Being Me(Inside Out 02)(32)

There is mischief in his voice and I can imagine the wicked dancing in the depth of his green eyes. “So you know the site?”
“Yes. I know the site.”
This surprises me and I wonder if some other woman tried to soften his dark side by presenting him with the softer side of BDSM. Maybe one of the L.A. actresses I’d read about him dating before meeting him. It’s an unpleasant thought for too many reasons to count and one that doesn’t fit the puzzle that is Chris.
“I find myself the least intimidated by pink furry paddles and a pair of butterfly nipple clamps. Nothing quite in your league.”
“Don’t decide for me,” he orders, his voice going all low and rough, but still gently seductive. “Let’s discover what works for us together. What made you start looking up sex toys anyway?”
“The painting.”
“Of you in my studio.”
“Yes. Of me. You wanted me to see it this morning and tonight.” I don’t phrase it as a question.
He’s silent a moment, and I sense one of his shifting moods, the subtle edge of one of his many layers. “Yes. I wanted you to see it.”
“To scare me?”
“Does it?”
I hesitate too long and he presses. “Does it scare you, Sara?”
“Is that what you’re hoping for, Chris? To scare me away?”
Now he is silent too long and I am about to press him, when he dodges the question with a surprising revelation. “The painting isn’t about bondage to me. It’s about trust.”
A lump forms in my throat at the thought of my secret, and the poison I cannot escape. “Trust?”
“The kind of trust I want from you and have no right to ask.”
But I want him to ask. I want him to trust me. “I want the same from you.”
More silence follows, too much silence, and I hate the distance that prevents me from reading him. “Where are you?” he asks finally.
“In the studio.” And I tear down one of my walls to try to reach across one of his. “I wanted to be in the place that felt the closest to you.”
“Sara.” His voice is hoarse, like my name is an emotion, a raw burn, ripped from his throat. This is the intensity of what I create in him, and I am not sure he fully understands he creates the same intensity in me.
“Where are you?” I ask softly.
There is a moment of hesitation in which I sense he is relieved to have something to focus on instead of what he is feeling.
“I’m in my hotel room, finally. Have you looked at the painting I did for Dylan, the kid I was telling you about?”
“No, not yet. You want me to?”
“Yes. Go look.”
Any excitement I feel at discovering a new Chris Merit work is dashed by the solemness of the request. “Okay. Headed there now.” I push to my feet and head to the back room, flipping on the light to the small fifteen-by-fifteen room where a few easels sit with clothes over the top. There is only one canvas uncovered and I laugh when I see it.
“Am I really looking at a painting of Freddy Krueger and Jason from Friday the 13th?”
He laughs but it’s strained. “Yes. The kid is a horror freak. Do you know which one is which?”
“Aren’t you funny? Of course I do.”
“You didn’t at the storage unit.”
“Okay, so I mix up Michael and Jason sometimes, but I know
Freddy by sight, because he scares the crap out of me. I have to say you’ve done a fine job of re-creating the reasons why in vivid color.” I shiver at the sight of the cratered red and orange face.
“Who knew you could craft a monster like you can a cityscape?”
“Apparently Dylan. I’ve drawn him a collection of those things on paper. This is the first on canvas.” Any hint of the lighthearted Chris I often enjoy fades from his voice, turning to pure grim discomfort. “I think he likes horror movies because he’s trying to seem brave. But I see the fear in his eyes. He doesn’t want to die.”

His words scrape a path down my spine, and I ache with this man who I am coming to know is so much more than pain and pleasure. “Just know you’re helping make this part of his life better.”
“But I will never erase the torture losing him is going to be for his parents.”
A powerful rush of certainty washes over me. While I don’t understand the depths of where his passion for this charity comes from, I am confident that Chris is trying to make up for some perceived sin of the past, be it subconsciously, or maybe, knowing what I do of him, consciously. And while it is an amazing cause that he is making a difference with, I fear where the