Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(15)

I’m done with slow.”

He grabs the sash along with my hands, rough in that sexy way he can be rough, and I silently rejoice at a glimpse of this side of him. “What we did is called avoidance,” he declares and his mouth lowers, lingering near mine, his breath a warm, wet promise on my lips. “And this, right now, is me savoring every second of making love to you. And in case you didn’t know, you’re the only reason I know what that means.”

My breath freezes in my throat, the impossibility of how far we’ve come in such a short time overwhelming me. “I am?”

“You have to know that.”

I’m instantly awash in emotions, and yes, still so intensely, wonderfully, overwhelmed by this man. “I do,” I whisper. “I know because I feel the same way about you.” I try to reach for him but can’t. “I need to touch you.”

He reaches down to untie my hands, and I swear I see him tremble as he tosses the sash aside. With desire? With love? He’s as afected by me as I am him, and it’s this connection I never expected, and I never want to lose. Our eyes lock and hold, the air thickens around us, and words are not needed. We understand each other. We need each other. Chris is inside me, hard and thick, but this is much more than sex. He’s right. It’s making love.

His mouth slants over mine and his tongue presses past my teeth, stroking me at the same moment he curves his hand beneath me and lifts my hips. And with his actions, it’s as if a branch snaps and we tumble into a wildire of passion. The Chris I know doesn’t lose control—but he has, we have, and I’m climbing out of my skin, trying to get under his. His mouth is on my mouth, my neck, my nipple, suckling and licking, and his cock is driving into me, slow and then fast, fast and then slow.

Time fades and Chris is merciless, punishing me with hard pumps of his cock, and sweet, wicked licks of his tongue. I am lost and found in this one place, in this one man, and I desperately try to hold back, to make this last, but can’t do it. I dig my ingers into his back and I clench around his shaft, dragging him deeper, but never deep enough. This man can never be deep enough.

Release is sweet bliss, jerking my hips and stealing my breath. Every nerve ending in my body is alive and tingling with pleasure. Chris buries his face in my neck, his body quak-ing, and I feel the warm, wet heat of his release illing me. A new wave of pleasure washes over me, and it’s far beyond physical. I’m overwhelmed by how right I feel with this man.



“I really do love making love to you,” he murmurs, and when he lifts his head to stare down at me, I love the wildness of his hair and the sated heaviness of his deep green stare.

My lips curve. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and gives me a quick peck on the mouth.

“Don’t go away.” He pulls out of me and stands up, and I gasp from the hollow ache of his sudden absence. He gives a wicked bark of laughter at my reaction, obviously pleased with himself.

I raise up on my elbow to watch him, and yikes, the sticki-ness between my thighs assures that I’ll stay right where I am or make a mess. Oh, the joys of reality after hot sex. My gaze ixes on Chris’s naked, sexy backside as he walks to a doorway on my left. Okay, so maybe reality is pretty darn good. Who cares about sticky? Chris disappears inside a room and comes back with a towel in his hand, the full-frontal view reinforcing my feeling lucky.

He grabs a pillow from the couch and then settles back on the rug, ofering me the towel. I’ve barely had time to clean up when he pulls my back to his front, and we share the pillow.

Sprawled on the loor together, naked, limbs twined together, I’ve never been happier. Chris is dark and damaged, and I think I’m far more damaged than I’ve ever acknowledged. But together . . . together I think we can ind our way to the light.

“I am never going to look at this rug the same way again,”

Chris says, nuzzling my hair.

“That makes two of us,” I agree with a laugh, but my smile fades when my gaze catches on the sash Chris used to tie me up. We’re so close to inding true peace with each other, I don’t want anything, especially my silent worries, to ruin it.

“Please promise me that my hesitation over spanking didn’t make you doubt I can handle what you want to share with me.”

I force myself to dig deeper and face what is really bothering me. “And it’s not because of Michael. I’m not fragile, Chris. I won’t break because of some deep emotional wound, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He rolls me to my back and his hand settles possessively on my stomach. “Baby, I’m not about to sit back and let that man be what’s in your head. I’ll give you other things to ill the space. Good things. Pleasurable things.

“But Michael aside, there was no way I was spanking you after what you’ve been through the past few days. Not when there’s a risk the experience might hit an emotional nerve.

Sometimes a BDSM-type experience helps you escape. Sometimes it takes you deeper into the pain, and forces you to face it and deal with it. You’re too new to this for that to be predict-able. You don’t know what you like, nor how you react to it, and neither do I.”

I have a sudden memory of Chris tied up in the club, screaming for the woman behind him to hit him harder, and I know why he became the master of helping others escape. He can’t give someone else control without the risk of them opening a wound and starting an emotional bleed. Not unless he goes to painful extremes. Beatings.