Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  If she keeps this up, our night’s going to end a whole lot sooner than I want it to.

  Settling against the headboard behind me, I hook my hand under hers and pull her up. She wipes the corner of her mouth and flashes a naughty smile, and I fish around the sheets for the rubber I must’ve dropped. I grip the base of my cock and pull her closer, her legs parting as she straddles me. The scent of her arousal fills the air and I pull in a greedy lungful. Lowering herself onto my cock and carefully sliding down, a soft sigh leaves her lips and her head dips back. With her hands braced on my stomach, she rocks her body back and forth, circling her hips and bouncing on her knees, guiding my hands to her ass.

  Daphne bites her lip, scrunches her eyes, and then relaxes her face each time she presses her body against mine. I’m not just inside her, I’m consuming every fiber of her, igniting her soul, filling a deeper part of her that perhaps she never knew was empty.

  Leaning forward, her white-blonde waves spill across her chest, tickling my face, and she brings her lips to mine again. I pump myself into her, meeting her circling hips and pressing myself deeper and deeper.

  But it’s not enough.

  I want more.

  Grabbing her by the hips, I flip her onto her stomach and crawl over her. Gripping the base of my cock, I slide into her from behind, aided by her wetness, feeling the resistance of her sweet, tight pussy as our friction builds with every insertion.

  Arching her back, Daphne mumbles and moans soft, sweet nothings. With her face buried into the pillow, she turns her face to the side to catch her breath, her hair sticking to her damp forehead and her lips gasping, breathlessly, for air.

  A tightness builds at the base of my cock, and Daphne presses her hips back against mine every time I thrust deep inside her. Her sighs grow a little more desperate, a little more helpless with each passing second, and when she grabs a fistful of hotel sheets, I know she’s close.

  Her jaw falls and her face winces a minute later, and she screams into the pillow as I fuck her harder, faster, relentlessly, and when I blow my load, she fucks me back, harder than ever before, coaxing every last drop and draining me dry.

  When I collapse over top of her, our skin sticky and sweet, I slide my hand beneath her jaw, angling her head to the side and searching for her lips in the dark. Every place our bodies touch is lit hot with flamed desire.

  I burn for this woman.

  My soul needs her.

  She’s the only girl who can make me forget about all the bullshit. All the shitty hands life deals.

  She’s the only girl who makes me want to think about the future, and that’s something I haven’t thought about in years.

  “You should call in sick today.” I watch Daphne gather her clothes off the floor the next morning, her body partially bathed in a pinkish early morning light. The rest of her is covered in a thin white bath towel, and her damp hair clings to her bare shoulders.

  Brushing a strand of wet hair from her eyes, she stops, stooped over with an armful of clothes, and shoots me a grin. “Believe me, I’d much rather spend my last day in Paris with you, but this is my job. I can’t.”

  Taking a seat on a nearby chaise, she dresses in front of me, slipping on her lace bra followed by matching pink panties, and it takes all the strength I have not to climb out of his bed and rip them off her and have my way with her all over again.

  God, she’s beautiful. So damn sexy. I could fuck this woman every single day for the rest of my life and it would never get old, of that much I’m certain.

  My rock hard cock rubs against the comforter, a casual reminder that I’m completely naked under these covers. Last night, I made love to Daphne, and she fell asleep in my arms. I’m not a romantic guy, but I can’t think of a better way to spend a night in the City of Light.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” I ask. “One of my friends is in this play. He could get us tickets, backstage passes too. You want to go?”

  Daphne pulls a blouse over her head. “Cool it, Romeo.”

  “What?”

  “Just stop with all of this,” she says, rising and stepping into a pair of skintight jeans that make me want to bite my fist. “We have fun together. We have amazing sex. But I don’t want this to be a thing, you know? You don’t need to take me on dates. You don’t have to pretend that this is going somewhere when you and I both know it’s not. Just spare me the formalities.”

  “Taking you out tonight is not a formality. I enjoy being with you. I have fun with you. It’s not that complicated.”

  Stepping in front of her mirrored dresser, she pats some moisturizer into her skin and then slicks on a coat of pink lip gloss using the pad of her ring finger. Meeting my gaze in the mirror, she says, “The other night, at the restaurant, these women were talking about French men versus American men.”

  “Yeah?” I lift a single brow, not sure where she’s going with this.

  “Basically, they said that French men take their time. They don’t rush things. And American men are intense. They want what they want, when they want it.”

  I nod. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

  “Yeah, well, in my experience, when people rush things, they tend to over promise and under deliver.” She clicks the lid to her lip gloss, spinning to face me. “And that’s how people get hurt.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Daphne,” I swear to her. “Now get to work, and I’ll see you at seven. And stop acting like you’re not excited.”

  Chapter 35

  Daphne

  My body shivers so hard I can barely speak as I wait beneath the theatre awning. His friend’s play just let out, and Cristiano’s attempting to hail a cab, but the ones that have passed so far are either not in service or it’s raining so hard they can’t see us. Or they don’t want to stop and have two rain-soaked passengers drench their backseat. I’m not quite sure, all I know is I’ve never had this hard of a time catching a lift in Manhattan.

