Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(62)

“Yes.” He sits down to take of his boots. “Get naked and I’ll show you.” He stands up, towering over me again. I forget how tall he is sometimes, but I never forget how deliciously male he is. He arches a blond brow. “Need help?”

My sex clenches and my nipples tighten. My entire body knows I’m about to delve into new territory. It’s in the air. It’s in the lecks of ire dancing in his eyes.

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it, revealing my black lace bra. He watches my face, and it’s even more erotic than him looking at my almost-bare breasts.

He lifts my foot to his leg, barely glancing away from my face to tug of my shoe and sock, then repeats the process with the other foot. His hand on my denim-clad calf is incredibly arousing.

He lets go, taking several steps backward. “I’ll let you do the rest.”

He wants to watch me. It’s all about time and anticipation with him, and it does what he intends. I’m wet. I’m ready. I want to know what he has to show me.

I unzip my jeans and shimmy them down my legs, kicking them away. My eyes meet his, and heat replaces the lutters in my belly. I reach for my black thong, shoving it down my legs.

Still he holds my stare, and I unhook my bra and drop it. My breasts are heavy; my body is alive in ways only Chris can create.

Slowly, his gaze lowers to my breasts and my nipples tighten and throb. He doesn’t touch me. I don’t expect him to. This teasing is part of who he is, and he is what I want. Then his eyes lift, illed with male satisfaction and the knowledge of how easily he afects me; how easily he turns me into a wanton, eager player in his sensual games. And I’m ine with him knowing that. These games are sexy and they’re no longer emotional tightropes.

Chris closes the distance between us and surprises me by touching me, his hands sliding to the side of my face. I think he likes to do what I won’t expect, to keep me guessing and on edge.

He leans me against the desk, his body molding mine, and I love the way he is hard where I am soft. The way he absorbs everything that I am and somehow makes me more in the process.

“Do you trust me, Sara?”

“Yes,” I say, and my voice cracks with the ache I feel for this man. “Like I’ve never trusted any other person in my life.

Completely.”

“Then trust me when I say what you witnessed that night at Mark’s club was me going too far. What you and I do is not the same. When I tied you up, when I spanked you, that was mild BDSM. What you saw was extreme— too extreme. You and I decide what is right for us.”

“Yes, I know. I like that.”

He leans down and brushes his lips over mine. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And why does your saying that right now make me nervous?”

He rests his forehead against mine, trails his ingers down my arm. “Because you know I’m going to take you somewhere you’ve never been. That’s part of the high, Sara. The adrenaline rushing through your body. The unknown soon to be discovered.”

He straightens and then reaches over to open the center drawer of his desk. I watch as he removes a long velvet box and my stomach lip-lops at the sight. I’ve seen one of these boxes before. I know there’s a toy inside.

I hold my breath as he holds it between us, and lips it open.

I stare down at a black logger with eight ministraps dangling from the handle, and my heart jackhammers. All I can think of is my irst night at the club, when I heard the painful cries of a woman being publicly logged. “No . . . I . . . ” I shake my head. “No.”

“We deine who we are and what we do,” Chris reminds me.

“I know, but—”

He slides a hand back to my face and kisses me. “Trust me.”



“I do, but—”

He presses the logger into my palm. “It’s silk,” he says. “Feel it. It’s soft. It won’t hurt you. I won’t ever hurt you. There are diferent kinds of material used to make these. Leather and rubber sting more. This won’t. It’s a good beginner’s choice.”

My ingers close around the eight strands dangling from the handle, and they’re indeed soft to the touch. “It won’t hurt?”

“I know what I’m doing. I know how to make it feel good.”

And he does. I know he does. I close my eyes. “I . . .”

His mouth brushes over my mouth, and his tongue whispers past my lips. “Trust me, Sara,” he murmurs again, teasing me with the possibility of another kiss. “Let me redeine what this is to you, and to us. Don’t let what you saw in the club, or whatever Isabel said to you, do that for us.”

I suddenly lean back to look at him. “You didn’t even ask what she said to me.”

“I don’t care what she said. I care how you reacted. I care that whatever poison she tried to feed you didn’t work. That says everything about where we are and what we can be.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears. Do I dare believe that I’ve inally washed away his doubts? His fears? “It does?” I ask, needing conirmation.

“Yes. It does. Trust is everything, remember? That’s what you gave me tonight. And I’m asking for it again. Will you give it to me?”

I cup his face. “I told you. You have it.”

His eyes soften. “And I’ll always deserve it—you have my promise. But Sara, that doesn’t mean you can’t say no now. You can always say no.”