Cross your Heart

by Haley Jenner

  “I’ve shown you mine,” she teases.

  Leaning forward, I flick her nipple with the tip of my tongue, making her laugh.

  I remove my shirt with a quick tug over my head.

  There’s so much passing between us. More than either of us are ready to contemplate. We’ve spent the last two months in hidden bliss. Starring in our own feature film. Pretending, in the public eye, that we are nothing but acquaintances. But in private, in the dark corners, hidden to prying eyes, we’re lovers; possessed by lust and wild with love. Our hearts were crossed, and not just in promise. They were entangled with the feelings we weren’t ready to admit, interlaced with the bond we’d always shared.

  Naked, aside from a pair of my boxers she’d thrown on after her shower, she shimmies backward, dragging my shorts with her, leaving me bare for her greedy hands and thirsty eyes. Her palms glide up my legs, feeling their way up the thick muscle of my thighs. Blonde hair, a mess of light-colored waves frame her makeup-free face, her freckles highlighting the creamy touch of her skin. Hand reaching out, I let my thumb brush across her kisses from the sun. She moves into my touch, edging forward to bring our lips together.

  “You’re kinda my favorite,” she whispers.

  “You’re kinda mine,” I reply.

  “Cross your heart?” Her tongue drags across the seam of my lips, tasting the words I can’t say.

  In one swift movement, I flip her onto her back, hovering above her.

  “Cross my heart.” I seal the promise with my mouth, massaging her tongue with my own.

  She drinks up my kiss eagerly, legs bending at the knee to bring them flush to my sides.

  We spend the next few minutes lost in our kiss. Drowning in soft moans and ragged groans.

  Breaking the kiss, I take in her face; the swell of her well-kissed lips, the lazy sparkle of her eyes, the pink flush of her cheeks.

  “Hi.” My mouth sits a breath away from hers, our gaze locking.

  “Hi,” she whispers back.

  Hands finding the waistband of her boxers, I move back, only to divest them from her body, leaving her completely bare, perfectly open both physically and figuratively.

  “Reid... baby,” she hums. “Fuck me,” she says as I lift my head. “Slowly. Let me feel you.”

  Make love to me is what she’s asking.

  She wants more than instinctive fucking, she wants to transcend the limits of her body through her feelings. She wants to confess her deepest secrets to me through touch, and she wants me to offer her the same.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that too.

  My Firefly might not be ready to tell the world she loves me, she might not be ready to verbalize it to me directly, hell, she’s likely refusing to admit it to herself. But her body defies her at every turn, as do her eyes and her smile.

  Roxy Monroe is head over heels in love with me.

  And I couldn’t be fucking happier.

  Lips trailing up the line of her stomach, peppering kisses across the hollow lines of her ribs, and up the strong contour of her sternum, I move toward her lips, chasing her kiss. Squeezing her thigh, I slide my hand down the silky touch of her leg, cupping her calf to wrap it around my waist. The underside of my shaft slides effortlessly through the warmth of her arousal. She’s hot. She’s wet.

  One palm pressed against the racing beat of my heart, her other arm is thrown over my shoulder, fingers twisting in my hair.

  Eyes connected, I let the crown of my head push inside of her, reveling in the feeling.

  A stuttered breath; drawn across my lips.

  A drawn-out blink; eyes flashing with unrestrained need upon opening.

  A soft moan.

  A plea.

  And I’m seated all the way inside of her. Our bodies connected in every way possible.

  Hearts thundering in rhythm.

  Breathing finding cadence, back and forth.

  Eyes like anchors, fixed to one another through the tornado of emotions swirling around us.

  Grinding against her, I eat up the soft cry that spills from her lips.

  Love is a sneaky fucker. The way it worms its way into your heart without your permission or knowledge. You’re hopelessly and happily oblivious until it hits like a grenade, right in your face. The shrapnel of your own feelings piercing in a way that you know you’ll never recover. They either stay, lodged within you forever, keeping you alive. Or you painstakingly pull them from your soul over time, bleeding with the loss of something so significant, death seems imminent.

