SCARLETT
“Why didn’t you tell me?”I whisper, focusing on taking care of Cross versus looking him in the eye.
“Tell you what?” he grits, teeth clenched in pain. “There are a lot of things I haven’t told you.”
I peek at him from kneeling on the kitchen floor, a damp rag pressed against his hand. “Like?”
Cross’s face relaxes, the lines of pain smooth, his sharp inhale slowly releasing. “I only started playing lacrosse so my mom wouldn’t question my bruises from fighting. Violence isn’t her thing, given my father.”
Confusion hits me, and it doesn’t take him long to realize.
“He’s in prison. Used to beat her.” He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal.
I slowly stand, and for once, I’m the one with the height advantage. With the cool rag in my hand, I step closer to him and press it against the side of his jaw where a faint bruise is forming.
My whisper cuts through the quiet kitchen. “What else?”
Cross shrugs again, a wince following it. “I think that’s why it bothered me so much when you told me about Nick. Men who abuse women don’t deserve to breathe, in my opinion.”
I pause my movements and let the cool rag linger in front of Cross’s jaw. Our eyes bounce back and forth, both of us attempting to get a good read on the other.
“Is that why you knocked him out tonight?” I ask hesitantly. “You think what he did to me is worse than you owing those men money? That’s in the past–”
Cross’s hands fly to my hips, and he grips me hard. He pulls me in between his legs, the rag in my hand falling to the floor with a splat. I gulp as he angles his chin so he’s peering at me with a fierce glint in his eye. “It doesn’t matter if it’s in the past. If I could kill him and get away with it, I would.”
A swallow works down my throat, and my heart pounds painfully hard behind my ribs.
Cross’s tongue slips out between his lips as he licks the dried blood away. “Seeing you in the crowd did something to me, Scar. That’s why I did what I did.”
My stomach dips, but this time, it isn’t because he used the nickname Nicholas gave me.
I place my hands on top of his shoulders, the warmth of his skin seeping into my own. “What did it do?”
Cross pauses, his heavy brow line creasing as his lips part. The kitchen becomes even quieter as we stare at one another, and just when I think he isn’t going to answer, his hands tighten around my waist, and his voice fills the gap in between my racing heartbeats.
“It made me realize that you mean a lot more to me than a stepsister should.”
My stomach dips.
I repeat the words in my head a few times, Cross’s eyes bouncing back and forth between mine, and before I can stop myself, I lean down and gingerly press my lips to his.
Cross opens his mouth and kisses me back with silent passion, like he’s trying to tell me something without using thewords, and I feel him consume my body like he’s a part of me. I press closer and deepen the kiss, my tongue eagerly exploring his mouth to find out all of his sweet spots.
What started out as a soft gesture quickly switches to something fueled with desperation and yearning.
I climb onto his lap, my legs falling open on both sides of his thighs. My breasts press against his chest, and a whimper slips out from in between our kissing.
“Fuck, Scar,” he breathes my name into my mouth, his hands traveling up my spine to unhook my bra.
He quickly pulls it from my body, slipping it out from beneath my shirt before pushing the cotton up to press his mouth to the tight bud. I throw my head back with a hot gasp, and he grows even harder beneath me.
Instead of letting him explore my body with his mouth, I press my hands to his shoulders and scoot off his lap. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, disconcertment moving over his expression from the sudden space between us, but then his eyes drop to my hands, and a fiery glint works itself into his eyes.
I slip the button of my jeans through its hole and shimmy out of the denim, leaving them in a heaping pile on the kitchen floor. Cross adjusts himself in the chair, his long legs spreading out wide in front of him as I hook my thumbs through the delicate lace of my panties.
“What are you doing?” he asks lazily, a hot smirk curling onto his lips.
I lick my own and step back in between his legs. “Taking care of you.”
