If I Were You(Inside Out 01)(43)

The bloom of orgasm begins to build and I try to fight it, unwilling to give up the sweet bliss of almost there. But he is grinding into me, touching me, pushing me, and I am weak. I stiffen, unable to move the seconds before I shatter, my body clamping down on the hard length of him and shooting darts of pure white-hot bliss to every nerve ending I own.
A guttural sound escapes his lips, and he buries himself deep in the depths of my spasming sex, shaking with his own release. I want to push against him, participate in his pleasure as he has mine, but I am still trembling and weak with the final bittersweet ending to my orgasm.
For a few moments the world spins and we are more animals than people, lost in a primal act, where nothing but satisfaction exists. When finally I blink the world back into view, twinkling city lights dot the inky canvas of the night. Chris is still inside me, draped over me, his hands on the window beside mine.
He nuzzles my neck. “How about that pizza?”
I smile. “You better make that two.”
“If it means you have the energy to keep f*cking me like you just did, I’ll buy you a damn dozen.” He slides out of me and a glow of satisfaction fills me with his words.
Now over my fear of falling out of the window, I turn around and lean on the glass and watch him pull off the condom, tossing it into a trashcan by the couch. His jeans are unzipped, low on his hips but he is dressed all the way down to his boots. My glow fades. Suddenly, I am more than a little aware of my nakedness. “You never even got undressed.”
He’s back in front of me, wrapping his arm around me, and stroking the hair from my eyes. “Because you stole my control, Sara, and that never happens.”
My chest tightens at the tormented quality to his voice and I think…I think, for this tiny window of time, he needs me. Maybe, I need him. I stroke his cheek with my fingers. “I was the one with my hands over my head, pressed against a glass that could crash in. Actually, I still am.”
“We are,” he points out. “And it’s hurricane reinforced. We’re good.”
My hand is resting on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm and it somehow makes me feel more alive. He makes me feel more alive. I want to do the same for him, to wash away his suddenly darker mood, as he has mine.
“You know, Chris,” I say. “I do have a few boundaries.”
He arches a brow, narrowing his gaze on mine. “What boundaries would you be referring to?”
“I’m not going home in a bra with my blouse gaping open. You ripped my shirt.”
My reward is his sexy half-smile, the same one he’d given me outside the gallery, by the Porsche. “I didn’t hear you complain at the time.”
“I’d lost my blouse. I darn sure deserved it to be for a pleasurable reason.”
His eyes light with naughty mischief and he nips my bottom lip. “I’ll gladly buy you a new one so we can do it over again.”
“I’ll settle for borrowing one of yours right now. I’m not eating in high heels and pantyhose.”
He wiggles and eyebrow at me. “I would really like it if you would.”
“Oh no,” I say and I smile and kick off my shoes for emphasis. “Not happening.”
“Next time,” he says with a wink, and the inference there will be a ‘next time’ shouldn’t please me for reasons I’ve already determined, aside from the fact that he’s going back to Paris. Without knowing why Chris is damaged, he is, and I am, and we are bad for each other. Next time isn’t good for either of us unless…we need more than tonight.
Chris pushes off the window, away from me and surprises me by tugging his shirt over his head. And oh, oh yes, his abs are rippling perfection. I knew he was good looking, I knew he was athletic, but every inch of him is rock-hard and sculpted in what only genetic and regular hours in the gym can do. The intricate tattoo covering his entire right shoulder down his arm, the one I’d hungered to see more clearly, has me spellbound. The dragon is majestic, etched with such detail and skill, he could have drawn it himself.
“Do I pass inspection?” he asks softly.
I reach out to touch the design on his arm, only to have him capture my hand.
“If you touch me while you’re looking at me like that, you won’t get that pizza.”
He steps closer and pulls his shirt over my head. I inhale his sexy scent clinging to it and me and I hug it close, wishing it were him. “I’m not sure I care about the pizza.”
“I’m not letting you pass out on me.” His finger slides under my chin, lifting my gaze to his. “Now we’re both half-dressed.” He lowers his voice, and adds, “On an equal playing field.”
Equal. It is the last thing I expect from a man who’d completely dominated me minutes before. It doesn’t compute. Power is taking, not giving. How can he do both? Who have I ever known who could?
“Equal would mean that I get to push you against the window and forbid you to move, while I’m mercilessly teasing you.”
His eyes darken, shadows swimming with gold flecks in the sea of his green eyes. “If I thought you were ready for where that will lead, I’d let you.”
Let me? He’d let me? “What does that even mean, Chris?”
He reaches up and strokes my bottom lip, and the touch is gentle, but there is a barely contained edge beneath his surface I’m coming to know. “There is so much I could show you, Sara, but I’m not ready for you to run away.” There is a sense of inevitable regret to his words.
I react to a sense of him pulling away from me without him actually moving—it claws at me inexplicably. I grab his arm and step closer. “Who says I’ll run away?”