  Tangled up in Roxy, my stiff cock driving into her in unhurried thrusts, my grenade doesn’t just detonate, it rips me apart. I’ve fallen in deep, drowning in the way I feel. The words are balancing on the very tip of my tongue, begging to be let free.

  I love you.

  It seems so easy. Three little words. Three gentle syllables. Yet, they’re like barbed wire around my heart. Like a lump in my throat threatening to suffocate me. I’m sweating in panic.

  Why is such a simple phrase so hard to say?

  Fear.

  Of the unknown. Or rejection. Of failure.

  Three little words that could easily upend my life like they’ve done before. Like Roxy isn’t ready to admit her feelings to herself, I’m not ready to vocalize them to her. We’re not ready.

  Dropping my face into her neck, I push the words down, welcoming the shrapnel wounds as they dig in deeper.

  I fuck her slowly, just as she asked, but I do it hard. I bury my feelings deep within her body with every powerful drive.

  Our bodies are damp with sweat, the explicit slap of skin framing my jagged groans and her heady cries.

  Her tits bounce with every violent thrust, her nipples cutting across my chest in a delicious agony.

  Every drive has me wanting, needing more. I want to fuck her hard enough that she forgets anyone existed before this moment. I want her to come so savagely that there isn’t a possibility of anyone else existing after me.

  I want to rewrite her story. I want to erase any hurt she’s ever felt and replace it with only happy memories. I want to take the pain that people have inflicted and trade it with the touch of my lips. I want to obliterate every unkind word spoken about her and replenish them with words that build her up. I want her to see me and only me.

  “Reid,” she pleads, fingernails cutting into the skin of my back, her hips lifting, breathing shaky.

  “Come for me, Firefly,” I growl. “Break. I got you.”

  Her cries are thunderously licentious. She comes viciously, body bucking so forcefully she almost dislodges me. Sliding a hand under her back, I grip her shoulder, my free hand bruising her hip to keep her in place.

  “Yes,” she continues shaking, her orgasm still racking her body as I power in and out of her.

  “Fuck, Roxy. You feel so fucking good.” I can barely speak; my breathing so labored my words exit in thick puffs of air.

  I groan, every coherent thought leaving my mind, my orgasm holding me hostage. Every one of my senses is surging forward, racing to explode, making me feel wholly in control and vulnerable at the same time.

  Stilling inside her, I shatter, the roar that rips from my throat altogether satisfied and exposed.

  “Fuck,” I exhale, falling on top of her in a heap of zapping nerves.

  She laughs, a soft chuckle breaking through her heavy breaths. “Oh. That was…”

  “I know.” I roll off her, falling to my back to let cool air chill my sweat-soaked skin. “Fuck, Roxy.” I stare at the ceiling. “I could fuck you all day every day for the rest of my life and still need more of you.”

  I roll to my side, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “The way your tight cunt grips my dick,” I murmur. “There’s nothing else like it.”

  “I never imagined you to be a dirty talker.” She turns her head, grinning at me.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Her hand comes up to scratch along my cheek in affection. “I love it.�
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  Snagging her arm, I kiss the delicate skin of her wrist. “You saying that you thought I’d be all vanilla, with sweet nothings whispered in your ear and constant eye contact?”

  Lips pursed in thought, she shakes her head. “Nah. More wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”

  I pull her on top of me, face buried in the ticklish part of her neck. She squeals.

  “Take it back,” I demand.

  “No.” She wriggles wildly, trying to escape.

  Fingers burying into her ribs, she bucks on a delighted scream. “Stop!”

  “Take it back,” I repeat.

  She attempts to pinch my nipple and I flip her effortlessly, tsking her. “You’re making my dick hard, Roxy.”

  Her shrieks and squeals subside, her breathing shallow and sharp. “Fuck my mouth,” she urges, her pink tongue coming out to lick her lips in anticipation.

  Nostrils flaring, my cock jerks at her needy plea. The thought of her hot, wet mouth sliding up and down my dick enough to let it leak with pre-cum, ready to explode down her throat.

