Page 131 of Crew
"What are you saying, Cross?" I leaned forward, feeling my insides twisting up. "Be straight with me."
"It's just a feeling right now. Something's going to happen." He turned back to Jordan and Zellman. "I don't know if they'll be on our side or against us, but you have to know..." He swung those piercing eyes my way. "Everything I do is for you."
I couldn't talk.
I was excited. I was terrified. I was confused. I was still angry, and I was aroused. Lust flowed through my veins, and that throbbing only intensified between my legs.
I breathed out, just wanting him.
He saw it, and his own want flared to the forefront. The hazel in his eyes had morphed into a molten green, with specks of smoldering brown lining the outside. I'd never seen his eyes like that, and I couldn't speak. If he asked me a question, if a fire lit behind us, I wouldn't have been able to move, much less yell for help.
Neither of us held back. We let the other see. There was no hiding.
We stared at each other, both needing, not touching. Neither of us moved. Neither reached out.
The cabin was small. There were crew rules. We couldn't be together, not here.
Not yet.
Cross closed his eyes first. When he spoke, his voice was a sensual caress in the darkness. "If they weren't here, if you were ready, I would take you inside. I would strip you naked. I would lay you down, and I would worship every goddamn inch of your body because that's just the beginning of what you deserve."
If they weren't here...
If I was ready...
"You don't want to hear all the things I'd let you do." My voice was a hoarse whisper.
I wasn't ready, but I was getting ready. I could feel it happening, and unlike all the other crap in my life--I didn't fear this change.
"One day, Bren," he breathed. "One day."
He stood, finishing his beer. "I have to get out of here because I'm starting not to care about where we are." As he went outside to join the others, his fingers grazed down the top of my leg, over my knee, and trailed all the way to just before my toes.
I shivered and tipped back my head, finishing my own beer.
I was fast starting not to care either.
"You still pissed at me?"
It was four in the morning, and saying we were wasted was an understatement. We'd all gathered around the bonfire, though I didn't know how we were sitting upright. Well, Zellman was lying on the ground. His eyes were open, and his head was propped up. He stared at the fire like it was the rainbow to his marijuana high. If he could've made love to the flames, I'm sure he would've tried.
I looked across the fire to where Jordan sat. His eyes still seemed alert. That wasn't a surprise. He had more body mass, so he had a better tolerance--or that was my excuse for how my own sharpness had lessened.
I felt myself tipping over, but I caught myself. The log had been sturdy and sound when I first sat down. Who knew when it had decided to tip out from under me? I glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed.
"Bren."
"What?" I looked up.
Oh yeah. Jordan.
I frowned. He'd asked a question. I snapped my fingers. "Yes!"
"You're still pissed?"
"I remembered."
"What?"
