by Bethany-Kris
“Very happy.”
“I’m worried there will be no one to catch you if you fall, Catherine. I might not be able to catch you.”
“I learned how to catch myself because he didn’t give me a choice. Let me do that now.”
“All right, so I will step back and let you do that,” Dante murmured.
Catherine stood stone-still as her father pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Her mother got up from the leather couch, crossed the small space between them, and wiped one tear that had escaped from Catherine’s eye with a soft smile.
“No matter what, we’re proud of you,” Catrina said. “We love you.”
Catherine took her mother’s kiss. “Yeah, I know that now, Ma.”
“We should have said it louder.”
“And more often,” Dante agreed.
“You did,” Catherine assured, “but I still had to figure it out on my own time.”
“Well done. I think some time to digest all of this is needed, though.” Antony pushed his form up from the chair, and clapped his son on the shoulder. “Now, someone needs to take me home. Cecelia doesn’t like being in that mansion all alone at night.”
Dante chuckled. “Yes, Papa.”
“I’ll take him,” Catherine offered, shrugging. “I’m going that way, anyway. It’s not that far out of the way.”
“To Manhattan?” Dante asked.
“To Cross.”
“I figured.”
Catherine had simply been biding her time.
Seven years was a long time to wait.
She was ready to go home.
Cross heard the penthouse door close, but he didn’t move from his position at the piano. He liked to sit there and play when his mind was too full with everything else. It helped to clear space, while he looked out the windows.
Catherine had messaged Cross to let him know that she was coming over. His response had only been that the door would be unlocked.
His back faced her as she closed the door. He listened for the sound of the latch when she locked it, too. She wasn’t quiet about her entrance, and her heels clicked along the hardwood floor until she was sitting on the bench with him. She dropped her bag and jacket alongside the leg of the piano.
Catherine’s pretty smile lit up her face. “Hey.”
“I’m surprised your father let you leave after today.”
“He didn’t have any reason to keep me, honestly.”
His dark gaze darted to hers, and he flashed a quick, sexy smile before going back to his music. “You sure about that? Because your father always seems to have a reason to keep you from me, Catty.”
“Was that really his fault, or mine?”
Cross swallowed thickly. “I love even your faults, babe. I always have.”
“I know.”
“Here you are, though.”
Catherine’s teeth nipped into her bottom lip. “Here I am.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I told the truth for once.”
“For once, huh?”
“About everything,” she added.
Cross lifted a brow. “That’s a lot of stuff to tell.”
“We all needed to hear it. Me included. Probably more me than them, really.”
“And so here you are,” he repeated.
Catherine laughed lightly. “Yeah, here I am. With you.”
“Where you belong.”
She didn’t deny it.
“You know, you’ve never played for me before,” Catherine mused.
When they lived together before, he hadn’t even had the piano in the penthouse.
Cross’s fingers slowed on the keys momentarily. “No, I guess I haven’t.”
“Shame. You’re very good.”
“Thank my mother for that.”
“Piano is a little odd for someone like you, isn’t it?”
“My father plays, too. My mother always said that sitting me down at the piano was the only thing that would make me stay still for longer than five minutes. She used that to her advantage.”
“Do you remember learning how to play?”
Cross shook his head. “No, but I do remember when I first started learning guitar with an instructor—I was six. I had already been having piano lessons for quite a while before that. I was starting to read music by then, and not just copy what my mother was doing, or play a bit by ear.”
“So … you’ve basically been playing piano for longer than you can remember?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Do you play often?” Catherine asked.
Cross lifted a single shoulder. “For the last year, sure. Especially since Calisto dragged me to an antique shop after he found this piano, and then forced me to buy it.”
“You really look like someone who can be forced to do something, Cross.”
His smirk deepened. “That’s my story.”
“I wish you would have played for me years ago.”
“I didn’t play at all for a period of time. More so when I was a teenager. I had better things to do, you know?”
“I think you told me once that I was the better things you were doing.”
He laughed huskily.
She grinned.
Cross thought he might like to get that pretty mouth of hers doing something else. “You were definitely one of the better things I was doing, Catherine.”
Catherine reached up to brush the few strands of hair that had fallen into Cross’s eyes out of the way. He watched her all the while; his hands never once stopped moving along the keys. The melody he created relaxed him almost as much as her touch did.
“What is it you’re playing, exactly?”
“It’s a piece from the sixth volume of Songs Without Words,” he said.
“The sixth volume?”
“There’s eight altogether.”
“Huh,” she whispered. “Well, this is very unfair, Cross.”
His hands stilled, and the last notes he played echoed through the penthouse before silence took its place.
“What’s unfair?” he asked.
“You.”
“Me?”
“You,” Catherine repeated with a nod.
“Explain, Catty.”
Catherine started ticking things off with her fingers. “Guitar. Piano. Guns. Style. Cooking. Driving, and cars. Money. Looks. Oh, let’s not forget sex, too.”
