All of Me (Inside Out #5.5)(9)

He teases me again with another flick of his tongue. Just one before he’s blowing on me again, taunting me. I lift my leg to his shoulder, trying to drag him to me. He punishes me in that way that is so Chris, doing the opposite of my silent commands, standing just enough to hold my leg in place and lean over me.

“I decide when, Sara,” he reminds me. “You know that.” His lips brush mine, teeth nipping at my bottom lip. “I decide.” He drags his lips across my cheek, down my neck, then back up to whisper, “I love how you smell when you’re aroused.”

I moan again. “That would be almost always with you, Chris Merit. Stop teasing me.”

“What will you give me if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“Everything.”

“You have it.”

He pulls back, staring down at me. “We both know that’s not true.”

Confusion furrows my brow. “Yes, you do.”

“No. But I will, Sara. I will.” He doesn’t give me time to ask what that means, sliding back between my thighs, lifting my other leg to his shoulders.

“Chris,” I whisper, and his name is both a question and another plea for his mouth on that sweet spot he’d teased.

He doesn’t deny me. He suckles my nub, drawing on the sensitive flesh softly but oh so deeply; two fingers sliding inside me. That’s all it takes and I am lost to the sensations, so ridiculously ready to come that as he begins to lick me in every intimate way possible, I am arching into him, pumping against his fingers, and spasming in barely a minute. I lose space and time, shivering and shaking with the intensity of my release, finally coming back to earth as Chris slides his fingers out of me, his hands bracing my hips, lips pressing to my belly. He lingers there a moment, his head down, his mouth on my skin, and I sense a struggle within him.

“Chris,” I whisper, imploring him to use me to take the edge off. My voice or his name seems to jolt him and he moves, lowering my legs. I think he’ll undress now and bury his emotion in me, but he shocks me by setting me on the floor.

His hands settle on my shoulders, and he leans into me. “Go get dressed. We need to leave.”

My eyes shut with the certainty that he wants to f*ck me, but he won’t. This is about the control Chris believed he’d established over the painful loss of Amber, only to have Tristan rip it away. And I want him to feel in control. I want him to feel he can find peace right here with me, not across town with Isabel and a whip.

I attempt to snatch his shirt from the floor but he intercepts, grabbing it first. “No shirt. I like you naked.”

Crazily, as many places as I have been with Chris, nerves flutter in my belly at the idea of this gorgeous, dominant man watching me walk out of here naked. And I’m mad at myself for the instant ache in my sex, where I want him more in this moment than the one before.

“You’re evil, Chris Merit,” I accuse, trying to garner the courage to move forward.

“And for reasons neither of us quite understand, that’s just how you like me, baby.” He smacks my backside just hard enough to cause a little sting.

I yelp and launch into action, reaching the stairs and grabbing the hand rail, feeling Chris’s stare every step of the way. Just as I feel the pain beneath the surface of my hot, dominant soon-to-be husband. And I’ll spend a lifetime, if I have to, trying to make it go away.

? ? ?

I rush through my shower and dress comfortably for the sightseeing we’ve talked about doing, donning dark navy jeans, knee-high brown boots and a soft, light blue sweater. Grabbing my purse and jacket, I find Chris on the phone in the living area, and the moment he spots me, he motions to the doorway and ends the call.

He gives me a quick up and down inspection, approval flickering in his eyes. “Nice, but naked is nicer.”

“You naked would be even nicer.”

“Soon, baby,” he says, wrapping his arm around me. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

A comment like that is most definitely a loaded promise of something naughty and forbidden that will push my limits. Today he’s dark Chris to the extreme, and he’s taking me along for the ride. But even dark Chris is polite, holding my car door, and then squatting down beside me to tug my seat belt over my lap. My senses go into overload as his arm brushes my breast and his scent teases my nostrils.

“I can’t promise you won’t get hurt,” he says softly, “but I can promise you I’ll never willingly let you go.” He pushes himself to his feet and shuts me inside, leaving me struggling to inhale my next breath.

As he climbs in beside me, I promise, “Neither will I. Don’t forget that, Chris. I won’t let you go.”

Several beats of silence pass before he says, “Then you’d better hold on tight, baby, because it’s going to be a wild ride.” He starts the engine and opens the garage, backing up.

“I’m counting on it,” I say.

To my relief, his sexy, perfect lips twitch a tiny bit. He makes the quick right to the main road and we travel the few blocks to the Champs-élysées, the street that is home to the famous bakery and restaurant Ladurée, where I’m meeting Chantal. It’s also home to The Script, and Chris stops in front of the door sporting a Closed sign, darkness inside.

“Maybe he’s taking appointments only,” I suggest.