“Something has come up with another girl in Los Angeles,” her mother said over the phone, “so I need to make a quick run down there. I won’t be meeting you in Maine; you will have to do this exchange on your own.”
Catherine shifted in her heels, and enjoyed the warm August breeze blowing around her legs. “That’s fine, Ma. I can handle it.”
She had been working for her mother for months. Eight months, to be exact. Catrina gave her a bit of time to relax after everything that had happened down in the Gulf, but that was it. One morning her mother called, demanded she pack a bag with beautiful things, and Catherine made her first trip to L.A.
Her mother’s empire was nothing like what Catherine had done before. At first, it had been shocking for her to realize there were men and women who paid a great deal of money for Catrina’s girls—and a very few number of men—to deliver their needs regarding substance.
Catherine had simply shown up to events and places her face would be recognized, and dealt to those who had too much money and time on their hands.
Catrina’s girls were paid to simply show up, with a client’s drug of choice on hand. Private jets, luxury cars, and whatever else might be needed to get one of the women from their place, to the client’s place.
And that was it.
Nothing else.
The clients paid for gorgeous, quick-witted women to provide their substance on call. They did not—at least Catherine had not seen it happen—expect anything more from the girl once she had shown up and done her job. She was their beautiful ghost; there when they needed her, indulging to their lifestyle and providing specifically to their wants regarding drugs, and then gone. Never intruding on their lives, but for when she was called to do so.
“Make sure Miguel goes in with you,” Catrina said. “It’s a private estate, no party. I’m less trusting when they call a girl in during their private hours, and worse when it is still not a public place.”
“I’ll be safe,” Catherine promised.
“I know—my smart girl. Unfortunately, your history makes you even less trusting of them than I am.”
“Miguel just stepped off the plane, so I have to go.”
“I will see you when you’re back, reginella.”
Catherine hung up her mother’s call, and pushed away from the rented Rolls Royce her client had provided to take her from the private Maine airstrip to his estate an hour and a half away. The multi-millionaire author seemed to like his LSD and cocaine to help along his muse. The man was an extreme introvert, with no wife or children. At least, not that Catherine had found when she looked up information about him online. He rarely left his home.
Miguel approached Catherine with a warm smile. She preferred him to the other men her mother had rotated to work with her. The others all seemed a bit too interested, and tried to get too close. Miguel, on the other hand, was married to his wife, and the two had a little boy. He was friendly and protective of Catherine, but in a big brother type of way.
She liked that more.
“Did you talk to your mother, reginella?” Miguel asked.
“I did. Nice to find out she wouldn’t be getting off with you when the plane landed. A little notice would have been good, but it doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t actually sound like you mind.”
Catherine shrugged. “It’s a beautiful summer day. I’ve only seen Cross four days out of this entire month, and I am this close to getting back home for an entire week of no interruptions with him.”
She was so looking forward to that.
Miguel laughed. “Let’s get this done with, then.”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
Miguel made the hour and a half drive to the client’s private, gated estate in a little over an hour. She almost told him to stay behind in the car, but her mother had a point in what she said. Plus, this was the first time Catherine had ever handled this client after he requested a new girl deliver for him.
Catherine tucked her Gucci bag under her arm as Miguel helped her from the car. The three-level home loomed high, and stretched wide.
“How does one man live in such a big place all by himself?” Catherine wondered.
Miguel chuckled. “Rich people sometimes do strange things when they have all the money in the world. I think all humans sometimes want to be alone, reginella. Imagine having a career and the funding to literally shut yourself off from the rest of the world for as long as you want or need. You could have your food delivered, your sex ordered, and drugs supplied on your time and needs.”
Catherine eyed him. “Sex, too, huh?”
“It’s no different than providing any other service. As long as the adults are consenting, and it’s a healthy situation where both understand and agree to what will happen before, during, and after, then I can’t see the problem. Like the need for food, cars, or even flower vendors on the side of a city street … there is a demand where sex is concerned, for the able bodied and those not so able. When there is a demand, someone will always supply. It is when society forces those people to do business in situations that might cause them harm to keep safe from officials that it becomes dangerous for them.”
Well, when he put it that way …
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
Miguel grinned. “I usually am. Don’t tell Queen that, though, as she likes to tell me I have a big head to match my ego.”
