If I Were You (13 page)

His hands are suddenly gone, and I pant in desperation,
trying to pull them back.

Chris captures my hands and forces them back to the glass
above me, his breath warm by my ear, his hard body framing mine. “Move them
again and I’ll stop what I’m doing, no matter how good it might feel.”

I quiver inside at the erotic command, surprised again by
how enticed I am by this game we are playing. “Just remember,” I warn, still
panting, still burning for his touch. “Payback is Hell.”

His teeth scrape my shoulder. “Looking forward to it, baby,”
he rasped. “
More than you can possibly know.”

Chapter Fifteen

He unzips my skirt, sliding it down my hips. “Step,” he
orders, and my sex clenches with the command.

Obediently, I step out of the clothing, and I am now
stretched out across the window for him to do with me what he will, wearing
only my panties, black thigh-highs and heels. The possibilities of exactly
where this will lead are driving me wild. I have never been so turned on in my
life, never so eager to be touched. It’s illogical. I have a deep dislike for
being ordered around, despite a past some might say indicates otherwise, except
it seems, when it’s by Chris. Deep down though, I know those journals call to
me for reasons I prefer to ignore. Until this moment. Until Chris opened a door
I’d left sealed.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, laden with
evident desire. His hands curve around my hips, his palms exploring my
backside, tracking the silk line of my panties down my cheeks before trailing
lower until he reaches between my thighs, grabs the cloth and rips them away.
My lips part in surprise and I am panting. I arch forward and my nipples press
to the cold glass, a bittersweet friction, part relief and part tease.

His palm flattens firmly onto my back, holding me in place,
and
oh God
, the fingers of his other hand slide between my thighs,
curving so that he cups my sex and strokes my clit at the same time. 

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, widening my legs, teasing the
sensitive, swollen flesh. “Hot and wet and ready for me. Just the way I want
you.” His hand on my back caresses over my ribs and he moves to palm my breast,
flicking my nipple.

I am still lost in sensory overload when his mouth presses
to my neck, his breath a warm tickle, and his hands, oh his hands and fingers,
are doing such delicious things to my clit and nipples that I am on the edge of
something intensely wonderful and he’s not even undressed yet.

His teeth scrape my lobe and I feel it in my sex, where I
want him. Where I am almost desperate to have him. “I’m going to lick you all
over before this night is over, Sara,” he says in a seductive purr. “Suck your
nipples until you are crazy with need, then spread you wide and lick you until
you come and then, I’m going to do it all over again. I’m going to make sure
you are so thoroughly fucked that being fucked has a new meaning.”

I moan with his words, with the boldness of this man, with
the ease at which he can spin my world around and drive me wild. I am close to
the sweet spot, moving against his hand, arching into his touch, when he shifts
to my side and goes down on one knee.

He slides two fingers inside me, filling me, stretching me,
as if he knew that is what I needed. A swell of need has me widening my legs,
moving with the sweet rhythm of his strokes. I am panting and not quietly and I
don’t care. Tension curls inside me and my orgasm comes in a hard spasm around
his fingers that erupts into such pleasure my body jerks.

Chris wraps an arm around me, anchors me, and I am certain
he is the only reason my knees do not give out. Time stands still as sensations
ripple through my body, and Chris leads me to the other side of pleasure, his
touch slowly turning more gentle. When finally my body relaxes, his tongue
delicately strokes my hipbone, his cheek brushing against my skin with gentle,
erotic friction that has my sex clenching all over again. I am breathless with
his ability to be demanding and hard one moment, and tender the next.

“Don’t move,” he orders and pushes to his feet, framing my
body with his again, his hands traveling up my back, his lips pressing to my
ear. “I’m going to fuck you now, Sara, hard and fast with you exactly as you
are now,   and you’re going to stay right where you are and let me do it.”

“About damn time,” I hiss through my teeth. 

A low rumble of his laughter fills the air, tingling a path
from my ears and stirring sensations low in my belly. But I am not pleased when
he shoves away from me, no longer touching me, almost as if he is defying me,
teasing me on purpose. I am ready to turn, to take over, to make my own
demands, but I believe his promise to stop whatever he is doing if I drop my
hands.

Relief washes over me when I hear the rustle of clothing and
the tear of paper — a condom I am certain.
Soon
. Soon he will be inside
me. His hands come down on my hips and his shaft presses between my thighs.
Deft fingers stroke through the wet heat of my body, preparing me when I was ready
long ago.

“Please, Chris,” I moan, aching for fulfillment. 

“Easy, baby,” he replies, and oh yes, I feel him press
between my legs, thick and hard, and exactly what I need.

Still though, he holds back, teases me, sliding his erection
up and down in the wet heat of my swollen flesh. He can’t want the way I do or
he could not do this and I silently vow to amend that, and soon.

“Payback”-

He thrusts into me, hard and deep, burying himself to the
hilt and moaning with the impact. I moan with him and gasp when he lifts my
hips, finding a deeper spot. There is no time to revel in the fullness of him
inside me, the completeness my body needs. He thrusts again and the wild,
wicked hard pump of our bodies together erupts into a frenzied dance. His hands
are all over me, his cock is inside me, filling me, stretching me.
Pleasing
me
. In a remote part of my mind, I think of the glass, of the two of us
shoving against it. Of the possibility of it breaking, but I don’t care. If I
am going to die I want it to be with this man inside me.

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 fucking 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?”

“You will,” he says.

Does he think I can’t handle more than tonight? Does he not
see I need more than tonight? I need the escape. “You’re wrong.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m not.”

I open my mouth to argue but his cell phone rings from
inside his jean pocket, I think. His ring tone is a concert pianist and I’d be
willing to bet my car that his father is the musician. I hate my father, I’d
told him. What had gotten into me? And clearly, even with his father gone, he
holds his in high regard.

Chris slides the phone from his low-hung jeans and I’m
fairly certain he chooses to answer the call to end our conversation.

“Right,” he says. “My usual and hold tight just a sec.” He
glances at me. “What kind of pizza?”

The pizza place called him? I’m confused. “Cheese.”

“Make my usual an extra large,” he says into the phone.
“Right. Thanks.” He ends the call. “Pizza is on the way.”

“That’s what I call service.”

“It’s almost closing time, and Jacob went in to get a pizza
for himself and asked if I’d called.”

“Like I said, that’s what I call service.”

“I’ve known the owner a good ten years and since he also
owns the Chopper shop I frequent, he likes me. I send him lots of business.” He
reaches for my hand and leads me to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll
get us drinks and plates and we can eat right here.” He smiles. “Unless you’re
tired of looking out of the window?”

I shake my head and sit down. The brown leather is soft and
a bit chilly, and I shiver. “That was a very bad joke.”

He picks up a remote and the gas fireplace to my right in
the corner flickers to life. “I’m good at bad jokes.”