  I watch as he tries, in vain, to hail the tenth taxi of the night.

  “It’s okay,” I yell out, though with the city traffic I doubt he can hear me.

  He lifts his arm, watching another go past, and then he jams his hands in his pockets and runs back to me. January is the wettest month of the year in Paris. The coldest too.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, dragging his palms up and down my arms. “Jesus, you’re shivering. Here. Take my coat.”

  “No, no. You need your coat.” I refuse his gesture.

  “We could always wait for the rain to stop.”

  “Could be hours,” I say.

  “I’m sure we can find a café or something. I could’ve sworn there was an all night coffee shop just around the corner.”

  He takes my hand, pulling me behind him, and we run-walk to the next street corner, jumping over puddles and laughing as we dart through passersby and in between parked cars. This feels like a mad dash, a game of sorts, but before I’m aware of how long we’ve been running, we spot a well-lit café half a block ahead. From the outside, I spot the cozy glow of a fireplace and spot a gathering of soft furnishings beside it. Following Cristiano’s lead, we make a run for it and enter the establishment looking soaked clear through to our bones.

  My makeup is melted, my hair is sticking to my rosy cheeks, and my damp clothes are clinging to my shivering body, but damn if Cristiano doesn’t look at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

  He pulls me aside, away from the draft of the door that threatens to freeze us on the spot with each patron’s coming and going, and he wraps me in his arms. Peering down, I meet his gaze, losing myself temporarily, until he presses his mouth against mine. And in that moment, I find myself again. I’m ejected into the present moment. Here. With him.

  But as beautiful and wonderful and magical as this moment is, deep down, I know it’s only temporary. We’re blinded by the romance of Paris. By the thrill of exploring an exciting city with a familiar face. By the promise of new love that
we know will lose that ‘new car smell’ the second we set foot on home soil.

  If it could always be this grand with him, I’d consider giving him another chance. Making it work. Seeing where this might lead. But the fact of the matter is, when we take the chemistry and the happenstance out of the equation, we’re just a couple of lost souls floating in two entirely different directions.

  This time next week, I’ll be moving to California to start my teaching career, and he’ll be . . . well, he’ll be anywhere he chooses to be.

  He’s an adventurous soul. And I can’t take that away from him. I can’t clip his wings.

  Cristiano slips his hand in mine, leading me to the bar where he orders us two piping hot drinks, and then we find a place by the fire, a cozy little loveseat. We remove our jackets and shoes, placing them by the glowing flames in hopes they’ll be a little drier by the time the rain dies down and we have to prepare ourselves for the walk back to my hotel.

  The sound of crackling wood and a rustic, smoky scent reminds me of home, of camping at our lake house as a young girl, and I find myself briefly fantasizing about what it would be like to bring him home and introduce him to my family. They’d love him, that much I know. He’s charismatic and friendly. Wordly and interesting.

  But I force myself to snap out of it. The present moment is where I need to be because there is no future for us.

  And there could never be.

  Chapter 36

  Cristiano

  It’s two in the morning and I’m wide awake, listening to the sound of the rain slicking the hotel room windows, its gentle tapping a lullaby of sorts but not enough to lure me to sleep. Daphne lies on her side, one arm tucked beneath her and the other stretched across my chest.

  Two hours ago, we burst into this room, tore off each other’s rain-soaked clothes, and immediately proceeded to do what we do best. I fucked her against the wall. On the bed. Against the glass of the balcony. I could go again if she’d let me, but her warm body melted against mine is a sure sign that she’s spent.

  “I fly home tomorrow morning,” she says with a sigh, trailing her fingernails softly down the center of my chest. “I’ll leave tomorrow, spend a few days at home, and then pack up and head west.”

  “I was planning on spending next week in Amsterdam, but I’ll come home a week early,” I say. “I promised my mom I’d spend more time at home anyway.”

  She releases a breathy laugh. “Don’t leave just because I’m leaving.”

  “I want to see you before you move.” I tuck my hand beneath my head, staring up at the ceiling. “I came clean to my mom about law school and not graduating.”

  Daphne rolls to her stomach, sliding her hand under her chin and resting them on my chest. “Oh, yeah? How’d she take it?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  “Did you tell her about Jax Diesel?”

  Laughing and coughing at the same time, I say, “Yeah, about that. No, I didn’t tell her. She stumbled across one of my books in the wild. Went to the Jax Diesel website because she couldn’t get over the striking resemblance . . .”

  Daphne giggles, covering her mouth with a cupped hand. “No she didn’t.”

  Biting my bottom lip and cringing, I nod. “Yeah, that was a fun conversation.”

  “How’d she take it?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. I just wanted the conversation to end as soon as humanly possible. I think I blacked out that entire five minutes of my life.”

  “Aww,” Daphne snorts through her nose. “Well at least it’s over and done with. Anyway, can we be real for a minute?”

  My gut sinks for a second. Nothing good ever follows a statement like that.

