If I Were You(Inside Out 01)(49)

We are moving together, a sultry dance of passion, touching each other with hot, needy caresses and I want to crawl under this man’s skin. There is a desperateness growing inside me, in the way I touch him, the way I kiss him. The way I press against him. Sensations build within my sex, spread through my nerve endings. I crave the place they are taking me with bittersweet desire as I yearn to savor this experience, not end it.
Release comes over me too soon, and without warning, and I cling to Chris, burying my face in his neck. He moans as my body clamps down on his shaft and pushes me hard against his thrust. His arms are wrapped around me, holding me tightly when he shakes with his release.
When we both relaxed, wine and pleasure have collided with body-numbing effects, so much so that I am a wet noodle as Chris frets over cleaning us up and then lays down on the couch and takes me with him. His heart beats beneath my ear and with the fireplace throwing warmth over us, my lashes grow heavier by the second.



Chapter Eighteen

Description: butterfly

Tonight I felt like I’d finally found him again. He was different. We were different. It was just he and I, alone in his playroom. I was so relieved, so tired of him sharing me. It hurts when he shares me, when he makes me feel I am not enough for him. He says that isn’t the case. He says I fulfill his every fantasy. That I am a perfect sub.
I will remember tonight forever. Only my hands were bound and I stood in the middle of the room. He was naked and commanding, and it is in those moments that I would do anything to please that man. I was wet and aching with the burn for him to touch me and finally, finally, his fingers brushed my cheeks, then trailed down my neck, over my breast and nipple. I shivered from the caress, and goosebumps had lifted on my skin. That’s how much he commands my body.
His fingers returned to my face, trailing over my lips. “Suck,” he ordered and I drew his fingers into my mouth, ran my tongue around him. His eyes heated and…

My eyes snap open, a vague sense of awareness washing over me, and I blink into a beam of sunshine. Dreaming. I think…I’ve been dreaming about one of the journal entries again. I swallow against the dryness in my throat and the wet ache between my thighs. Realization comes to me in a cold blast of awareness. Oh God. I’m not home, I’m at Chris’s, and I’ve managed to have an erotic dream which may or may not have included him as a witness to me talking or moaning or…I sit up quickly.
A blanket I don’t remember pulling over me falls to my waist at the same moment as I bring Chris into focus, his back to me, and become instantly aware of him being fully dressed in distressed jeans and a brown tee of some sort, while I am completely naked. His hand is pressed to the living room window as he gazes out over the glorious new morning rainbow of red, yellow, and orange in the skyline I can’t truly appreciate. Not when the dreaded morning after has arrived, glaring with its own colorful glory, complete with my wet dream that I’m hoping I haven’t shared without my knowledge.
Chris seems to sense I’m awake and begins to turn. Reflexively, feeling exposed beyond my nakedness, I pull my knees to my chest and the blanket to my chin.
Discomfort does nothing to stop my reaction to this man. He is truly gorgeous. I drink him in like fine wine, savoring every detail. He’s wearing the biker boots he’d been wearing at the coffee shop and his shirt has a Harley logo on it. His jaw is unshaven, shadowed with a sexy stubble, his longish dirty blond hair slightly damp, framing his handsome face. And his eyes, those intelligent, unreadable eyes, glisten green and gold in the sunlight.
He’s staring at me too, his expression stark and unreadable. I will him to speak, to say one of his witty, light comments I find so soothing. He doesn’t and I am about a hair away from launching into the rambling habit I’m determined to leave behind in this new life of mine.
“Hi,” I say when the silence drives me crazy, but hey, I’ve contained myself to one word. Progress is happening.
He leans against the window, clearly unworried about it breaking as I had been the night before. Well, for a short bit. I’d forgotten my fears pretty darn quickly when he’d started touching me. My body heats with the memory of him pressing me against that very same glass, and I remember the night before with feverish clarity—his hands, his fingers, his mouth. My breast are suddenly heavy, my nipples aching. My cheeks burn with the impact of my thoughts.
Chris, on the other hand, remains more stone than man with tension banding around him. It whips and twists around the room, and begins to suffocate me, and old faithful becomes my only defense. I begin the dreaded rambling. “I, ah, it’s morning, but you know that since its daylight and well, it seems that…I…didn’t go home.”
Several heavy seconds pass and I swear I can hear the hand on his watch tick, before he asks, “Did you want to go home, Sara?”
His question takes me off guard and I have no idea how to answer. I am officially off-kilter. Had I? Well no. I’d been thoroughly pleasured and I’d all but passed out from pure female bliss. Would I have, had I woken up sooner? No. I wasn’t in any rush to leave Chris, but I’m afraid Mister ‘I’m Not The Guy You Take Home To Mom And Dad’ will overreact to such a confession. “I…don’t know.”
“I didn’t.” His voice is soft, and he scrubs his face and looks upset by this declaration, before contradicting his own reaction by looking me in the eyes and clearly stating, “I didn’t want you to go home, Sara.”
I am confused and happy by this news, but…wait.  I shouldn’t be happy. Should I? This is a fling, an affair, and he will jet off to Paris and we will be history. I’m supposed to be living for the moment, enjoying what I can, keeping it light.