His lashes lower, his body tenses, but his hands are by his sides. He is in control, I’m not. I swirl my tongue around him, and a soft, hard breath escapes his lips. Encouraged, I suckle him, taking only the head of his shaft into my mouth, knowing he will want more.
My tongue thrusts down the underside of him and success follows. His hand slides to my head. “Stop teasing me,” he orders roughly. “Take me deeper.”
My sex tightens. I like being ordered by this man. I am craving control myself but yet when he takes it, I am hot and ready for anything. I slide down his length, drawing him deeper into the wet recess of my mouth, craving the moment he will be buried inside me.
“That’s right, baby. Take it all.”
My mouth slides all the way down to where my hand grips him, and I begin to suckle and glide back and forth. The muscles in his legs are locked, and he’s arching into me, the grip on my hair tightening as he does.
I’ve given blow jobs, Lord only knows Michael wanted me on my knees, but I have never been aroused by doing it. I am dripping wet, my ni**les are tight and aching, my br**sts so heavy and sensitive that I caress one of them myself, trying to find relief.
“Harder,” he commands. “Deeper.”
I increase the pressure and he pumps into my mouth, the salty taste of his arousal pouring into my mouth moments before a low growl escapes his throat and his body jerks. It’s that growl that ripples through me, and unbelievably takes me so close to orgasm. Knowing that I affect him downright turns me on. I taste his release and for the first time ever I swallow willingly, drinking in his release, as I am his pleasure. I want…I want so badly it hurts.
His body stills, the tension in his legs easing, and before I completely process what is happening, I am being pulled to my feet and my shirt and bra are tugged up over my head. The next thing I know I’m against the couch, facing it and he’s pulling my jeans down, but my boots are still on.
He pulls me back against his chest, one hand molded to my breast, the other sliding into the wet heat between my legs. “You liked doing that to me.”
“Yes.” The word hisses from my lips.
“Were you thinking about me inside you, Sara?” His fingers are all over me, teasing my clit, and Oh God, I’m embarrassed by how close I am to orgasm.
”Yes,” I mouth, unable to form words. I am…my body clenches and then spasms overtake me. My knees buckle and Chris’s hand on my breast holds me up. Everything goes black and spots dot the inky space. Lost in the sweet burn of my body, without concept of time, I relax against Chris, and slowly become excruciatingly aware of my pants at my ankles.
His hands caress a path down my arms and he leans me toward the couch, pulling my pants up. My cheeks burn as he steps away from me but he is right back, pulling my shirt down over my head.
He leads me to the couch, and sits down, pulling me onto his lap, and resting his head against mine. How long we sit there I don’t know, but I could sit there with him forever.
“You do know Rebecca was tormented and lost in that entry, don’t you?”
Like me, I think, but I don’t say that. I lean back to look at him. “Yes. That’s exactly what bothers me, Chris. The journals are more than sex. There is this eerie feeling to them. And they tell me at the gallery that she’s on vacation when her whole life is in a storage unit. That makes no sense. Something happened to her and no one seems to miss her.”
“You’re really worried about her.” It’s not a question.
“Yes. I am. If something happened to me, I’d like to know someone would care.”
He tightens his grip around my waist. “Then we’ll find out what happened to her.”
“We, baby. I’ll hire a private detective.”
I’m blown away. “You will?”
“If you really think something happened to her, then we need to find out.”
I press my lips to his. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by letting me stay here tonight. We’ll order Chinese or whatever you like and watch a movie.”
“I thought we were going to your place.”
“I think it would do you good to remember this is your world tonight. And me, too.”
“My apartment doesn’t have the luxury you’re used to.”
“It has you, Sara, and that’s all that matters.”
Monday morning I rush into the gallery a second before I’m due to work, and I barely contain a smile as I make a note to myself. No showering with Chris before work.
“Morning, Sara,” Amanda says, and she gives me a quick inspection from behind the desk. “You look fabulous. Open your jacket and let me see the outfit.”
I pull back the expensive leather jacket Chris had given me in Napa Valley to show off my simple Chanel sheath in pale pink. One of the many items in my gift bags from Chris, it is elegantly simple, and I love it. I pause outside the offices, in front of her desk.
“I love that dress. The color is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I beam. “A compliment is always a nice way to start the morning.”
“You look lovely, Ms. McMillan.”
I glance up to see Mark standing behind Amanda, wearing a dark pinstriped suit and looking as gorgeous and powerful as ever.
“Thank you,” I manage, wondering why I feel defensive. I’ve been feeling that way too much lately.