No in Between (Inside Out #4)(27)

There’s a tingling to my skin a moment before Chris, wearing only his low-slung jeans, appears to my right, and I feel that familiar punch of awareness. It burns and spreads, like warm honey in my blood, between my thighs. He affects me in ways I didn’t know another human being could affect another, and in this moment, in this instant where I feel beyond my body, nestled deep in my soul, I know he was right in that bathroom tonight. It terrifies me to think of how deeply him leaving again would cut me. But I also know I’ve made the decision to take that risk.

He walks to the coffee table and pulls it back several feet, giving us space for what I’m certain will be wicked torture. I see it in his eyes as he steps closer and does a sweeping, seductive inspection of my naked body; my gaze lands on the rectangular box he’s holding. He goes down on one knee in front of me and he sets the box on my legs. And while I know our games, and I know not to touch it as surely as I know not to touch him, I still have to curl my fingers around the leather seam of the couch to stop myself.

“Open the box,” he orders, and his eyes hold the dominance I’d seen in that bathroom mirror before he’d spanked me. But there’s a hint of something more, something that reminds me of the vulnerability I’d seen in him last night. He’s opened himself for me to see this, and it’s this willingness to give himself to me that spreads hope over my fears.

I reach for the box and my hand trembles with the rush of adrenaline and anticipation pumping through my body. He seems to understand, taking the lid from me and setting it aside. And then I just sit there, staring down at the pink, fluffy paddle inside.

“It seemed much less intimidating on the AdamEve.com website,” I comment.

His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my gaze to his, and I feel that tiny little touch in every part of me. I want him. I want him badly. “You can always say ‘no.’”

“No. I mean yes. I mean—”

He leans in and kisses me, and there’s a soft brush of his lips over mine, a sensual lick of his tongue before his mouth is gone and I am captured in the gentle command of his stare. “Pick it up and hold it. Get used to how it feels.”

I inhale and breathe out as I flatten my hand on the paddle, letting the fur tickle my palm. He reaches down and closes my hand around it, moving the box to set the paddle back on top of my legs. “It’s a different feeling than my hand.”

“Harder?”

“Different. Not harder. Lean back and hold your weight on your hands.”

Obeying him has become automatic and I do as he’s ordered, the position thrusting my breasts into the air. Chris’s gaze rakes over me, a hot sensual stroke I feel everywhere and yet nowhere. He does not touch me. It’s the fur paddle that contacts my skin, brushing over my legs, my arms, my belly, and finally, my sensitive nipples. He takes his time, missing nothing, returning to this place or that place. Warmth tingles through me, the tension in my muscles easing. More of that slick honey slides through me to settle heavily between my thighs.

But just when I forget that this is the prelude to what is defined as “punishment,” Chris lets the paddle fall away from me and he claims the cushion beside me. “Sit up on your knees and face my lap.”

I see where this is headed with a hard smack of realization. He wants me across his lap in the most vulnerable of ways. “Chris, I—”

“No thinking. Just do it.”

His tone is hard, sharp, even, and it’s as if he removes my options. I don’t know how or why it works for me, but it does, and I listen. I turn so that my knees rest against his jean-clad thigh, the muscle flexing beneath my palm where my hand rests on his leg.

He leans in and frames my face, drawing my gaze to his. “Have I ever hurt you?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“I’m not going to start now.” He runs his thumb over my lips, inching closer to rest his cheek against mine, his warm breath teasing my ear. “This position lets me hit certain spots that will please you.”

“And you know this because you—”

“Have experience,” he supplies, easing back to look at me.

“So you’ve done this to other women.” I know his past, and I try not to think about how I compare for fear it will drive me, and him, insane.

“I’m no Boy Scout, baby,” he reminds me. “You know that, but it’s different with you. Everything is different with you.”

It’s exactly what I need to hear and what, even in my most insecure moments, he’s made me feel. My hesitation evaporates, and with a deep breath, I lean into his lap, but Chris laces his fingers in my hair and drags my mouth to his. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I was just nervous. That’s all.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He isn’t convinced, his eyes narrowing, probing. “I see fear in your eyes, Sara. I don’t like it.”

My fingers curl on his jaw. “Fear of being too vulnerable and needing you too much.”

“And my fear? It’s of you not needing me enough.”

His mouth lowers to mine, and I whisper, “Too late,” a moment before his tongue licks into my mouth with a long, drugging sweep that leaves me breathless, before he releases me, and I don’t hesitate to answer the question I see in his eyes.