  Moving up her body, she pushes my length against the flat line of my stomach. The tip of her tongue tickles my balls, dragging across them softly before she pulls them into her mouth, sucking tenderly.

  “Fuck.” My hand hits the headboard, stabilizing me.

  Humming against the oversensitive skin, my thighs shake, my cock jolts. Replacing her hand, I squeeze the granite line of my dick. She releases my balls on a tender pop.

  Guiding myself into her mouth, she takes it eagerly, her tongue massaging me the entire way down. She coughs gently as I hit the back of her throat, making me grin obscenely. I nudge forward, wanting to hear the sound again, but she’s relaxed into it, taking me easily.

  “Show off.”

  Her face creases around her lips, an attempted smile around my cock.

  My hips edge back and forth, sliding myself in and out of the warmth of her mouth. I watch her face, the lustful gaze staring up at me as I feed her my cock. She swallows it eagerly, cheeks hollow, lips glistening with the way she salivates.

  Hand finding her cheek, I glide my thumb along the distinct bone down to her lips. Forcing the digit into her mouth, I pull her mouth open roughly. She growls in protest as I pull my cock back, her head lifting to chase it.

  “Uh-ah,” I caution, and her head falls back against her pillow, lips tipped down in a frown.

  Palm gripping my base, I tap my wet head against her puffy lips. Sliding it left to right, I decorate the pink cushions with the drips of cum already leaking from me. Mouth opening, she attempts to take it in, but I pull back once again.

  “Tongue,” I demand.

  She dips it out, and I lay my heavy head on the flat line of her tongue.

  “Lick.”

  Her eyes spark like fire, the mismatched pools darkening with heat and desire. Slowly, her tongue trails backward, tracing the velvet touch of my skin. Her tip finds the slit in my head, teasing back and forth.

  “Fuck, Roxy,” I groan, squeezing my base almost violently.

  She moves on, circling my head before sucking it into her mouth smoothly, her perfect lips framing me like a picture I never want to erase.

  Watching her behind hooded eyes, my abs tense. I’m caught between the need for my cum to slide down her throat and the burning desire I have to see it sprayed along her creamy skin.

  “Finish on my tits,” she murmurs around me, reading my mind.

  Sliding backward, I jerk my dick; quick and rough movements of my wrist as I chase my release. Moving to her elbows, Roxy watches me, her breathing quickening as she watches me fuck my hand.

  The first spurt of cum lands across her tits, dripping along her nipples like my greatest fantasy. The second shooting up her neck like a ribbon, landing across her open lips and chin. Mouth agape, she catches the third and final stream on her tongue, swallowing it eagerly.

  Falling to the side, I groan loudly. “You’re a fantasy, Roxy.”

  She moans and lifting my head, I watch as she slides her fingers across her nipples, moving them down her body to her pussy. Using my cum, she rubs her clit in rough circles. I spend the next few minutes mesmerized by my girl and the way she brings herself to climax with my name on her cum-stained lips.

  Twenty-Two

  Take Two

  Roxy

  The restaurant is loud. Boisterous voices rising to be heard over one another. People are virtually yelling, but the mood is happy, relaxed. Drinks are flowing, tables decorated in the empty plates of a well-enjoyed meal.

  Filming wrapped over three months ago, post-production in full swing. James hired an entire restaurant out to cater for every single person involved in the production of Firefly. To celebrate, to congratulate everyone on a job well done. Even considering Ari and Reid’s cast change in the beginning, we wrapped earlier than scheduled, and much in line with budget.

  Reid is beaming. Well, in Reid style. The right side of his mouth pulled up in a grin that nothing would be able to diminish. He’s deliriously happy, you can read it in his eyes. I’m proud of him. He’s dreamt of this moment his entire life and not only did he achieve it, he slayed it.

  A camera assistant is chattering in my ear, talking to me about the new puppy she can’t wait to get home to. I nod where required, smiling affectionately when she does. But my eyes are on Reid, standing against the bar, whiskey in his hand, his finger sliding over the screen of his phone.

  Cell buzzing in my pocket, I pull it out, smiling at the notification shining out at me.

  too_busy_reiding followed you.

