14. Ours

FOURTEEN

OURS

GENEVIEVE

I wanted Cross, but not like this.

The second the slight hiss from the loudspeaker dies and doesn’t start up again, Cross decides that we’ve done enough to ‘satisfy’ our creepy, voyeuristic captor. Without even meeting my eyes, he climbs off of the bed—off of me —and pads his way over to the sink, pausing only to snag his shirt.

He tears the sleeve right off, then inspects it for a moment as if it’s the most fascinating bit of fabric he’s ever seen. His face it still closed-off, his sweat-slicked hair sticking to his forehead, as he takes the sleeve over the sink and rinses it with water until it’s mostly soaked.

Cross brings it over to me, muttering, “It’s as clean as it can be.”

“What do you need that for?”

“This? Oh. It’s not for me, Genevieve.”

Butterfly, I want to shout. Call me butterfly .

Cross squats down by the cot. I glance down, unable to resist the urge to look at him. His body is so incredibly beautiful. With as many distinct, unique tattoos covering him, he’s like a piece of art, and that’s not counting his sculpted muscles and his trim waist.

I’ve always wondered just how much of Cross is tatted. Now I know for sure. His back is covered, his arms are covered, his neck and throat are covered, but once you hit his hips, all I see is delicious tanned skin.

Tonight was the first time I saw him without his shirt. Amazingly, he has this big space on the left side of his chest that’s empty. Right over his pec, it’s completely bare, making his copper-colored nipple stand out while the other hides amongst the ink on the other side. I want to ask him why, but then my gaze dips even lower, landing on his cock.

I know he came inside of me. I saw the look of surprise on his face as he did, and I know Cross didn’t mean to do that. There’s no taking it back now, and I can see a faint sheen of white cream covering most of his length from where his come mingled with mine.

That’s not all, though. Because unless I’m imagining it, the white sheen has a hint of red to it.

Cross ignores his own mess, turning his attention to mine. As he swiped the soaked piece of sleeve over my thighs, I’m just in time to notice that there are red splotches there, too. For a moment, I wonder if I started my period—because that would just be perfect as a captive—before I realize exactly what that is.

I was a virgin when he fucked me before. I’m not a virgin now, and that little bit of blood is enough to prove it.

With a look of intense concentration on his face, Cross wipes it away from my inner thighs. Then, bracing me with the softest touch, he pins me down so that he can flip the sleeve over, then tidy up my pussy.

At first, I thought he was trying to erase any sign of what we did together, and I want to shove him away. However, before I can do that, he leans closer, dropping his mouth down so that he can press a kiss to my thigh before rising up, standing near the cot.

The quick rub he gives his cock is nowhere near as sweet and tender as the way he cleaned me up. He grabs it, wiping the sleeve around it until the skin is clean. That done, he tosses the used sleeve to the floor before reaching for the rest of his shirt.

He’s been quiet since he told me that the sleeve was clean as it could be. I keep waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He goes through the motions, and though I’ve heard enough about sex from Christopher to know that cleaning up after is essential—especially when we haven’t been able to do more than give ourselves a sink bath in weeks—so I know what he was doing. I appreciate it, too.

But when he makes as though he’s going to put on his shirt?

“Don’t,” I say.

He pauses, giving me a quizzical look.

I lick my bottom lip, then scoot over a bit so that there’s room on the cot. “I like looking at your tattoos. Don’t put your shirt back on.”

He nods. “If you say so.”

Cross drops the shirt, going for his jeans.

“No.” I’m a little firmer this time. “No jeans.” I swallow, rushing the words out while I still have the nerve. “I want you to lie with me like this. Just like this. To hold me.”

His brows draw together. “Naked? You’re asking me to climb back into bed and hold you naked ?”

I nod.

He thinks he forced me into having sex with me. He told Winter that he wouldn’t rape me, and from the way he’s acting right now, that’s exactly what he think happened.

But Winter is gone. We don’t have an audience, and though he’s pointedly ignoring the fact that, without his pants on, I can see that his cock is already starting to harden under the weight of my stare.

“Genevieve…” He exhales. “Butterfly,” he says, and I know then that I haven’t lost Cross yet. He might seem like he’s a mile away from me despite being trapped in the same cell, but when he uses my name… I think I still have him here with me.

Now I just need to keep him.

“I need you,” I whisper, putting as much honesty into my words as I can.

“I’m right here.”

I pat the empty space on the cot next to me. “Come over here. Please.”

Cross glances up at the camera, frowning for a moment. I think he’s going to refuse, or remind me that we’re being watched as if I’ve forgotten, but I don’t care. Winter got what he wanted.

Why can’t we get what we want?

That’s assuming that Cross feels the same. I won’t know unless I give him the chance to decide on his own. I already have. I’m not so sore and achy that I don’t want to try this again—on our terms instead of Winter’s.

His frown disappears. I swear, there’s the tiniest bit of hope replacing it as he says, “You want me to hold you.”

Here goes nothing, Gen.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Cross wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “What did you say?”

I refuse to even acknowledge the camera. Instead, I pat the cot again. “I love you,” I say simply. This might possibly be the worst time for that sort of confession, but if those three little words are enough to chase away Cross’s idea that he did something to me that I would’ve enthusiastically consent to under different circumstances, I’ll be honest with him.

