23. Forever

TWENTY-THREE

FOREVER

GENEVIEVE

I ’ve finally made it upstairs to Cross’s apartment.

That was my idea. As much as I wanted to stick my middle finger up at my brother by inviting Cross back to my room—making him pay for meddling in my relationship like that—I knew better. Savannah was risking her own marriage by doing the same, helping me sneak out earlier tonight. I have no doubt in my mind that Damien will forgive her, but if he found Cross in my bed?

Yeah. That might be a little too much too quickly.

Besides, the Devil’s Playground is so much closer to Cross’s place than mine. Once I assured him that I was okay, honest , he helped me pull my shorts back on, keeping my panties as a trophy that he proudly shoved in the back pocket of his jeans, he took his spot on his back, making it clear that he’s considered the back seat mine since the moment we met.

The fact that he had my personalized helmet strapped to his saddlebag is proof of that.

His old friend Rolls was the one who tipped him off that I was here. Whatever outcome he expected after following me to the Playground, there must’ve been a part of him that knew I would be leaving with him one way or another. Whether it was because he was treating me like a little girl and dropping me off at home for my brother to take care of, or he actually saw me as a woman who knew what she wanted, I have no clue, but seeing that helmet… realizing he didn’t get rid of it while we were apart… I knew that Cross da Silva was still mine.

He sure as hell fucked me like I was his .

I’ll be feeling this one tomorrow. Going up on my tiptoes, letting him bang me from behind while I clung to his motorcycle… yeah. My lower belly is red, my legs wobbly and weak—which is exactly why he needed to help me get my clothes back on—but I don’t give a shit.

He loves me. To hear this man tell me that he does… I would’ve done a lot worse than egg on his jealousy before tempting him to fuck me.

The sex was great. I’m still so new to it, but after the weeks he stayed away from me, I’m more than willing to make up for lost time. Especially since he agreed to bring me to his place after he finished letting me cry all over his naked chest.

I was ready to take him again. He refused to shuck his clothes once he let me upstairs, pointed out his kitchen, his bathroom, and, finally, his bedroom. I could tell he was just as aroused as I am, but he offered me something to drink instead.

He poured me a glass of orange juice. It was either that, water, or lemonade since, to my surprise, there isn’t a single caffeine product in his fridge. When I pointed it out, he said he never got hooked on the energy drinks again, and considering the deep purple circles under his eyes, I don’t think it’s because he’s learned better sleeping habits.

I took a few sips while he dropped a gentle kiss to the top of my head while rubbing my back.

Okay. I know I freaked him out. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a whirlwind of emotions. I don’t hide them. I don’t keep them back. I’m an open fucking book, and I can go from one extreme to the other, swinging like I’m a goddamn pendulum. But tears? I can’t tell you the last time I cried.

Cross has never seen my tears. Then again, the last time I was with him, he didn’t have that massive butterfly on his chest.

Outside of the Playground… the entire time he was fucking me, he took me from behind. Sure, I looked up and over at him, but I was watching his face. I noticed it last time. When Cross is fucking me, he is open book. He doesn’t put up that guarded expression, and his eyes… his eyes seem to come alive. Not even the circle shadowed the love and affection and need that was in his eyes.

Did I look at his chest. Fleetingly. I appreciated what a gorgeous piece of man he is, but I was too distracted by the sensation of him hitting every single nerve inside of me while strumming my heart at the same time. The lights at his back silhouetted him. He has so much ink on him, I didn’t notice that he added more.

And then he finished. His possessive yet soft touch as he stuck his finger back up inside of me sent another shudder of pleasure through me, but it was when he got up and turned me into him that I saw the butterfly on his chest.

It’s the exact same design that he drew for me the night we met.

He told me once that tattoos are permanent, regardless of things like laser removal. He would never put something on his skin that wasn’t a permanent fixture in his life, and yet… that’s my butterfly.

To see that, then to hear him call me his and mean it? I broke down. It happened. I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t cruising on a shit ton of endorphins from my orgasm, but I cried and Cross held me the whole time I did before wiping away my tears.

If he’d suggested I go home, my emotions would’ve swung all over the place again. He didn’t. He asked me where I wanted to go, I said his place, and that’s where he brought me.

That’s where I am now.

After I told him I was done with the orange juice, he took me by the hand and led me to his bed. Cross shook his head when I asked if we we’re getting undressed.

“I just want to hold you,” he murmured. “I can only sleep when I hold you.”

And that’s how I found out his insomnia has been even worse since we were separated. I couldn’t even gloat. All this time, I thought he was living his life, happy to be rid of me, but he suffered as much as I did. Worse. Savannah knew he was skulking around the manor, but according to Cross, so did Vin and Frankie and a couple of other Dragonflies.

