The Husband
Catherine POV
“What are you doing?”
Catherine continued dumping clothes into the washer. “Putting a load of clothes into the wash.”
Another load.
“What does it look like, Cross?”
“It looks like something we hire the maid to do, Catty.”
Catherine shot her husband a look. “Except we have an eighteen and fourteen year old who both like to change clothes twice a day—more sometimes for Cece. And you—”
“I don’t change my clothes twice a day!”
“No, but you can’t seem to find the laundry basket, either.”
Cross quickly snapped his lips shut at that. He couldn’t deny it was true. Staying silent was his second-best defense.
“We do have a maid that comes in twice a week to help with all of this, though,” Cross pointed out. “You clean before the woman ever even gets here. What are we paying her for again?”
“She dusts well. I hate dusting. It’s well worth the cost.”
“We pay her to dust.”
“She does it especially well, though.”
Cross nodded. “Probably because it’s literally the only thing she has to do when she comes here.”
“And your point is …?”
Her husband rolled his eyes, but smirked all the same. “Fine, babe. Whatever you say.”
“Cece also dropped off two bags of clothes she wanted washed. Figured I should get them done before I head to Cali next week since you still don’t know how to run this washer, and all.”
“Hey—”
“I joke,” Catherine interjected, smiling.
Cece was trying the whole college thing. Catherine could see the same disinterest she once showed for college reflecting back from Cece. She had to let her daughter figure it out on her own, though. That way, Cece wouldn’t have any regrets about her choices in the end.
Like everything else in life.
Even if it scared Catherine to death.
“I just threw her stuff in with ours,” Catherine said. “Might as well do it all at once when I have five minutes.”
“You know,” Cross murmured, leaning further into the doorway. “Cece spends just as much time living here as she does at her apartment. You still do all her laundry, and take her over enough cooked food when she doesn’t come here to eat to feed a small army. I’m not sure she understands the concept of actually moving out on her own, Catty, because this isn’t it. In case you were curious.”
“She only stays here when Juan is out of town,” Catherine replied. “I think she gets lonely without him, and we are her piss-poor substitute.”
Cross glowered. “I am her father. I am not a piss-poor substitute for anything, or anyone.”
Just the way his tone darkened made Catherine grin.
“It’s a good thing for Juan that you like him,” she said. “Otherwise, I might be concerned about his life.”
“There are moments where you should probably still be concerned for his life, but I am told that’s normal considering I am the father of a daughter.” Cross grinned, entirely unashamed at his admittance. “And I remind him of that fact every chance I can, too.”
Catherine didn’t doubt it.
“So, I guess that means Cece is probably in classes, right?” Cross asked. “Since it’s Friday and all—I know she has classes until supper or so.”
“She didn’t mention doing anything else but classes today, so yes, I imagine that’s where she’s going to be until she comes here to be fed.”
“And Naz has his baseball practice today, so he won’t be home for a couple of hours. At least.”
Catherine heard the suggestive dip in Cross’s tone loud and clear. She gave him a look, and found he was grinning at her in that way of his.
A way that suggested sin.
Fun.
And sex.
She couldn’t deny the heat that shot through her body as Cross looked her over with a slow appreciation. Two decades of marriage, and it only took a goddamn look to get her hot and bothered with him.
His gaze lingered on her bare legs—she was still in one of his T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. Shivers raced up her spine as he took a step into the room, and those dark eyes of his locked on her.
“Really?” she asked. “You find me sexy doing the laundry?”
Cross shrugged. “You’re always sexy to me, babe. But also, the house is empty. When is the house ever empty anymore? If it’s not the kids, or someone here for us, then it’s someone here waiting for them.”
He was close enough to touch her now, but he didn’t.
Not yet.
“If you’re trying to imply that it has put a damper on our sex life, it hasn’t,” she pointed out. “You still get laid just as much as you used to, and it doesn’t slow us down.”
“Maybe not in the bedroom, no.”
Catherine cocked a brow. “Then what are you complaining about?”
He did reach out for then. He snagged her around the waist with one arm, and dragged her close. Kissing her without any warning at all, his tongue dipped into her mouth the second she parted her lips for him. He didn’t stop kissing her until her lips were numb, and her breaths were coming out a little short.
God, she loved this man.
Still …
After all these years.
She loved him with everything she had, and with everything she was.
Cross grasped tightly to Catherine’s jaw and tipped her head back, so he could stare her right in the eyes. Their gazes locked, and just like that, the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was just them again—them and love.
“I would never complain about you for anything,” Cross said softly.
“Ever?”
“Never.”