“Yes, let’s not,” Cross agreed. “That’s an important skill to have, babe. I think you would agree.”
“I do; that’s why I put it in the list. These are just a few things you’re good at, excel in, or have, Cross. A few. I could keep going. It’s a little unfair, that’s all.”
“How so?”
“I don’t think my list would match up, to be honest. Also, no one stands a chance against you. No one has ever even come close to me compared to you. I was unprepared for that—for you. You need to come with a warning, Cross.”
“Catherine, come on.”
She ticked off things about herself, too. “I’m rich, pretty, and I can hustle like nobody’s business. That’s about it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“No. That’s the truth.”
Didn’t she know how amazing she was?
Cross had news for her.
“Catherine, you’re also smart, strong, you love, you’ve survived, and I can keep going. You’ve done those things, or been those things, on your own. You did miss something on your list, though.”
“What?” she asked.
“You’re mine, my girl.”
Catherine blinked.
Cross smiled.
Then, he leaned over and kissed her hard enough to make his heart race. His tongue dived between her parted lips, and he got a taste of her heat clashing against his. He loved how she kissed him back, and never shied away; how she let him own her with it. His hand cupped her throat while his arm snaked around her waist. He wanted her closer, so he pulled her across the ben
ch until she was straddling his lap.
“You’re mine,” Cross said again. His thumb stroked the column of her throat, and his lips brushed against hers. “That means everything that I am is already yours, Catherine. It’s always been yours.”
“I came home,” she whispered.
He kissed her again, until his lungs burned with the need for air. His hands skimmed over her shoulders because he wanted to feel her in his palms. “You did. That’s scary for you, isn’t it? The thought that I might break your heart again.”
“A bit.”
“A bit?”
“A lot,” she admitted.
“I won’t, though,” he promised.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“You better.”
She tipped her head back, and her waves of hair tumbled over her shoulders. He enjoyed the sight of his hand slipping lower on her throat, and the feel of his fingertips overtop her pulse point. His thumb fit perfectly into the little hollow of her throat. When she hummed, it vibrated against the digit like a musical note would from the keys of his piano.
Catherine undid the last three buttons on Cross’s dress shirt. He’d already unbuttoned the top three, and rolled up his sleeves earlier when he sat down at the piano. Her warm hands stroked down his chest. She used the very tip of her finger to trace the script-style lettering of his tattoo on his ribcage.
“It’s like love was your religion.”
“No.”
Catherine’s gaze jumped up to his. “No?”
“Not any love. Not love for love. You, Catherine. You were the only thing in life I have ever believed in, waited for, cared about, and revered like my own personal God that would grant me salvation. It has always been only you.”
He would get on his knees for this woman.
He had every bit of his faith in her.
He would pray to this woman.
He would forever love this woman.
Only ever her.
He adored her—everything about her. Her mistakes, her faults, and her imperfections had simply been things that shaped her.
Catherine would not be his Catherine without every single piece that made up who she was. Cross found that he was proud, and so happy, that she finally realized it, too.
She shoved his dress shirt down his shoulders until he tugged the article off. Her soft lips kissed a hot path over his jaw, down the column of his throat, and she just kept going lower. It was only when her knees pressed to the floor, and she was freeing his hard length from the confines of his pants that she finally spoke again.
“I was thinking I would stay the night,” she said quietly, staring up at him.
Cross stood just long enough to let her pull his pants and boxer-briefs down the rest of the way, before she shoved them aside. “I should say so. You can’t possibly think I’ll let you suck my dick and then watch you leave, Catty.”
“Well … no.”
“Goddamn right.”
“I was thinking I might stay for good, too.”
Cross wet his lips. “I like the sound of that, too. Now get my cock in your mouth before you fucking kill me.”
Catherine winked; her lips curved wickedly.
A promise, he thought.
She could promise sin without even saying a word.
Cross took a breath, then two, and suddenly he couldn’t fucking breathe at all. Not when Catherine took his cock into her mouth from the tip to the base without damn near any hesitation. She held him there, too, as her lips tightened to the base and her tongue flicked against the underside of his cock. He felt her throat constrict with every swallow, and her eyes watered as she looked up at him.
“Fucking beautiful, babe. God, you’re so beautiful.”
Her teeth teased his shaft as she started bobbing slowly on his cock. Just enough of her teeth to drag and make him feel it—a tease. His fingers tangled into her hair, and a groan of approval fought its way out of his chest as she stilled in place.
“You always know what I want, huh?” he asked.
Catherine didn’t move an inch, but stayed staring at him, and waiting. He stood from the bench again, and she moved with him. She put her hands on the bench to steady herself as he started fucking her mouth in earnest.
“There we are,” Cross murmured, his throat thick with satisfaction, “take my fucking cock, Catherine. Jesus, I love your mouth.”
