful Sinner Page 14