Her mother, he meant. They all simply called Catrina by the title Queen, except for Catherine. Catrina was still just her mom.
Catherine poked Miguel in his arm on the way by. “Perhaps you do have a big head to match your ego.”
“Being smart does not equal an ego.”
She kept walking, laughing at Miguel all the while. She took the marble steps at the entrance of the estate home two at a time, and her heels clicked against the white stone. At the door, she didn’t even need to knock.
A man opened it.
Early fifties, a lost look in his blue gaze, gray at his temples, and yet still quite good-looking. He wore a crumpled dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and khaki shorts. Catherine was not sure what she had expected in her new client, but she could not say that this was it.
Then again, the man was an introverted, secluded New York Times number one bestselling author fifty times over. What in the hell did she know? Her mother made it clear that what mattered was a client feeling connected to their few moments with the beautiful ghost in their lives before she was gone again—nothing more. She was not to judge them, or pry too deep as to make them feel she was seeking more than what she was there to provide.
“Mr. Gordana?” Catherine asked.
The man nodded. “That’s me, my dear.”
“Hello, I’m Catherine. I have something that is going to make your day.”
“Where’s Cross?” Catherine asked as she stepped onto the private airstrip.
Andino lifted a single shoulder in reply, but said nothing. Catherine tried not to let her disappointment show, but she had really looked forward to seeing Cross as soon as she was back in New York. He was supposed to be the one picking her up.
As for her cousin … well, she and Andino hadn’t been on the best of terms ever since that night at his home. Sure, they talked occasionally, and got along for the family’s sake, but she was still kind of pissed at him for how he lied to her all those years simply because of money. Because for no other reason than he believed she would stop dealing if she knew that her parents were aware of her business with Andino.
“So, he sent you?” Catherine asked.
Andino held open the passenger side door of his car. “No, Dante sent me. We’re heading to your parents’ place first.”
“I want to go to Manhattan and see Cross.”
“Well, I’m just following orders, Catty.”
Catherine sighed. “Is Cross busy or something?”
“Or something,” her cousin said vaguely.
“You’re such an ass, Andino.”
He grinned wide. “I know.”
Catherine slipped into the passenger seat, and Andino closed the door. Once he was in the driver’s seat and they were making the long drive to Amityville, he turned on the radio. Likely to fill the silence as Catherine wasn’t offering much conversation.
Finally, he asked, “Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“Does it bother you that I haven’t?”
Andino cleared his throat. “I mean, family is family, Catherine. And then there’s us—Marcellos. It’s a whole different kind of family.”
“That wasn’t an answer to my question.”
She continued staring out the window, refusing to even give Andino her attention while they conversed. It was easier to stay angry and bitter with him that way. Truth be told, she did love her cousin. She loved all of her cousins because they had been brought up more like siblings than anything else.
“Yes, it bothers me,” Andino said.
Catherine did turn to look at him then, but his gaze was firmly stuck on the road. “You used me. That’s how I felt, and how I still feel. Family definitely is family, but you did not once consider family when you lied to me and used me.”
“Business is business, Catty.” Andino smiled faintly. “In business, family becomes something entirely different. I figured you knew that.”
“That’s not the kind of business I want to be a part of.”
“Yet, look at you.”
Catherine shrugged. “Yes, by my choice. Not yours. A business I went into knowing all the details; being honest. You certainly taught me how to hustle, though, so I guess I should thank you for that.”
“Oh?”
“And I forgive you, too,” Catherine added.
Andino’s gaze darted to hers, and then quickly went back to the road. “You’re like your mother, anyway, Catherine.”
“How so?”
“Too fucking dangerous for our kind of men, and too strong-willed and good for Cosa Nostra. We clip wings and keep a person caged—people like you can’t be confined when you shine free. You can’t really soar too high in this business, not when la famiglia chains you to an oath.”
“Yet, look at you,” Catherine said, echoing his earlier statement.
She knew the changes happening in her father’s Cosa Nostra, or she heard enough to know. Things like Andino becoming an underboss, and readying to take her father’s position as the boss when the time was right. How high he had risen. How different he was, too.
Andino nodded. “That’s the difference between you and me. You can’t do my thing. I can’t do yours. But we both like what it is that we do, and we’re good at it.”
“So, we good?”
“We’re good,” her cousin said.