“Better not.”
Cross smirked. “But I wasn’t lying, either. We never fuck anywhere but the bedroom now.”
“And the shower,” she pointed out.
He chuckled. “Mmm, true.”
“Blame your kids.”
“That’s the thing, babe. The house is empty. No kids. No need for locked doors because there will be no walking in on us.”
“Cross—”
She didn’t get to say anything else. He picked her up from the floor like she weighed nothing more than a feather, and sat her down on the edge of the washer. His lips crashed down on hers as he tugged her shorts down her legs before dropping them to the floor. Her panties soon followed the same path—forgotten in a pile somewhere down below.
All the while, he never broke their kiss. And when he finally did break their connection, it was only to tip her head back, and kiss a hot path down the column of her throat. He left burning kisses across her racing pulse point, too.
Cross stepped in between Catherine’s widened legs. Already, she could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her center. A shot of heat darted straight down to her pussy. She had no doubt she was already wet.
God knew she was ready.
Unashamed and wanton, Catherine grinded her center against Cross’s erection to feel more—she always wanted more of him.
“Take my cock out.”
His words were a rough murmur in her ear. It sent yet another round of shivers cascading down her spine.
“So demanding,” she whispered.
Cross’s dark eyes found hers. “You’re really going to see demanding if you don’t hurry the fuck up, babe.”
Catherine grinned, and kissed her husband. All the while, her hands worked at his fly. Soon, she had shoved his pants and boxer-briefs down just enough to free his thick, hard cock to her hand. She stroked him once, and then twice.
“Fuck,” Cross grunted against her throat. “Stop playing, Catty.”
Her laughter lit up the room, but she was quick to get his cock where she wanted it to be the most. He took her in one smooth, deep thrust. She was wet enough for him to slide right up to the hilt without taking any time at all.
Sometimes, she loved slow.
More often than not, she wanted fast.
Christ.
He filled her so good.
Stretched her open just the way she liked.
Cross’s hands landed to Catherine’s thighs, and his fingertips dug in hard enough to leave bruises behind. He pushed her legs open even wider—enough to make her muscles and thighs ache in the best way.
“Hold onto something.”
She did—her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists just as he started a brutal, punishing rhythm. It was enough to shake the washing machine. Hard enough to drive her crazy in the best way possible. Her fingernails scored lines into his wrists, and his teeth cut into her bottom lip before he kissed the same spot.
“Come on, babe,” Cross urged. “Come for me, so I can bend you over and get you like that, too.”
It was always his mouth that did it for her. She came harder than ever, and loved every second of it, too.
Cross slowed his pace just enough to kiss her through the trembling orgasm. “Fuck you look good like—”
“Ma!”
At the sound of their son’s shout, Catherine jerked away from Cross with wide eyes.
“Oh, my God,” she squeaked.
“Calm down,” he said.
Catherine slapped him in the chest, and hissed, “You fucking calm down!”
“Ma, where are you? I forgot my gear for baseball!”
Catherine’s gaze drifted to the corner of the laundry room where—sure enough—their fourteen-year -old’s baseball bag sat untouched. He always left it there for Catherine to clean whatever needed cleaned.
“Ma?”
Nazio was closer now to the laundry room. Close enough that Catherine could hear his fucking footsteps.
Panic swelled in her heart.
Fear tightened around her throat.
The door was open!
“Naz,” Cross called out, “do not come another step down this hallway.”
“Way to be discrete,” Catherine whispered.
He ignored her.
Their son’s steps faltered. “Why?”
“Just … don’t!” Catherine shrieked.
The embarrassment she felt colored her tone thickly. She couldn’t have even tried to hide it.
Silence followed for several seconds before Naz let out a sound of disgust.
“Please don’t tell me you’re—”
“Just go back upstairs, Naz,” Cross said.
“Oh, God, you are!”
“Naz—”
“That’s fucking gross!”
Cross tipped his head back, stared blankly at the ceiling, and started to chuckle dryly. She didn’t know what was so funny, but he was going to be the butt end of this joke when he realized he wasn’t going to get to be the one between them who finished.
“I put my fucking gear in there!” Naz howled.
“Just go away, Naz,” Cross muttered.
“Jesus, are you naked, or something? Well … you would have to be, I guess. Oh, God—it’s in my head. It’s in my head!”
Naz’s voice lessened as his footsteps echoed further away. His ranting continued on, though.
Cross gave Catherine a look and asked, “I am never going to get sex outside the bedroom again, am I?”
“Not until that kid is out of this house.”
“Figured. Well, fuck. I tried.”