  I glance up at him through my lashes, his eager gaze watching me cautiously.

  We’d refrained for this long, working to hold back from adding gasoline to the rumors circling about me, about him, about us.

  I click the blue follow back button, watching his grin grow wide on his face. Turning, he grabs the bartender, handing him his phone.

  “Everyone!” he shouts of the raucous. “Photo time. Ari keeps getting on my ass about my single Instagram post.”

  “It’s very serial killer of you,” Ari deadpans, making the crew laugh.

  Everyone moves in the direction of the bar, Ari and I standing on either side of Reid. People surrounding us, hidden by bodies, heads, Reid’s hand slides down my ass, gripping it tightly.

  Leaning down as though I’m speaking to him, his lips are a breath from mine. “You look fucking delicious, Firefly. Been thinking about fucking you all night.”

  “Smile!” the bartender yells, and like he didn’t just make my thighs clench, Reid lifts his head lazily smiling at the camera.

  “Tag us in the photo?” a sound engineer asks and Reid nods, taking his phone from the bartender on a thankful smile.

  “How the fuck do I tag people?” he murmurs to Ari and I to our amusement.

  “Hand it over,” Ari instructs. “Fuck, Roxy-Roo. You look smoking. Look at that smolder in your eyes.”

  I wave him off at the way Reid puffs his chest, tongue dipping out to lick his lips in victory.

  “You’re an idiot,” I admonish, but he only shrugs.

  “The three of us look great,” Ari ignores us. “Yo.” He grabs the closest person. “Take a snap of us, please. Rox, in the middle.”

  Standing between the two of them, dwarfed on either side, I smile at the camera, comfortable in their embrace.

  “I’m just ducking to the bathroom,” I tell the crown of their heads, faces buried in their phones.

  They both nod distractedly and rolling my eyes, I wander off in the direction of the restrooms.

  Flushing the toilet, my cell buzzes in my pocket.

  too_busy_reiding tagged you in a post

  ari_harts_imposter tagged you in a post

  Closing the toilet, I drop onto the closed lid.

  I smile at the photos they’ve each posted, finger double-tapping to like them. I add a black heart in a comment for both.

  I know I shouldn’t do it.
Read the comments piling up under each image. But I can’t help myself.

  Ugh. She wishes she could be the ham in that sandwich.

  She’s so ugly.

  Make sure you don’t contract some form of disease by touching her.

  Marry me, Ari.

  I love you, Reid.

  Great pic.

  Her face looks like it did in her sex tape.

  @whiskey_on_the_rox totally fucked the director to get that gig.

  Who invited the porno star?

  It’s incessant. Thousands of comments, all as maliciously worded as the last.

  A tear falls, dropping from my chin onto the screen of my phone. I wipe at my cheeks, sniffing loudly. I hadn’t even realized I’d started to cry, but as I dab at the tears falling from my eyes, the realization makes them fall faster.

  Dropping my phone into my lap, I cup my face with both hands, sobbing quietly into my palms. Being scarred on the outside is one thing, thick angry marks that may trigger curiosity, but they also ignite consideration and compassion. But scars of the soul are virtually impossible to see. I feel shredded inside, but people refuse to look deeper. They look at me and see who they want.

  I work my hardest to steel myself against the hate thrown my way. I pretend to shrug it off like it’s nothing.

  But it’s everything.

  A flaming arrow shot at me, over and over again. I’ve spent so long ducking and weaving, but the truth is the greater population has made it their life’s mission to make me feel worthless. They stab at me with callous comment after callous comment, and they won’t stop until they see blood.

  They want me to fail. They want me to fuck up. And I have no idea why. I wish I could pinpoint the moment the media, the trolls, the haters decided I’d be a good candidate as their punching bag. In all honesty, I guess there isn’t a rhyme or reason to their hate. I know I’m not the only one, but sometimes it feels that way. Sometimes I feel like I’m standing on a ledge, alone, the world brandishing pitchforks and fires calling for me to be burned at the stake of public opinion. I guess that’s their game, cutting you down enough that you think you have no choice but to jump.