Because family loved.
Even when they hated.
“Why is everyone standing outside?” Catherine asked, noting the cars they passed and the crowd of people they came up on at her parents’ large home. “And why are they all here?”
Andino parked his car a few feet away from the two people at the front of the crowd—her parents.
“Ma said she had to go to Los Angeles,” Catherine said.
Andino chuckled. “We all told a few white lies for this.”
“What?”
He didn’t explain.
Catherine only became more confused.
“Here,” Andino said, reaching into the backseat to grab what looked to be a shadowbox. It had a large hole in the top, and was at least three inches thick and a good foot long. The front window pane of the box was made of glass with two small interconnected C’s carved into the glass. “You’re going to need this.”
“Why?”
“I guess it’s time to find out, Catty.”
Catherine climbed out of the car, and fixed the skirt of her dress as she approached her parents. It seemed like nearly every single member of her family was there, and friends, not to mention people from Cross’s family.
“What’s going on?” Catherine asked.
Her father smiled. “We all have something for you, dolcezza.”
Her mother matched the smile. “Well, most of us.”
Dante’s hand reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, and he pulled out a single photograph. Catherine stared at the item, surprised her father even had something like that. It was a photo of Cross and Catherine when she was maybe thirteen, and he was fifteen. A picture she had snapped at school using her phone, and never thought about again once she upgraded devices.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
“I don’t throw our devices away without emptying the contents into drives,” her father said. “Old habit, that’s all.”
He dropped the photo into the shadowbox without further explanation.
Catrina reached out and opened her palm, showing a small bag with sand inside. “Jacob Riis Beach, I was told.”
Catherine’s brow furrowed as her mother dropped the small bag of sand into the shadowbox, too.
“There’s more,” her father said softly. “You have to keep walking, Catty.”
Her mother and father parted just enough to let her move to the next people waiting. Her brother, Gabbie, and their three and a half month old son, Antony Dante. Michel held a small patch with the number thirteen and her old school’s logo. Gabbie held a small Range Rover emblem.
Someone else had a miniature paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet. Another held her silver knuckles. One of her cousins dropped in conch shells. Movie stubs. Another photograph. A daisy. A black Sharpie.
So many memories.
So many things.
Things that made up her and Cross and them.
Cross’s father and his mother were the last two that actually had items, though they were not the end of the line of people Catherine had to get through, apparently.
Calisto unfolded a yellowed piece of paper, and turned it around for Catherine to see the sketch she had given to Cross for his fifteenth birthday. He folded it back up without a word, and tucked it into the slot at the top of the shadowbox.
Emma Donati smiled softly as she held out a tiny bag of white powder that was tied off with a little red ribbon. Catherine instantly laughed.
“Is that flour?” she asked.
“It is. I have no idea why, though,” Cross’s mother said.
“I do.”
She wouldn’t tell, though.
It was a part of their story.
Not anyone else’s.
Emma dropped the small bag into the box, and then she and Calisto stepped aside. Slowly, the rest of the people behind them followed the same idea. They separated until Catherine could see who waited at the end of the drive for her.
On one knee, dressed in black Armani, dark gaze on her, and waiting.
She figured Cross had been waiting on her for his whole life.
She hadn’t realized it until then, but as she blinked, the water gathering in her eyes fell. The tears made tracks down her cheeks as her next breath caught in her throat.
“Go ahead,” she heard someone say.
She wasn’t even sure who.
Catherine hugged the shadowbox tight to her chest as she finally found enough bearings to make her legs move. As she came to a stop in front of Cross, he flipped open the top of a black velvet box in his hand.
The ring in the box made her heart stop.
It belonged to her grandmother, Cecelia. A family heirloom that was always safely hidden away in a safe with other precious things. Her grandmother only wore it on very special occasions, and when asked, had never said who she would give it to. It had been used as the engagement ring for her mother and father, too, but was again stored once they were married and Catrina never wore it again.
“Catherine,” Cross murmured. “Won’t you look at me?”
Her gaze darted to his.
He smiled.
She sucked in another shaky breath and let more tears fall.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed through tears. “You’re making me cry, Cross.”
“I so love you, my girl.”
“Too much, apparently.”
“Never,” he countered. “Are you ready?”
“To cry more?”
“Probably.”
