Page 60 of Cruz

“Damn. I never thought about the underwater world. You’re right. That would be a wild day.”

Cruz gets solemn, thinking about that. We finish the tacos and sip our drinks. They’ve cooled to barely hot, but matcha is delicious hot or cold. After, Cruz helps me clean up. We wash the few dishes we used, just plates and mugs, and as I’m draining the sink, he boxes me in with his strong arms.

“Can I kiss you, Sloane?”

“That depends. Is this the kind of kiss that gets wild and elevates into us getting hot and heavy and having to get to the bedroom?”

“No.”

“No?” I raise a brow playfully, a little disappointed and still a whole lot turned on.

“No, because I plan on taking you there from the start, if that’s okay with you? I know Liam’s at the clubhouse tonight, but if he should happen to forget something here and come back for it, I don’t want to give him another surprise. Finding us on the counter, the table, or the floor would scar him for life and we just talked it out.”

My heart swells. “He told me that you did.”

“How ‘bout it then? Can I sweep you up and carry you to your bedroom?”

“Yes. Please.”

I’m prepared for him to do just that, but when he gets an arm under my legs and makes it happen like he can defy gravity, I let out a little squeal. I slip my arm around his neck mostly because I want it there. I don’t need any extra support.

Cruz carries me down the hall. He stops in front of the bed and sets me on my feet. He steps back, looking almost nervous. It’s adorable. “So?” I challenge. “What now?”

He steps close, challenging me playfully. I’m not the least bit threatened by him getting up in my space. It’s hot, having him so close, especially when his touch is so gentle, so at odds with the size of him. He brushes my wrist then trails his hand higher, caressing my arm. He doesn’t stop until he cups my face. He tilts it up, but doesn’t kiss me. I know that he can see the light burning in there, just for him. I want this. I want him to discover me. To teach me, lead me, learn from me, and follow. I want to trade him half my heart for half his in return.

When our mouths finally meet, it fires me to life, sending lightning through my veins. He’s adrenaline and calm. He storms my body, but at the same time, his touch and his lips are familiar, like waking into the sunlight and taking that first breath of fresh morning air. I want more. I want to fill my lungs with him. To drink him down greedily.

I grasp his t-shirt, balling my fists into the fabric. He backs me up as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. I open for him, gasping, and sink into his kiss. His tongue laps at mine, then dances and tangles. I get my hands under his shirt. I push and pull until it’s up near his shoulders.

He tears it off, heaving for breath, and while he’s broken the kiss, he attacks his jeans as well, undoing the button and zipper, then wrenching them down his legs. He kicks his boots off, sending them flying, and shucks his jeans in a hurry. He stands in his boxers, so glorious, the shadows mingling with the light from the hallway, playing over every single sculpted plain and angle. The carved channel of his abs constricts with every breath. Beneath his tight black boxers, I can clearly see the outline of his massive, hard cock.

I go for my own clothes, unbuttoning my sweater with all the vines and bunches of grapes. I toss it onto the chair in the corner of the room. My jeans go next, and then I stand like a mirror image across from Cruz, in black panties and my black camisole. Not nearly as carved. I’m more soft edges.

Cruz looks at me like I’m everything. Beautiful. Sexy. Smart. Kind.

He walks to me, radiating purpose. Not menacing, but that stride that a man has when he knows what he wants. Me. I’m what he wants. That still blows my mind. Me, with my fairly average life, my boring hobbies, my funky knit sweaters. Me, who has a grown kid and I’m nearing forty.

He grasps my waist and kisses me. He devours my mouth as though I’m not only the one he wants, but the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life. He guides me back to the bed, never breaking the kiss. I never want him to stop. Don’t stop touching me. Kissing me. Wanting me. Craving me.

We fall onto my bed together in a tangle of limbs. I rock against him, opening my legs to take him exactly where I need him. He’s rock hard. His cock gets trapped against my stomach, and even through his boxers, it’s painfully obvious that he’s throbbing. I’m greedy for him, desperate for his touch. I want his hands all over me. I want him inside of me. He’s in no hurry, even backing off on the kiss, devouring my lips in long, leisurely sips and pulls. He keeps one hand planted on the bed to support himself while the other caresses my arm and shoulder like he can’t bear not to touch me.

His legs lock around mine. I try to get friction, arching up, grinding against any hardness that I can find. His massive thighs clench around me, muscles flexing and bulging. I shift my one leg, freeing it, and wrap it around his waist so I can dig my heel into his granite ass. His hand trails down my arm and then he finds my hip. He tucks his whole palm under me, lifting my hips in the air. He digs his fingers into my hip and ass, and for just an instant, I’m worried that he’ll find them untoned or flabby, but his long sigh of satisfaction that curls over my lips is evidence that finding me wanting in any way is the last thing on his mind.

He nibbles my bottom lip, then trails kisses over my jaw and down my throat. He scrapes his teeth along my collarbones and trails his hot mouth over the lace edging the top of my camisole.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes. “Need you, Sloane.”

I tangle my fingers in his hair and tug until I can tell he feels the burn. “Need you too.”

He palms my breast and runs his fingers over my hard nipple. Wild tendrils of pleasure snake all the way down to my thighs. My panties are damp, clinging to me. I’m throbbing too. I need more. His touch. More friction. His fingers. His mouth. All of him.

My head is just below where the pillows start. I throw my arms out and arch, making it obvious what I want. When his mouth closes over my nipple, so warm and deliciously sensual, my head grinds into the bed.

“Cruz,” I moan. “Oh my god.”

He backs off, crawling between my legs amidst hot, open-mouthed kisses. Some land on my clothes and some get my bare skin, but they all drive me crazy. He nestles between my legs, arranging me so that my feet bracket his shoulders, spreading me wide. I still have my panties on, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t care. I want to be spread open for him. I want him to devour me with his eyes and his mouth.

What I really want is for him to rail me through this bed, but that’s coming. I just have to be patient.