Page 71 of Crossed
She’s wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel as she stares at herself in a mirror propped above a chipped dresser. Her dark wavy hair surrounds her face in wet ringlets, dripping water down her body in such a tantalizing way that my mouth dries, wanting to lick the wetness from her skin.
Her left hand squeezes the front of her towel together tightly, and even through the window, I can see she’s white-knuckling the fabric. Her hold drops, and blood rushes to my groin as I soak in the sight of her wet, naked body.
Merde.
She’s beautiful, a goddess, her skin glistening from the shower and her curves perfect and thick. My eyes soak her up greedily, my fingers flexing from the need to pop the button on my pants and grip my aching cock.
I want to stroke myself to the sight of her so badly it hurts.
Her breasts are heavy and full, areolas dark and puffy, and when she reaches up and rolls one between her fingers, I bite the inside of my cheek so hard the taste of copper floods my mouth.
I palm myself over the fabric of my pants, pressing firmly as my hips thrust involuntarily into my hand.
She releases her breast, dropping her fingers to the top of the dresser, her body hanging like she’s disappointed in herself for giving in. The new position arches her back, and I’m sure if I angle my vision, I’ll be able to see the perfect lips of her cunt peeking from between her thighs.
I move, the bush’s leaves jostling when I do. She snaps her head up, and my heart falters.
Because she looks directly into my eyes.
Chapter27
Amaya
IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT HE’S SHROUDED IN THE shadows and his face is hidden by the brim of his hat. I still see him as clearly as if I conjured him up from my thoughts.
Maybe I did.
Father Cade is standing right outside my window in the freezing cold, looking at me…watchingme, his eyes burning me from the inside out.
I should be revolted. Disgusted. Freaked out. Screaming from the rooftops and calling the cops.
But I’m not.
Instead, I feel a jolt of power, something I’ve completely lost my grip on since being dragged into a precinct and questioned about a man’s murder. I wonder what he’s doing here and how many nights he’s stood in the bitter cold and watched me. Instead of the revulsion it should send whipping through me, it has me vibrating with a heady type of power.
I have control over this man. This intimidating man who’s supposed to be beyond reproach. And maybe it’s because I’ve just been in the shower trying to wash away my own thoughts of him, or possibly it’s because I have no say in any other area of my life, but Ilikethat I make him weak. That he’d be so perverse in his want for me, he’d do things like stand outside my window or finger fuck me against his door, despite who he is and what he’s vowed.
And right now, I’m too tired from another day of sitting in a lawyer’s office and being assured everything’s fine and too turned on to pretend I feel about Cade any other way.
I keep my eyes locked on him, my heart slamming against my chest as I straighten from where I’m hunched over my dresser, heat swimming through me as I bring my hand back up and glide it from my hip slowly, moving my fingertips over my skin until it pebbles beneath my touch. I can’t see anything except the sharp angle of his jaw and the way his mouth parts, but I canfeelthe way he’s staring. My breathing shortens when I remember him being the one who touched me, the spark ofwrongthat heightened my arousal, knowing I had the priest of this shitty town doing very bad things to me because I’m a very bad girl. I continue the exploration of my body, the way I imagine he’d be roaming the dips and curves if he were touching me, until I reach my breasts. I grab one, squeezing the flesh tightly, the skin molding beneath the palm of my hand, and when I tweak a nipple, it sends a sharp shot of desire through me, like there’s a string connected from the tip to the nerves in my clit.
If he were in this room with me, I’d ask him to make it hurt. To press his touch deep enough to leave a mark. One that I’d feel every time I took a breath, a secret no one else would know.
ButI’dknow. The priest sent to save Festivalé, sinning just for me.
Thewitcheverybody loves to hate.
My other hand trails down until I’m ghosting across my pussy, my fingers gliding effortlessly over my clit. I move farther down, circling my entrance and dipping two of my fingers in to the first knuckle, a moan pouring from my mouth because of how good it feels.
He moves closer to the window. I bring my wet fingers up to my mouth and slip them between my lips, my tongue circling them like I would his cock…if only he’d open the window and come inside.
He licks along his bottom lip, like if he tries hard enough, maybe he could taste me too.
I move the hand manipulating my breast up until it skims across my collarbone, lightly wrapping my neck the same way he did when he pinned me next to his front door and let me ride his fingers while he rubbed his cock against my ass.
Oh God.
His gloved hand presses against the window, and it sears through me. It would be so easy to let him in, to sink to my knees and guide his hands up to my head, coaxing them to thread through my hair while I asked him to fuck my face, but I won’t do it.
