Page 94 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

He chuckled. “Mmm, true.”

“Blame your kids.”

“That’s the thing, babe. The house is empty. No kids. No need for locked doors because there will be no walking in on us.”

“Cross—”

She didn’t get to say anything else. He picked her up from the floor like she weighed nothing more than a feather, and sat her down on the edge of the washer. His lips crashed down on hers as he tugged her shorts down her legs before dropping them to the floor. Her panties soon followed the same path—forgotten in a pile somewhere down below.

All the while, he never broke their kiss. And when he finally did break their connection, it was only to tip her head back, and kiss a hot path down the column of her throat. He left burning kisses across her racing pulse point, too.

Cross stepped in between Catherine’s widened legs. Already, she could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her center. A shot of heat darted straight down to her pussy. She had no doubt she was already wet.

God knew she was ready.

Unashamed and wanton, Catherine grinded her center against Cross’s erection to feel more—she always wanted more of him.

“Take my cock out.”

His words were a rough murmur in her ear. It sent yet another round of shivers cascading down her spine.

“So demanding,” she whispered.

Cross’s dark eyes found hers. “You’re really going to see demanding if you don’t hurry the fuck up, babe.”

Catherine grinned, and kissed her husband. All the while, her hands worked at his fly. Soon, she had shoved his pants and boxer-briefs down just enough to free his thick, hard cock to her hand. She stroked him once, and then twice.

“Fuck,” Cross grunted against her throat. “Stop playing, Catty.”

Her laughter lit up the room, but she was quick to get his cock where she wanted it to be the most. He took her in one smooth, deep thrust. She was wet enough for him to slide right up to the hilt without taking any time at all.

Sometimes, she loved slow.

More often than not, she wanted fast.

Christ.

He filled her so good.

Stretched her open just the way she liked.

Cross’s hands landed to Catherine’s thighs, and his fingertips dug in hard enough to leave bruises behind. He pushed her legs open even wider—enough to make her muscles and thighs ache in the best way.

“Hold onto something.”

She did—her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists just as he started a brutal, punishing rhythm. It was enough to shake the washing machine. Hard enough to drive her crazy in the best way possible. Her fingernails scored lines into his wrists, and his teeth cut into her bottom lip before he kissed the same spot.

“Come on, babe,” Cross urged. “Come for me, so I can bend you over and get you like that, too.”

It was always his mouth that did it for her. She came harder than ever, and loved every second of it, too.

Cross slowed his pace just enough to kiss her through the trembling orgasm. “Fuck you look good like—”

“Ma!”

At the sound of their son’s shout, Catherine jerked away from Cross with wide eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she squeaked.