She laughed weakly. “I mean, thanks for the heads up.”
He wet his lips, and took a quick breath.
“Catherine Cecelia Marcello, love of my life, keeper of my heart, owner of my soul, girl of my dreams, and whisperer of my truth. You are the breath to my blood, the sea to my sky, the forever to my today, and the queen to my king. The only woman I have ever loved, the only heart I have ever coveted, and the only life to have woven with mine so entirely. I am not me without you. I have loved you for every day I have known you, and I need you to let me promise all the rest of my days to you, too.”
Catherine wiped the wetness from her cheeks with shaking hands. She really wished she could catch her breath, but she couldn’t quit crying.
“Would you do me the greatest honor, and marry me?” he asked.
He could have asked her on the highway. He could have asked her in bed. He could have asked her over a fucking phone call. Catherine still would have said yes.
“Of course I will,” she whispered.
Cross was up off the ground before she could even get another word in. He slipped the shadowbox out of her hand, and set it carefully to the ground a second before his lips closed in on hers. His hard kiss took her breath away, but it was so familiar, it made her ten feet high and warm to the touch. He slipped that ring down her finger, and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. Catherine hadn’t even heard the clapping and cheers until that moment.
His hug wrapped her in home and love. She buried her tear-streaked face into his neck, and let his arms hide away the rest of the world.
Just for a second. Only for him.
“Love you,” he murmured in her ear.
“Promise?”
Oh, so familiar. Oh, so perfect.
“Always, Catherine.”
Three months later …
“Are you ready?” Dante asked.
Catherine nodded, and smoothed her hands over the blush chiffon of her ball gown wedding dress. Off the shoulder, long lace sleeves, and with a ten foot train that held tiny pearl buttons from the very bottom to the very top of her shoulders, she felt like every inch a princess.
“Let me look at you one more time,” Dante said.
Her father took her hands, and held her out just enough to gaze over her dress. He fixed one of her stray waves of hair behind her ten foot veil with lace trim. He also checked the bottom of her dress to make sure the skirt hadn’t gotten dirty.
“My God, you are beautiful, Catherine.”
“Yeah?”
She figured the twenty thousand dollar wedding dress helped a lot.
Her father disagreed.
“You make that dress shine, dolcezza. Nervous?”
“Not at all.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“I’m so ready for this,” she admitted. November twenty-ninth. A Saturday, mid-afternoon, cool outside, and warm inside. Her wedding day was finally there. She had been counting down every day leading up to it. Although, she didn’t need this big day at all because … “I would have married him at the courthouse the same day he asked, Daddy.”
Dante chuckled. “Yes, well, thankfully Cross and I came to an agreement before you could try and convince him of something like that.”
She cocked an eyebrow at her father. “What, now?”
“I wanted my principessa to have a proper wedding. Think, Catty.”
She did.
Their reception was being held at the Waldorf Astoria hotel in Manhattan. Their wedding, at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. The guest list topped six hundred, easily. Catherine stopped asking the cost of things because her parents were determined to spend a lot, and Cross’s parents were more than happy to help them out.
She simply showed up and agreed to things.
Their honeymoon was a two-week stay in a private mansion on a beach estate in Sicily.
It was too much.
It was still perfect.
“Still determined to have this dress reveal before the ceremony?” her father asked as they walked through the bottom floor of the Waldorf. “We could always send someone up to let him know you changed your mind.”
Catherine shook her head. “I think this is better.”
“Really? Your mother did all she could to hide her dress from me until those doors opened. I didn’t understand why, but I am now most grateful for it. It’s one of my fondest memories of our wedding day, considering it was all meant to be just business and nothing more.”
“We’re not like you and Ma.”
She and Cross were them.
And this was a long time in the making.
A long time coming.
She thought … maybe …
“He’s tried to see my dress a lot,” Catherine said, “and I couldn’t figure out why.”
Dante glanced at her. “Curious, maybe?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Surely that man does not have cold feet, Catherine.”
She laughed. “Definitely not, but everyone has made such a big deal about the dress, and seeing me for the first time. I think it got to him, and he freaked out.”
“About what?”
Catherine pressed her lips together.
She didn’t know how to explain it.
