I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(51)

“Everything about you is new territory for me,” I say. “And though there are things we should discuss, not here, not now.”

She covers my hand where it rests on the arm of the chair with hers, and I understand the message. She’s touching me. I’m letting her. “I know that I’m new territory for you, too.”

“But?” I ask, sensing there’s more she hasn’t said.

“But . . .” Her hand falls away, and I feel the loss as quickly as I do the instant tension in her. She faces forward, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I pushed you too hard,” I say.

“No,” she counters quickly, cutting me a look. “No, you didn’t.”

“You just withdrew from me,” I point out, prodding her to say more.

“Here’s the thing,” she says, turning toward me. “If anyone else had done what you did to me, I would have been freaked.”

My brow furrows. “You mean the spanking.”

“Yes. I mean . . . that.”

“A spanking,” I say. “There’s nothing wrong with the word or the act. It’s intimate. It’s trust, and unless the person doing it hurts you, which should never be the case, it’s erotic. It’s supposed to turn you on. Don’t let society make it taboo, so you have to feel guilty for enjoying it.”

“I don’t. I decide what’s okay for me. And that’s just it, Mark: I decide. The fact that I liked the spanking, or because you teasing me about another turns me on, doesn’t mean I’m a submissive in training.”

“The idea of me turning you over my knee aroused you?”

In true Crystal form, her chin lifts, her eyes meet mine, and she boldly, yet evasively, replies, “You arouse me.” She turns away, reaching for the bag in front of her and making it clear she’s done with the topic as she adds, “You have the drinks and I have the grilled chicken sandwiches.” She sets one in front of her. “And since there were no healthy sides, I ordered you two sandwiches.”

Trying not to smile, quite certain it might get me smacked, I start unwrapping one of the sandwiches. “That’s perfect. And speaking of healthy, how’s the gym at your apartment?”

“It’s well equipped, but packed. I like to go late at night when it’s empty, and I can have it all to myself.”

I set the drinks on the table and discard the bag. “I’ve never been big on crowds, either.” While the idea of sharing a life with Crystal is complicated in too many ways to count, it feels right to me, rather than what’s safe. That’s what control has been to me—safety. “And I work so much that late nights are inevitable.”

“Same here.” Unwrapping her sandwich, she says, “I love the convenience of my apartment’s location and the shops inside the building and nearby, but I don’t love that it’s highly populated.”

“You need a larger place, where you can have your own gym.”

“One day,” she says, taking a bite of her sandwich.

I’m certain she could have it now if she asked her father. “Your place is small because you pay for it yourself, correct?”

“That’s right,” she says. “My father insisted on helping me get into a safe, nice place to live right out of college. I insisted I foot the bill, which meant it had to be a place I could afford. We battled to come up with a place we could both live with, and our compromise was the great security and neighborhood to please him, and the small size to suit my budget to please me.”

“This is where New York and San Francisco differ. That city has real neighborhoods with standalone homes.”

“Which is what you have?”

“Yes. I have a home in the Nob Hill area, which I thought gave me plenty of property and privacy. But the downside of a standalone home is that it becomes a prison if the press decides to surround you.” I set my sandwich down, the memories of that night and my date with the bottle of scotch cutting through my appetite. My elbows go to my knees and I don’t look at her as I add, “Even if it weren’t for the press, I couldn’t be there now—any more than I could have taken you there.”

“I know,” she surprises me by saying.

I cast her a questioning glance. “You know?”

“She lived with you, so being there has to remind you of her. And I’m sure that taking me there would have come with guilt. It probably always will.”

“No. Not always.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t push me. “What are you going to do about Allure? You can’t leave it closed forever.”

“I put it on the market. If I choose to go back to San Francisco, I can do shows at random venues and still make a killing.”

“What you deny owns you, Mark,” she says, again repeating the words I’d spoken to her, and I wonder why they connect with her as deeply as they obviously do.

I had these kinds of questions with Rebecca, but I never let myself ask them. I won’t make that mistake with Crystal.

“What owns you, Crystal?” I ask, trying to understand.

Shadows flicker in her eyes as she replies, “The wrong things, but I’m trying to fix that.”

“What wrong things?”

“If I could just spit them out on demand, they wouldn’t own me, now, would they?”