No in Between (Inside Out #4)(49)

It is this part of Chris that really gets to me. The man who is a contradiction to himself, who can spank me, but worries over my tiniest discomfort. The man who can order me around, but asks how I feel about everything. I don’t know how he achieves such a delicate balance, but it’s why I can not only be bound, naked, and blindfolded, but do so fearlessly. Unbidden, emotions well inside me. During the end of my time with Michael, just the idea of him touching me had made me recoil. Yet this is where I am with Chris—and that’s one of the many things I have to tell him before this night is over.

There’s a flickering sound that I try to identify but can’t. I’m aware of Chris behind me, the random sounds of him moving about, and then the shocking sensation of some kind of liquid squirting onto my back. I gasp with the cold, the wetness, and then sigh with the relief of Chris’s hands dragging it over my skin. Oil. I have no idea where this is going or what he plans, nor can I form real ideas when he’s touching me, caressing up and down my sides, then over my backside. Over and over he repeats the sensual motion. Again and again. Slowly, my muscles ease, tension sliding away and I relax into the sensations he’s creating, my nipples throbbing, sex clenching with the need to feel him inside me.

The thrum of pleasure is jolted when more liquid splatters over my skin, but this time it’s warm, almost hot, and thicker. Much thicker. Then, shockingly, icy cold replaces the heat as Chris rubs ice all over my skin. “Cold.”

“What is it?” he demands.

“Ice. It’s ice.”

Hot liquid splatters over me again. “And now?” he demands.

“It’s heat.” More of the splatter, and I know what it is. “Wax.”

His answer is a caress of ice, then more hot wax. I can hear myself panting. No. Moaning. I don’t know these sounds that I’m making. There are too many sensations, too much happening. I’m disoriented. I’m aroused and my skin is tingling all over. I want him to stop. I want him to keep going but he stops abruptly, without any warning or explanation. And then nothing. There is nothing. Stillness overcomes me and the room. There is no sound. No movement. No hot or cold. Just the ache inside me that I’m desperate for him to fill.

Time ticks by and my heart starts to race again, wild, so wild. I need him to do something, anything, and when I think I might lose my mind and shout with anticipation, oil covers my back. His hands move rhythmically over my skin, my nerve endings screaming with tingly, achy sensations as the wax begins to crumble away. On and on this goes, and I feel as if my back can take no more when finally he caresses lower, over my hips, my backside. In no rush, he lingers there, touching me, soothing me. Arousing me. Knowing there is no spanking to follow, the tension I didn’t know was there slips away. As if that’s the moment Chris has been waiting for, he shocks me with the intimate invasion of his fingers tracing the crevice of my cheeks. I stiffen, a thrill of anticipation and renewed arousal overwhelming me, but his fingers don’t move to my sex. They linger in that intimate part of my body where no man has been.

The realization of what he intends hits me and I arch my back. “Chris—”

His hand flattens on my lower back. “Easy, baby. Have you ever—”

“No,” I say quickly. “Never. Chris—”

“Deep breath, baby. Just like last night. Nothing but pleasure.”

“Yes,” I breathe out, panting to bite back further objection. This is about trust, and I trust him.

“Pleasure,” he repeats, and he begins stroking again, only this time his other hand teases my sex, distracting me from my fear. His fingers stroke through the liquid heat of my arousal, all the ways he is touching me, all the sensations, overwhelming me. I am climbing to the edge of orgasm, so lost that it takes me a moment to realize that his fingers have entered me front and back. I still can’t process. I can’t protest. I don’t want to protest. “Chris, I—”

My words are lost to the deep stroke of his fingers, an arch of my hips. “You what?”

I don’t even remember what I’d been going to say. Sensations spiral through me, a wicked wonderful darkness consuming me. I think he asks me something else. I don’t know. There are only his fingers pumping into me, sensations spiraling inside me.

“Oh,” I gasp. “I . . . I’m going to . . .” I spasm around him with intense, amazing pleasure that seems to last forever, yet leaves me panting for more when it ends. Exhausted from the intensity, I sink deeper onto the pad beneath me. Chris slides his fingers from inside me, his hands momentarily resting on my hips. Something soft and silky rubs over my back, drying the oil, and then I’m being scooped up in his arms and carried.

I curl against his chest, my bindings making it impossible to hold on, but I’m completely secure that he won’t drop me. My nostrils flare with the rich, warm scent of our room, and I expect to be laid on the bed. Instead, I am sat down on our bed as he pulls away my blindfold.

The instant I see his face, emotions burn in my chest and damn it, my eyes. I want to blame it on adrenaline again, but this time, I’m not sure it is. It’s the past bleeding from deep in my soul, refusing to be buried.

Chris reaches in the nightstand and produces a pocketknife, slicing my bindings free. The instant I’m free, I wrap my arms around him and press my lips to his. His hand comes down on my head, his mouth angling over mine, but it is me who is kissing him, me who is crazy hungry for this man I do not want to lose.