Men like Cross did not have emotional outbursts in public settings. He had just turned twenty-eight that month; he was a grown man who did not share his feelings openly with barely anyone. She had never even seen him cry. She thought he was worried that he might be overwhelmed in front of six hundred guests; many would be made up of men just like him. She didn’t want to do that to him.
This was better.
A private reveal between just the two of them, where no one could see or know what was said, or what happened. So he could be authentic, and so could she. Their wedding was such a show—a beautiful day for them, sure, but still a show for the people who flew in from all over the world to be a part of it as guests.
This moment was not a part of that show.
It was Cross and Catherine.
Just them.
Only them.
“Just … I want to do it this way for him, Daddy.”
Dante sighed. “Okay. Here we are.”
With the Waldorf cleared for the day of guests, and the employees busy preparing the dining and ballroom for later, the entrance and winding staircase was empty. Except for Catherine and her father at the bottom, and Cross with his back turned at the top. He had only been given a time and told where and how to stand. Nothing more.
“Don’t be too long,” Dante told her. “You’re getting married in an hour, and it’s not nice to make your future wait.”
“I thought …”
“What?”
“You might be sad today,” she admitted.
Dante smiled gently. “Catherine, I am. I am sad, but I am happy. I am happy because I know you have finally found your footing, and made your own footsteps. Happy because you have found a man who adores you and loves you far more than anyone understands. So I give you away today, and your last name changes, and yes, that makes me sad. As it should, I think, but I am far too happy for you to even feel it, vita mia.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
He stroked her cheek with a careful hand, making sure not to smudge her perfectly done makeup. “My impossibility, remember?”
“Your never-meant-to-be.”
“Keep proving me wrong, Catherine.” Dante nodded at the winding staircase. “Go, he’s waiting.”
She kissed her father’s cheek, took a soothing breath, and headed up the staircase. Her heels clicked under the heavy weight of the dress, but the closer she came to Cross, the calmer she felt. With his back turned to her, all she could see was the black of his tux, and the diamonds in his cufflinks. At his sides, his fingers clenched and unclenched rhythmically.
Nerves, she knew.
He only did that when he was nervous. It was so unusual for him because he was the calm in chaos. Still waters in a hurricane.
Catherine stopped a few steps away from the top of the stairs. “Cross?”
His shoulders tensed like her voice had surprised him, but she knew that couldn’t be the case. He had to have heard her heels, as she hadn’t been quiet at all. She heard his quick intake of air, and saw the way his shined Italian leather shoe tapped against the tiles.
“You can turn around now,” she said softly.
Cross did, spinning slowly on his heel until he came to a stop facing her. His gaze was still drawn down to the floor, but she could see the tightness in his jaw like he was trying to keep steady. His gaze lifted, starting from the floor and rising slowly, as though she were water, and he was taking one long drink.
At her middle, Catherine clasped her own trembling hands together, and smiled when his eyes finally met hers.
So dark.
So familiar.
She found water there—unshed tears glazing the soul-deep gaze she loved so very much. She found the emotions and the nerves he was trying to hide running wild in his eyes. He took another breath, shakier than the last, and the tenseness in his jaw relaxed a bit.
Still, he said nothing.
“You didn’t want to do this in front of people,” she murmured, “and I knew that.”
He nodded once. “Yeah, babe.”
“Is this good?”
“This is perfect, Catherine.” Cross took one step, and then another. His gaze traveled over her again as he reached out to stroke his thumbs over her cheekbones. “You are so beautiful, my girl.”
The wetness on his lashes started to fall, but Catherine caught it quickly enough, and wiped it away. He smiled, and let out a short laugh.
“Jesus, just …” Cross sat down on the stairs, and buried his face in his hands. Catherine dropped down with him just as fast. “We’re getting married.”
“Well … yeah.”
“How long have we waited for this?”
“Too long,” she replied.
Cross dropped his hands, leaned forward, and caught her mouth with his own. The kiss, so soft and gentle, still lit her up like fireworks. His scent, his taste, and just him.
Her whisper teased along his lips. “Forever is waiting.”
“Catherine, don’t you know? My forever has always been with you.”
A shadow darkened Catherine’s view of the sun, and she glowered up at the form taking away her rays. He was too gorgeous for her to stay mad at with his tan skin, already sun kissed from being out in the sun with her for days, and his body on display.
“Cross, you’re ruining my tan.”