  “Of course.” I clear my throat, meeting her gaze.

  “I’m moving to California. And you’re always traveling. I don’t think this is going to work,” she says softly. “At least not for me. And I don’t think we should kid ourselves. We’re a little caught up in the moment right now, but after tomorrow, it’s back to reality.”

  Sitting up, I lean my back against the headboard, my jaw tense. She rises to her knees, pulling the sheets around her naked body.

  “Daphne,” I say, “I don’t know what I have to do to convince you that I’m serious about this. I want to make this work. I don’t know how, but I know we can figure something out.”

  Her full lips purse. Whatever it is she’s thinking about, she’s keeping it to herself right now, and that’s never a good sign.

  “Do you want to meet my mom?” I blurt. “I haven’t brought anyone home to meet her in years. And I’ll catch a lot of shit for this from my brothers, but I’ll do it. I’ll let you meet my mom. That’s how serious I am about you.”

  Her fingertips lightly graze her chest and she smirks. “You’ve known me since New Year’s Eve . . . which means you barely know me. You’re insane, you know that?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t fucking care.” I pull her into my lap, letting the covers fall to her hips. She straddles me, and I run my hands up the small of her back as I crush her lips with a kiss. The sweet scent of her arousal fills my lungs, sending a throb to my cock. “You’re addictive, Daphne. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get my fix.”

  “Fine,” she says between kisses. “But let’s make one thing clear.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “Not yet. But you will be.”

  Chapter 37

  Daphne

  “Need any help?” My mother stands in the doorway of my childhood room as I unpack from my return from Paris. A few loads of laundry and I’ll be ready to start packing again for my move west. Fortunately I don’t have to bring much since I’m renting a fully furnished apartment, and most of my things I can ship. I figured I’d bring two giant suitcases for the flight and FedEx the rest.

  “I’m good,” I say, offering a smile as I toss a wad of dirty clothes into a hamper across the room. “Thanks though.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Mom says, feet shuffling across the gray carpet. She moves to my nightstand, placing her hand on a small journal that I hadn’t noticed until now. “Your father found this in the back of that rental car when he was returning it for you the other week. He brought it back, thinking it was yours, but I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

  Cristiano’s travel journal.

  I remember it now.

  I’d completely forgotten about it, and I’d only seen him writing in it once during our trip.

  “Does it belong to your friend?” Mom lifts her brows.

  “I think so. I’ll make sure he gets it back,” I say.

  “Okay, well, anyway.” She moves toward the hall, lingering in the doorway. “Demi and Royal are coming over for supper tonight. They should be here any minute now. I know we’re all anxious to hear about your time in gay Paree.”

  My mouth pulls up on one side and I nod. “Of course. I’ll be down in a bit. Just going to finish up here and grab a quick shower.”

  “All right, sweetheart.”

  The second Mom leaves, I abandon my half un-packed bags, close my door, and make a beeline for Cristiano’s journal. We left things in a good place, and the last several days have been magical. He isn’t coming home until tomorrow, and I’ll be coming over the following day to meet his mom. Everything’s happening so fast. Everything’s kind of magical. But I can’t help but feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  They say when something’s too good to be true, it usually is.

  Cracking open his journal, I read the first entry and gasp.

  July 3rd

  Cabo san Lucas, Mexico

  I took a boat tour of Lands’ End today, where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific Ocean. It was a sunrise tour, and I was in the company of mostly couples. Some honeymooners. Some thirty-fifth anniversary celebrators. I couldn’t help but feel, in a strange way, that you were there with me, at least in spirit. And I really wish you were. You woul
d’ve loved it. You always did love the sea. Anyway, the sunrise was beautiful. Streaks of pink and orange mixing with blue. Made me think of you.

  August 12th

  Brussels, Belgium

  I met with my friend Anwar today in Brussels. Known him since my freshman year of college, when he was visiting on an exchange scholarship. Anyway, he showed me around. We went beer tasting and saw the Atomium sculpture park. You always loved art. Wish you could’ve been there. Tomorrow we’re stopping by the Horta Museum and Parlamentarium.

  I page ahead, flipping past date after date, country after country, and city after city. Each entry is written to someone. Someone he misses dearly. Someone he wishes could be with him during his travels.

  Sinking into my bed, I close the journal, pressing it against my chest as I try to catch my breath. I don’t know what this means, but it changes things. I feel the change in my bones, melting into a slight panic when I think about seeing Cristiano again in two days.

  Flipping through the journal again, I look for a more recent date, my eyes unable to scan his writing fast enough when I find it.

  December 31st

  Seaview, California

  Another New Year’s without you. They just keep piling up, one after another it seems. And it never gets easier. Each new year always feels like a reminder that we should’ve been together, and that we’ll never get the chance. Anyway, I’m flying home later today. Guess I’ll see you soon.

  I can’t breathe for a moment. The oxygen has been sucked from my lungs and my chest burns hot.

  All these entries . . . was he writing to Joey? And why would he do this? None of it makes sense. And he claimed he never loved her. That he was just protective of her.