He didn’t sleep. Oh, no. He came to watch my window instead, confirming that I was at least safe, even if he couldn’t be with me.

And why couldn’t he be with me?

Damien .

My stupid fucking older brother was the one who put the idea in Cross’s head that I would be better without him. There were no threats. Damien’s too smart for that. Why threaten Cross, knowing that if it got back to me, that would only push me away when he could use Cross’s own insecurities to keep us separated on the guise of being the doting older brother.

Doting?

Try controlling .

If it wasn’t for Cross grabbing my hand after I jumped up off the bed, prepared to storm all the way back to the East End to confront Damien, I might have. This time, it was his turn to beg as he pleaded with me to stay.

Cross da Silva wanted me to stay.

How could I refuse?

Especially when, after I crossed my arms and plopped back down with a huff, he distracted me by pulling his shirt off again. Not the pants, which is a downright shame, but he yanked off his shirt, letting me look my fill at the butterfly on his chest.

When I finally got my tears under control, I admitted almost sheepishly that the surprise of seeing his tat was what turned me into a weeping fountain in the first place. He changed the subject then, reminding me that we were both naked and anyone could stumble on us at any moment, but as I turn into him, tracing the wings on his chest, I won’t let him change the subject now.

Beneath his decorated skin, his heart beats. As he breathes softly, already halfway to sleep now that he has one leg thrown over mine, his hand nestled possessively on my hip, I swear I can see the butterfly’s wings flapping.

I press a kiss there.

It’s not a fresh tat. After hanging out with Cross at his studio for those six weeks straight in the beginning of our ‘friend’ship, I can tell the difference between a fresh one and one that’s healed some. This one is at least a couple of weeks old.

He confirms it. “I couldn’t have you with me. Stupid, I know that now, but I honestly believed it. So I did the only thing I could. I gave you the place of honor on my chest.”

I remember thinking how odd it was the first time I saw Cross without a shirt that every inch of his torso and back had various different types of tattoos on them except for the space over his left pec. I never asked because, well, it didn’t seem appropriate then, but now?

“I always wondered why you kept this part of your chest empty.”

“The spot over my heart has always been empty,” he says, lifting his hand to stroke my cheek with the pad of his calloused thumb. “That’s because it was meant for you, butterfly. For the person I gave my heart to.”

Now, really? How can you expect him to say that in his deep, gravelly voice, his fingers roaming over my cheek, his head pillowed on his arm as he watches me heavy-lidded eyes?

I scoot closer, cupping his face in my hand. His lips part, and I kiss him at the same time as I move so that I’m nearly on top of him.

For all his blustering before that we needed sleep, that we could fuck later, he’s not resisting me at all as he flops onto his back, letting me spread out on top of him. I bend my head, tonguing his nipple before rubbing my cheek against his butterfly tat.

Then, because I still haven’t had the chance to see what it was like to suck a cock for myself, I start to shimmy down the length of his body.

I’m just about to fit myself in the cradle of his legs when he goes still. The anticipatory look on his face as he realized where I was heading is replaced by one of confusion, then, just as quickly, one of frustration.

“Don’t worry, babe,” I tease. “I might not know what I’m doing, but I didn’t know what I was doing when it came to fucking, either. Good thing for you I’m a quick learner.”

I nip his happy trail before reaching for the buttons on his jeans.

“Genevieve…”

“It’s okay,” I promise. “I mean, if you want me to do this. If you’re tired?—”

“I’m always tired. That doesn’t mean I would reject what you’re offering me, but no. It’s just… didn’t you hear that?”

My hand hovers over his button. “Hear what?”

He doesn’t even get the chance to answer me because we both hear it.

“Gen! Genevieve Libellula! I know you’re in there.”

I gasp, and Cross closes his eyes. “Fucking hell. I thought he’d at least wait until tomorrow to start shit. I mean, I saw Savannah. Wouldn’t he rather be fucking his wife instead of stopping me from fucking mine.”

My girlish little heart goes pitter-pat when Cross mumbles that. Now, I know he’s not actually proposing to me. For a man in the life, it’s not as easy as that anyway. When a Sinner or a Dragonfly finds a woman that they don’t plan on letting go, things like marriage licenses and weddings are more… suggestion than anything else.

This man has a butterfly tattooed on his chest. With a thick black outline and the same detail work as his initial drawing, but dark pink wings that almost match the color I put in my hair the other day.

He removed his pants and fucked me on his motorcycle within minutes of seeing me grinding with another guy.

He told me he loves me…

Yeah. I’m his wife.

And it’s time my brother realizes that I stopped being the little girl he raised a long, long time ago.