All of Me (Inside Out #5.5)(40)



I wrap my arms around him and press my head to his chest. “Hey,” he says, his hand coming down on my head. “What’s wrong?”

I look up at him. “How is it that you’re always here when I need you?”

“That’s what we do, Sara. We’re here for each other. The salon told me you were here.”

“I thought . . . I thought he told you. Did you see him?”

“See who?”

“My father. He was here.”

“What? How? When?”

“He just left, and I have no idea how he found me.” I laugh bitterly. “He wanted to apologize.”

“Stay here,” he orders, but when he tries to leave, I hold on tight. “He’s gone. He left.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. He said he’d call after the wedding.”

“What did he say?”

“That he had a cancer scare and it changed his thinking. And I hate that I feel this ball of hope that it might be true. No one is who he is and then changes. And why did he have to choose today? He’s going to call. It’s not over.”

“And we’ll deal with it, like we do everything else. That’s what we do,” he repeats. “We’re there for each other.”

“I don’t want to let him back in my life, so why does he stir these feelings inside me?”

“The same reason mine did me. He’s your father, a part of you. But so am I, now.”

There’s a whisper, a moan, and Rey says something in French.

“What the hell?” Chris asks.

I laugh and grab his shirt when he tries to look around the corner. “Don’t look. It’s Rey and Chantal. Apparently he’s decided he’s not so bad for her, after all. He apologized and she said it wasn’t enough.”

Chris cups my face. “Because when you really want someone, nothing is ever enough.”

“Why do I feel guilty for not greeting my father’s request with welcome arms?”

“He took you off guard, and he’s done a lot to hurt you—including not being the father you needed him to be. Try to put him aside for now. The hurt, the guilt, the need he creates in you for that unknown something you never had.

“Because you have us. Think about us. Think about our song.” He lowers his head, his lips near my ear as he softly sings, “It’s just you and me and all of the people. With nothing to do and nothing to prove.” He leans back and stares down at me, his eyes filled with love. “Just you and me, baby.”

I smile. “Just you and me, Chris.”





      Part Thirteen



   The Reason I Breathe





The morning of the wedding, I don’t awaken alone. I’m on my stomach with Chris draped over me, one leg twined with mine, his hand on my backside. It’s heaven. Not only am I marrying the love of my life, but he’s talented, sexy, and a really amazing person.

I like Chris. I admire and respect his decisions. And those things matter in big ways.

His fingers flex against my bottom and I smile. “You’re awake.”

“Hmmm. I’m awake.” He nuzzles my neck and his fingers trace the crevice of my backside, sending a shiver up my spine and tightening my nipples. “Contemplating all the things I want to do to you before I let you out of bed.”

“We can’t,” I say, trying to turn, but his leg holds me down. “Chris, not until tonight. We talked about this.”

He sighs and eases his hold on me. I turn face to face, my hand on his chest— a mistake, if I mean to resist him. He’s gorgeous and naked, and about to be my husband, which is the sexiest thing ever. And the way he’s looking at me, like he wants to gobble me up, is making him sexier and me hotter. He strokes my hair away from my face and when our eyes connect, he consumes me that easily. Chris does that to me. He wants, and I need. It’s how it is. It’s who we are.

His fingers press into my hip and he pulls us together, the thick ridge of his erection fitting into the vee of my body. I press my palm to his shoulder. “It’ll be better tonight if we don’t,” I say, trying to sound convincing. I fail.

“It’ll be better tonight because you’ll finally be mine.”

“And because we waited. No sex this morning.”

He rolls me to my back, his big, wonderful body an arousing weight on top of me. “Okay,” he agrees, as if his actions don’t contradict his words. “No sex this morning.” He eases down my body until his shoulders widen my legs, his lips brushing my belly. It trembles beneath his touch, and I’m desperate for an ounce of willpower.

“Chris. You said—”

“I just want to know if you taste different this morning, as Sara McMillan, than you will tonight as Sara Merit.”

“Stop saying Sara Merit.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me want you.” He smiles and lowers his head. With what little willpower I have, I tangle my fingers in his hair. “No. This counts as sex.”

“A taste isn’t a full meal.” His hands slide under my backside and his breath teases my clit. My eyes close, my muscles tensing with anticipation, and he doesn’t make me wait. He licks the seam, sending a wave of sensations rolling through me. And then he’s kissing my belly again. “See. Just a taste.” He starts to get up.

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