If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(59)

I can feel him shoving down his pants. “Hurry,” I plead. “I need-“

He kisses me. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

And then somehow, he’s inside me. Oh God. Yes. He’s inside me, thick and hard and I’m no longer on the ground or against the wall. He’s lifted me and my legs are wrapped around his waist. He is thrusting into me, pulling me down on top of him, pushing me so that I’m leaning so far back I feel like I might fall; only he has me. His arm is around my waist, his powerful body pushing into mine, his hot gaze raking over my breasts, and he has me. He won’t let me fall and that knowledge, that certainty that comes from some place deep inside, allows me to let go. I let myself feel and not think. I am lost to the passion, to the moment, and the push of him inside me, the pleasure of him stretching me, is more than I can take. An orgasm ripples through me with a sudden, intense blast, my body clenching around his. He groans with the impact and God, that groan is hotness personified. I feel the wet, warm heat of his release and I am past my release, and clear-headed enough to revel in the beauty of his face etched with the pleasure I am giving him. I am spellbound by the sight of him, hanging on every second of his release, watching the tension in his features slowly ease into relaxation.

He pulls me close and buries his face in my neck and just holds me for long seconds, still standing, holding my weight and his. My gaze goes to the window and I am aware of the blue sea and gorgeous city beneath us. Of the feeling of sanctuary I’ve found here and nowhere else, if only for a short while.

Slowly, Chris slides me to the ground and offers me a paper towel which I demurely accept, feeling a wave of shyness. Yes indeed, I’m a contradiction these days. Chris fixes his pants and then grabs the robe and pulls it around me.

“I’d like to take you somewhere and show you something I think you’ll like,” he says. “Overnight, if you can?”

Overnight with Chris? The idea thrills me more than it should and I remind myself this is a hot fling. Enjoy it while I can. Don’t get attached. Don’t fall for him. “Where?” I ask.

“Is that a yes?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Then it’s a surprise but you’ll like it, I promise.” He glances at a clock. “But if we’re going to do everything I want to do, we have to get going.”

“I have to go home and shower and get clothes. I don’t even have a shirt to wear out of here.”

“You can use my shower, and you leave clothes to me.”

“Chris-”

He picks me up and I yelp. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the shower. Me Tarzan. You Jane. Do as I say.”

I laugh at his silliness, and think that he’s the contradiction. All rough, tough manly man and a gentle bear at the same time.

We pass the coffee table. “Wait! I need my purse.”

He backs up and leans down enough for me to grab it. I snatch it. “My skirt-“

“I’ll get you clothes,” he says, charging up the steps from the living room to the foyer by the elevator and down another hallway I hadn’t even noticed, and then up a winding set of stairs that ends in his bedroom, which is spectacular. A massive black bed on a pedestal with an incredible view I only get to see in passing before I am deposited on the white marble floor of a bathroom the size of my bedroom.

“I’m leaving you here and shutting you inside because if I join you, we won’t leave anytime soon.”

I open my mouth to object but it’s too late. He kisses me quick and hard on the mouth and then steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him. I am alone in Chris Merit’s bathroom and all I can do is smile.





Chapter Twenty-One





I use Chris’s soap and shampoo; it has a sandalwood musky smell that reminds me of him, and makes me wish he’s in the shower with me. Images of the things we’ve done together, the conversations we’ve shared, pour through me as the hot water pours over me. Chris confuses me on every possible level. Or maybe I’m confused anyway. Until this past week, I’d convinced myself I had life figured out. Did I let my father beat me by leaving everything behind? Part of me says no. I escaped with my own identity. I stood up for what I believed in. My love of art had been like my mother’s, a frivolous hobby, not a career. My role would have been like my mother’s, that of servitude to my father, and in my case, also Michael.

Another part of me, well, it grimly says that I ran rather than stood up to my father and demanded he accept who and what I am, not who he wanted me to be. I’d always hoped my mother would stand up for herself, and what had I done? I’d simply left. I’d run. Chris is right. No wonder I wanted to hit the man. He’d made me see the bitter, hard truth of my actions. He’d made me wish I’d been braver, made me see I’d lost five years of my life I can never get back. Still, I don’t want to see my father. I don’t want his damn money. I can’t be certain I’d have stayed in my current state of mind, but I would have fought for my dream, rather than hiding from everything. Wasn’t that the entire reason I left? To be me? I inhale and let it out. Me. I don’t know myself.

My stomach is officially in knots and I turn off the water. I did run. I can’t deny it. Damn it to Hell, I’m furious with myself. But I can create my own life and success now that I’ve decided to try. Resolve forms deep in my soul, where I’ve not felt anything for a long while…until Chris. I am going to embrace what is before me, including this weekend with Chris. Chris is my escape. This new job is my hope.