Page 40 of Dance with the Devil

Butterfly, I want to shout. Call mebutterfly.

Cross squats down by the cot. I glance down, unable to resist the urge to look at him. His body is so incredibly beautiful. With as many distinct, unique tattoos covering him, he’s like a pieceof art, and that’s not counting his sculpted muscles and his trim waist.

I’ve always wondered just how much of Cross is tatted. Now I know for sure. His back is covered, his arms are covered, his neck and throat are covered, but once you hit his hips, all I see is delicious tanned skin.

Tonight was the first time I saw him without his shirt. Amazingly, he has this big space on the left side of his chest that’s empty. Right over his pec, it’s completely bare, making his copper-colored nipple stand out while the other hides amongst the ink on the other side. I want to ask him why, but then my gaze dips even lower, landing on his cock.

I know he came inside of me. I saw the look of surprise on his face as he did, and I know Cross didn’t mean to do that. There’s no taking it back now, and I can see a faint sheen of white cream covering most of his length from where his come mingled with mine.

That’s not all, though. Because unless I’m imagining it, the white sheen has a hint of red to it.

Cross ignores his own mess, turning his attention to mine. As he swiped the soaked piece of sleeve over my thighs, I’m just in time to notice that there are red splotches there, too. For a moment, I wonder if I started my period—because that would just be perfect as a captive—before I realize exactly what that is.

I was a virgin when he fucked me before. I’m not a virgin now, and that little bit of blood is enough to prove it.

With a look of intense concentration on his face, Cross wipes it away from my inner thighs. Then, bracing me with the softest touch, he pins me down so that he can flip the sleeve over, then tidy up my pussy.

At first, I thought he was trying to erase any sign of what we did together, and I want to shove him away. However, before I can do that, he leans closer, dropping his mouth down so that hecan press a kiss to my thigh before rising up, standing near the cot.

The quick rub he gives his cock is nowhere near as sweet and tender as the way he cleaned me up. He grabs it, wiping the sleeve around it until the skin is clean. That done, he tosses the used sleeve to the floor before reaching for the rest of his shirt.

He’s been quiet since he told me that the sleeve was clean as it could be. I keep waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He goes through the motions, and though I’ve heard enough about sex from Christopher to know that cleaning up after is essential—especially when we haven’t been able to do more than give ourselves a sink bath in weeks—so I know what he was doing. I appreciate it, too.

But when he makes as though he’s going to put on his shirt?

“Don’t,” I say.

He pauses, giving me a quizzical look.

I lick my bottom lip, then scoot over a bit so that there’s room on the cot. “I like looking at your tattoos. Don’t put your shirt back on.”

He nods. “If you say so.”

Cross drops the shirt, going for his jeans.

“No.” I’m a little firmer this time. “No jeans.” I swallow, rushing the words out while I still have the nerve. “I want you to lie with me like this. Just like this. To hold me.”

His brows draw together. “Naked? You’re asking me to climb back into bed and hold younaked?”

I nod.

He thinks he forced me into having sex with me. He told Winter that he wouldn’t rape me, and from the way he’s acting right now, that’s exactly what he think happened.

But Winter is gone. We don’t have an audience, and though he’s pointedly ignoring the fact that, without his pants on, I cansee that his cock is already starting to harden under the weight of my stare.

“Genevieve…” He exhales. “Butterfly,” he says, and I know then that I haven’t lost Cross yet. He might seem like he’s a mile away from me despite being trapped in the same cell, but when he uses my name… I think I still have him here with me.

Now I just need to keep him.

“I need you,” I whisper, putting as much honesty into my words as I can.

“I’m right here.”

I pat the empty space on the cot next to me. “Come over here. Please.”

Cross glances up at the camera, frowning for a moment. I think he’s going to refuse, or remind me that we’re being watched as if I’ve forgotten, but I don’t care. Winter got what he wanted.

Why can’t we get whatwewant?

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