“You’re already tan,” he replied.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“And where is your top, Catherine?”
She glanced down at her bare breasts. “I don’t want tan lines. It’s our private beach for the next two weeks.”
Instead of spending their honeymoon in cold New York, they were spending it in warm Sicily.
Cross looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “You’re going to make me catch a damn charge out here if someone wanders too far, Catty.”
Her laughter lit up the beach. “Shut up and get down here with me.”
He did, dropping the basket to the blanket as he went. He pulled her into a sitting position, climbed in behind her, and she fitted her back against his chest while using his knees to rest her arms.
Cross kissed the back of her neck. “You were up before me. That’s not normal.”
She shrugged. “Still jetlagged a bit.”
“I could make you sleep. Exhaust you a little.”
“You do that anyway,” she said.
He kissed her cheek, and nipped her ear. “It’s quiet here. I’m not used to this much silence.”
“I like it.”
“Me, too.”
Their wedding had been so loud. All day. All night. Loud.
A non-stop party. They danced, only to be interrupted and handed over to more guests. Their gifts had almost reached the ceiling. The bill for the open bar was a number Catherine didn’t even want to think about. The two hour, traditional Catholic ceremony had been almost enough to make her fall asleep on the altar, but coming out of that church married had been worth it.
Cross’s teeth teased along Catherine’s pulse on her neck.
“Cross Nazio—”
“I mean, if we’re going to be naked on a beach, let’s do fun things while naked on a beach,” he muttered, lapping at her skin.
Pleasure danced along her skin as his hand slipped between her thighs and beneath the thong bikini bottoms she wore. Talented fingertips circled over her clit, making her shake and hum.
“I can’t fucking get enough of you,” he told her.
“Ever?”
“Never, Catty. Fuck.”
He kept touching and stroking and teasing her like crazy.
She enjoyed it far too much.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“We’re married, so what do we do now?”
“Whatever we want, babe.” Cross smirked against her shoulder. “I’d really like to get you climbing into my lap right now, but hey.”
“I can feel how much you would like me to get on your lap, thanks.”
“Makes you hot. You’re fucking soaked.”
She was. Her breaths stuttered on the inhale. She was fighting that orgasm because it would be better when it finally did ravage its way through.
“That’s not what I meant.” Catherine rocked her hips into the rhythm of Cross’s hands. “I meant, what’s the next step?”
“Whatever we want.”
“Supper on the table day after day? Kids? Church every Sunday?”
Cross nipped at her shoulder, and then kissed the same spot. “Those aren’t bad things, babe.”
“No, I know.” She sighed. “At the reception, I actually had people asking about when the first kid was coming. Just outright asking, Cross. They might as well have asked if I was going to be bent over or on top.”
“Both, preferably,” he murmured. She elbowed him, and he laughed breathlessly. “Ow, fuck, come on.”
“Well!”
“People are nosy, babe. Besides, that is what most people do. Get married. Chill out. Have kids. Grow old.”
“Not right now, though. They just assume. Can’t we be us for a while without all of that?”
“That’s exactly what we’re doing. All that other stuff is just background noise that we’re not dealing with yet.” Cross’s hand picked up speed between her thighs, and she knew he was not going to be letting her hold back that orgasm this time around. “Besides, right now, we’re too busy with each other to be worrying about all of that. It’ll come when it comes. Just like you.”
Shit, did she ever come.
Hard.
Shaking.
Breathless.
High.
So spun.
Before Catherine knew what happened, Cross had her back on the blanket, and he was climbing between her thighs with his smug smirk firmly in place. The hard ridge of his cock grinding against her core as he kissed her until she was begging for air.
“Cross, God,” Catherine breathed.
“That’s right,” he murmured, kissing down her stomach, “pray to me, babe. Kneel for me. Revere your King.”
“Your ego is out of control.”
“I partly blame you.”
She did, too. His hot mouth was damn sinful. Just like the rest of him.
He tugged her thong bikini down her thighs and winked. He was on his knees, and looking pretty fucking hungry as his thumbs stroked along the seam of her cunt. She slid her hand between her thighs to play while he watched with a wicked gleam in his eye. Catherine didn’t mind spreading her thighs and giving him something to eat. His grin was damn dirty. He bent lower and kissed the wedding band on her finger.
“Who’s kneeling now, Cross?”