And, sure, there’s being honest and then there’s being honest , but no matter what happens after tonight, I’ll be content to remember that, at the very least, my first time was with the man I loved—and now he knows it.

He doesn’t respond the same. I try not to let that hurt. I’m not as manipulative as Winter, or even my brother. I’m just Gen, and when I tell someone I love them, I don’t have ulterior motives. I love with my whole heart, and Cross had made his mark on it long before Johnny Winter came into the picture.

He doesn’t tell me he loves me, not with words, but it was in the way he would’ve stood there and let them blow off his hand to protect me. In how he agreed to this because my ballet career was on the line.

There isn’t anything Cross da Silva won’t do to keep me from being hurt, and as soon as I realize that, it doesn’t hurt that he can’t say the words. Even if it’s not the same was I love him, he cares for me, and I think that’s exactly what has him prowling his way toward the cot before easing his body weight down next to me.

He’s on his side, one hand reaching out to caress my cheek.

I stare back at him. His bruise is starting to heal. What was purple the morning after Mickey kicked him in the face is a more mottled shade, greens and yellows making up the edges of it. If you ask me, though, it makes him even more beautiful to me. That mark shows me how far he’ll go for me.

I inch closer until his cock is nestled near my lower belly. “Do you want to fuck me, Cross?”

His eyes search my face, but he doesn’t answer.

I reach between us, giving him a quick stroke. He closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw.

“Please, Cross,” I say again, using both his chosen name and the word ‘please’ since it seems to affect him more than any other. “I’m not forcing you just like you didn’t force me. I’m just asking you a simple question. Say ‘no’ and we go to sleep, maybe forget tonight happened.” Until Winter uses that video against us… “Say ‘yes’ and?—”

“Yes,” he breathes out, so warm on my face, I fight back a shiver. “I want to. Don’t ever doubt that… but we shouldn’t.”

Not can’t . Shouldn’t.

I stroke him again. Instead of pulling away, he bucks against my palm.

Look at you, Gen. First time handling a dick and you’re not doing too shabby.

I smile at him. “I think we should.”

He groans. “Butterfly… you don’t know what you’re saying.”

That’s where he’s wrong. I know exactly what I’m saying.

“When you were treating me like I was precious… when you were making sure I was okay… I could forget he was there. I knew he was, but until he spoke up again when you were done, it was just the two of us.”

He nuzzles my neck, hiding his face. “I’m sorry?—”

My stomach goes tight, and I wish it was from the renewed arousal I experienced when I saw my virgin blood on his cock. “Don’t apologize. Please. That makes me feel like we did something wrong.”

“I forced you to do it,” he says, his voice a mumble.

“Cross, no. Listen to me. He forced us to do it. That was his choice. This?” I run my fingers up and down his cock again. “This is mine. Now it’s our turn. If you don’t want to do this with me, I understand. I’m certainly not going to force you to do anything. But if you want to… we can own the moment. Make it ours. Something special. Something that belongs to only us.”

Cross curses under his breath, and I know that if I keep stroking, he’s going to come all over my fingers. Not that I’m not interested in seeing that happen—I want to experience everything with this man—but I was serious when I said I want to make this ours.

But he’s distracted now as he glares up at the ceiling. “Those fucking cameras.”

I know what he means. If

Reaching over him, I grab the blanket from off the floor. “What if we put this over us? It might be hot, but no one could see what we were doing.”

He scowls. “I should’ve thought of that before.”

“Winter never would’ve let you. Remember? The whole point was a blackmail video.”

Cross’s scowl deepens.

I lay back down on the bed, grabbing his arm, tugging him so that he can start to climb on top of me again. “I’m not worried about that. Trust me. Right now, there’s only one thing on my mind, and it’s you .”

He doesn’t have to let me tug him anywhere. If he doesn’t want to fuck me, he could easily shake his head, get up, walk to the other side of the cell, and it would be over.

Instead, Cross rises up over me. Giddy with both relief and excitement and need , I think that he’s about to give me what I want, what we both need , when suddenly he pauses.

His expression is back to being concerned. “Are you sure?”

Is he serious? “I’m very sure.”

“But are you tender?” His fingers ghost over my pussy. When he draws them back, seemingly surprised to see how fucking soaked I am, his breathing kicks up a little. His voice is thick as he says, “I tried my best not to hurt you.”

I laugh, hoping that’ll be enough to wipe that slight worry from his eyes. “Please. I’m a ballerina . I’ve danced on a sprained ankle and broken toes. I dealt with road rash and a bike crash. My pain tolerance is pretty high.” My hand goes up to his cheek again. “So is yours. Don’t you think it’s time we finally get to feel good?”

Cross claps his hand over mine, keeping the connection. Never letting go, he lowers his head, taking my mouth. At the same time, he throws his leg over my hip, angling his lower half so that he can grip his cock by the base and feed it right into my waiting pussy.

I gasp into his open mouth, the slight sting from before a distant memory as the overwhelming sensation of being stuffed by him overloads every other nerve ending.

Feel good?

That feels amazing .

Too bad it doesn’t last—and I don’t mean how eager Cross is to fuck me that he ends up coming inside of me shortly after he plucks my clit, playing my body like a pro, making me forget again that when I scream his name, someone else might’ve heard me.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight?

I get to have Cross, and even before I fall asleep under him, I can already feel him drifting away from me again....