Page 134 of Crossed

Which is why, after traveling for the first year after the news broke of Parker being the Green Mountain Strangler, I brought her here to the region of Auvergne- Rhône- Alpes, France. To settle.

Quinten took surprisingly well to the change in routine and blossomed in a way that he never could while he was stuffed into corners in Festivalé, and although he didn’t have as much formal therapy at first, once we settled, Amaya found him the best play therapists to work with. He’s homeschooled now, with a small group of other neurodivergent children, and I would be lying if I said my heart didn’t warm to see him flourish the way he is.

Tonight, actually, he’s spending the night with one of his closest friends. So Amaya and I both thought it was the perfect time to let loose and let our monstersfly.

Besides, we were just married in a small outdoor ceremony. Not Catholic, of course, but over the years, my beliefs have turned from strict religion into a spiritual faith. God loves me for who I am,justas I am. And I don’t need to embroil myself in the politics and corruption that is the church.

I press soft kisses down the expanse of her throat, my hands firm in their grip as I turn her this way and that, manipulating her body precisely the way I want it.

“Cade,” she moans. “Let me clean up first.”

“Hmm,” I hum against her skin. “I think I prefer you this way, mon trésor. Dirty and depraved.”

She scoffs, pressing against my shoulders, but instead of pushing me away, her fingers dig into the fabric of my shirt and grip me close.

“Filthy, even,” I continue.

“I…have…”

Her feeble protests break off when I bite down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder and take one of my hands, slip it down the front of her body, and dip into the top of her flowy skirt, beneath her flimsy panties, finding her soaking wet and ready for me.

The way she always is.

“Should I take you here, petite pécheresse?” I ask. “Fuck you with my fingers before I stretch you with my cock?”

“God, yes,” she breathes.

I smack her pussy sharply. “Donottake His name in vain.” Her eyes flash and my dick pulses.

She knows I still have my faith, and while she’ll never be religious, I find that I don’t care. In fact, I think she considers it foreplay to piss me off. She thinks I’ll make it hurt more when I take her.

Normally, she’s correct.

She rises up on her tiptoes and crushes her mouth to mine, her tongue slipping between the seam of my lips and tangling around my own, the taste of her invading every single one of my senses. I groan against her, my sack tightening as I walk her back and slam her into the wall, grinding my throbbing length against her.

Part of me assumed that after a while, my obsession would dull from familiarity, but I’ve found the opposite to be the case.

Her depravity dives down to meet my monster, and her spirit flies high to give me faith. There isnothingbeyond Amaya for me.

I drop to my knees, ripping her clothes as quickly as I can, buttons flying from her blouse and torn fabric floating to the side as I expose her wet cunt to the open air.

My forearm keeps her tightly contained against the wall.

“You and your walls,” she muses, her fingers running through the messy black strands of my hair.

I smirk as I lean in and blow across her swollen clit.

“Oui. I like you where I can keep you, mon trésor.”

And then I lean in and I worship her. The way I was born to do.

She is my salvation.

My hope.

My temptation.

My blood.