Page 17 of Cross Check Hearts

“Those sounds of yours,” I murmur, “they’re like fucking music. I told you I was gonna get you to make those sounds again and again.”

She laughs, her stomach tightening beneath my finger. “I never should’ve doubted you.” But then her eyes drift over to mine, and curiosity sparks on her face. “I thought men had a, uh… what do you call it? Refractory period?”

I chuckle at her as I climb off the bed and carefully roll off my condom to toss it in the trash can in the corner. A couple of large water bottles sit on the table nearby, so I grab one and twist it open to take a sip before I bring the bottle back to her.

“They do,” I tell her as she takes a deep sip of the water. “But if they’re very… inspired, we’ll say, it can be a lot shorter.”

She flushes, biting her lip and grinning as she lowers the water bottle from her mouth. “Does that mean I ‘inspire’ you?”

“Fuck yes, you do,” I say, my voice low and serious despite my smile.

I can’t stop my eyes from raking over her beautiful body, drinking in every perfect little detail. She’s lying on her back with her legs comfortably spread out to her sides, her head on a pillow, and her gorgeous dark hair streaming across it. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she looks both sexy and innocent at the same time. Her face is so open and expressive, and I get the sense that it probably speaks for her even when she doesn’t want it to. Her mismatched eyes catch the candlelight, creating an almost otherworldly glow.

I take the water bottle from her to steal another sip, then set it back on the end table and crawl into bed with her, hauling her up in my arms to hold her against me. My face finds its way to her neck again because I can’t get enough. I’m starving for more. It’s like no matter how much she gives me, it’s not enough. There’s still this flaming pit in my stomach howling for more.

She arches her body against mine, making a soft noise. “Are you feeling inspired again already?” she whispers, and my cock twitches between us, despite how spent it is, making both of us laugh.

“You’ll have to give me a few minutes, but I am absolutely fucking you again. You’re mine for the night, and I don’t plan on wasting it.”

“I like that plan,” she breathes, her pupils dilating slightly.

She pulls her lip between her teeth again, trapping it there like she can barely wait. I love how expressive her face is, even when she isn’t trying. I kiss her shoulder and work my way up her neck until my mouth meets hers, where I press our lips together gently.

“You can tell me more about yourself in the meantime,” I whisper, and she laughs.

“We agreed no names, nothing real, remember?”

“I know. But you can’t blame a guy for trying. You’re amazing, so I just want to know more about you,” I say and kiss my way back down her throat to her breasts, which I also pepper with kisses.

My lips keep going, wanting to touch and taste every inch of her, until they get to the small tattoo of a hummingbird tucked away on one side of her lower belly, just above the crease where her thigh meets her torso. The delicate lines of the ink stand out against her skin—blue and green, like her eyes. It can’t be coincidence. The artist matched her perfectly.

I kiss it too, then trace its outline with my tongue. “Is asking about this breaking the rules?”

Her skin prickles with goosebumps, and she swallows back a moan as she squirms beneath me.

“No, I guess not. Actually, you’re one of the few people in the world who’s seen it.”

Something about that really gets me going—but when I realize a second later that I’m not theonlyone who’s seen it, possessiveness pangs in my stomach.

“I got it done there for that reason,” she adds. “It’s a secret.”

“Really? Why?”

She looks away from me and shrugs. “People in my life don’t really see me as the ‘tattoo type.’”

I rest my chin on her hip, staring up at her. “Does it matter to you what people in your life see you as?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see something shift in her expression, a vulnerability that makes me want to pull her closer, to protect her from whatever expectations are weighing on her.

She turns the question over in her head for a few seconds, but I can tell from her expression what the answer is going to be. I only barely know her, but I already feel like I can read her face like a book.

Finally, she moves her eyes back to mine. “Yeah. It does.”

There’s something soft and vulnerable in her gaze, like I’m prodding at a bruise with the question. She’s not giving me the sense that she doesn’t want to talk about it, more that it’s a little difficult for her to talk about. And it’s not like she really knows me—she’s been adamant about not exchanging personal details—so I guess I don’t blame her for being a little guarded.

But this little flash of vulnerability from her only draws me in more.

I kiss the inked design again. “Even though I don’t know you well, hummingbird, I think you’re the tattoo type. Whatever that means.”

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