He saw the way her hands dashed under the skirt of her dress after she let go of the bench. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could fucking hear it. That was more than enough. She must have been sinking her fingers into her pussy because that familiar wet sound filled the air. It mixed in with the way his cock disappeared between her sweet lips over and over. The muscles of her throat jumped as a muffled moan vibrated around his dick.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Why are you teasing me even when you’re on your knees, huh? Don’t you know that only means I’ll fuck you harder, Catherine, when I finally get it?”
She just winked at him.
Winked.
Cross’s restrained snapped. As much as he loved fucking her mouth, he was really going to enjoy fucking her silly while he made handprints on her ass.
Oh, yes.
He pulled free from her sinful mouth, and yanked her up from the floor. Catherine’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip as her eyes widened. Her hands still hadn’t come out from beneath her dress.
Cross pushed her into the piano until their bodies were pressed together. He could feel her hands moving under her dress, fast and rhythmic. Her breaths picked up speed, and her pupils enlarged as she started trembling.
“You gonna come?” he asked.
Catherine nodded. “Yeah.”
He had a good mind to pull her hands out from between her thighs, but he decided against it. If only because he wanted her wet and tight as hell when he finally sunk his cock into her cunt. She was always soaked and snug after she came.
Cross was on his knees in a blink, and pushing the skirt of Catherine’s dress up around her waist. He was caught like a deer in the headlights by the sight of her hands under her lace panties. One rubbing at her clit, the other stuffing her cunt full of two fingers and making a damp spot on her panties.
He could smell her, too.
All tart and hot.
Cross groaned. “Christ, come on. I want a taste, Catherine. Come, so I can clean off those fingers of yours.”
“Oh, my God,” she breathed.
Her orgasm came on faster than he expected, but it was still a beautiful sight to watch it race over her skin. She pulled shaking hands from her panties, and offered them to him like a gift. He sucked and licked her fingers clean just like he said he would, and took his sweet time to make sure every bit of her cum was gone from her skin before he stood up once more.
“You better fuck me so good after that, Cross,” Catherine said.
“You know it. Strip.” He kicked that damn bench so it was out of way of the piano, and he had room to move. “Then I want you bent over that bench, Catty, and showing me what’s always been mine. Now.”
Catherine didn’t hesitate. Her dress hit the floor soundlessly, and then her bralette and panties followed. She left her black pumps on, though. He loved fucking her in heels, and she knew it. He palmed her ass when she moved past him to go to the bench, and sighed a happy sound when his hand snapped against the same spot with a slap.
“Keep it up,” she whispered.
So high.
So airless.
He loved that, too.
“Show me what’s mine,” he countered.
Catherine bent over the bench with a soft laugh. She spread her legs when he came up behind her, and tapped his hands to the insides of her thighs with a barked, wider, babe.
Her ass was high, pinked by his hand, and a peek of her wet cunt stared back at him. Fucking hell, it was a beautiful sight. He couldn’t help but stroke his cock while he looked her over, ma
de her wait, and slipped his fingers into her tight slit.
Wet.
Hot.
Perfect.
His fingers curled against her G-spot, and she moaned a broken plea.
“Cross, please …”
“Keep saying that,” he demanded.
“Start fucking me, then.”
Whatever she wanted.
His fingers were quickly replaced by his cock. He didn’t even give Catherine a chance to realize what was happening before he yanked her back onto his dick. All nine inches of him sunk into her pussy, and then he was pulling right back out again. He slammed back in without a pause, and with enough force to make Catherine’s fingers dig into the leather of the bench to keep her steady.
“Shit,” Catherine stuttered out.
“Fucking take it, babe. It’s what you wanted.”
“Cross.”
There it was; her sweet, high cries that he loved the very most.
His pace was brutal—no holds barred.
Catherine only begged for more.
He found heaven and home when he was balls deep in Catherine. He found the best music came spilling from her lips when she cried his name and panted her way through another orgasm. He found the prettiest art was made by his handprints on her ass and his fingerprints on her hips when he yanked her into every thrust.
She was life to him.
She was his life.
“I’m surprised you came over this morning,” Calisto said.
Cross looked up from the Guns and Ammo magazine in his hands. “Why?”
“Because I’ve called you three times this week—and last night—but you ignore my calls.”
“If you needed something, you would get Wolf to call me. That’s what you do.”
“I don’t seem to have any other choice where you’re concerned at the moment, son.”
Cross shrugged. “I didn’t have anything to say, so I didn’t pick up the phone.”
“Yet here you sit.”
“Thank Catherine.”
Calisto raised a brow high. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m here because of Catherine.”
“Again—”
“I was in bed with her when you called last night. She told me to stop ignoring you; you’re my father, she said, and I was acting like a child.”
Calisto cleared his throat. “Well, then.”