Being Me

Fourteen

Chris carries me into his bedroom and I find I am far more aroused than fearful of the spanking. I am too lost in my desire to crawl inside the deep, dark secrets that are Chris Merit, to care. This look inside his psyche is what I have craved, what I thought would take much longer to discover. I’m fully aware that his anger, and his possessive need to protect me, have opened a door to his darker side, and I revel in my ability to create such things in him. I’m not beyond seeing how our responses to each other reflect how damaged and messed up we both are, but I choose not to care right now.

Chris sets me down in the center of the room with the side of the bed to my back and the bathroom directly in front of me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My dress is gaping at the top and the bottom is at my waist, leaving me exposed and looking ridiculously not sexy.

Attempting to tug it down, Chris comes to my aid, shoving the straps to my dress and bra down my shoulders and over my hips. The material pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but thigh-highs and high heels.

I step out of my clothes and Chris catches me around the waist, his strong arms encasing me, and I melt into the hard lines of his body. He lifts me, kicks my clothes away, and slowly eases me back to the ground without releasing me.

Our eyes meet and hold, and there is no mistaking the predatory gleam in his, or the anticipation charging the air between us. “I told you not to come until you had permission,” he murmurs, his voice husky, affected.

I scrape my bottom lip nervously. “I’ve never been good at following rules.”

His eyes glint with amber flecks. “I’m quite aware of that. And I might just enjoy it more than if you did.”

My fingers curl around his shirt. “Because you want to spank me?” I ask, cutting my gaze, embarrassed by my own question.

His finger slides under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “And you want me to.”

“I . . . I don’t know what I want.”

He turns me to face the bed, his hand settling possessively on my stomach, and the thick ridge of his erection nuzzles my backside. “Then it’s time you find out.” His voice is a seductive purr and his lips brush my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t turn around.”

My panic is instant. “But—”

“You’ll know before it happens,” he promises, and his hands travel a path from my waist to my bare backside, where he caresses and lightly smacks one cheek.

I yelp at the unexpected sensation and I hear the soft rumble of his deep, sexy laughter vibrate through me from behind. He is no longer angry, no longer driven by the emotion I thought was dictating his actions, and yet he still intends to spank me. I don’t know how to process this and I’m too distracted and nervous to try. I hear the rustle of clothing as he undresses and I try to predict everything he is doing, for fear of being surprised. Yes, he’s told me he’ll warn me before he spanks me, but for all I know, it will be three seconds before it happens. He seems to be taking forever, or perhaps time is ticking by in slow motion. I can’t take it anymore. I start to turn and he catches me around the waist, the thick pulse of his erection pressing against my hip.

“We really do have to work on the following-orders thing,” he murmurs, lifting me without warning, and setting me on top of the podium supporting the bed. “You’re going to climb onto the center of the bed on your hands and knees, Sara. Once you’re there, I’m going to spank you only six times, fast and hard, and then fuck you until we both come. Count the blows and you’ll know when it’s about to end. Understand?”

My reason for welcoming this spanking finds me in this moment. I’ve sensed from the beginning not only that is Chris able to understand me, but that he alone, because of the connection I feel for him, can help me deal with the “me” I have left floundering deep in some secret compartment of my mind. He’s forcing me to face that me, yet he’s also my escape when it becomes too much. Tonight that escape is going to a new level. He is taking me to a place where the pain of my past becomes pain that is here and now and somehow morphs into pleasure. I hope.

“Say no and we stop,” Chris murmurs gently by my ear.

“Yes.” My voice is hoarse and I repeat my reply in a stronger voice. “Yes. I understand what’s going to happen.”

“Say it so I know you’re sure.”

I wet my lips. “I’m going to get on the bed on my hands and knees. You’ll spank me and then we fuck. I’m supposed to count to six.”

“Climb on the bed, Sara,” he says after a pause, and there is a tenderness to his voice that hasn’t been present this night until now.

Slowly, I step toward the bed and the mattress shifts behind me as he follows me. His hands are on my backside, caressing, touching, teasing me with what will come next. Once I’m in the center of the bed, adrenaline surges through me, the anticipation of when he will spank me almost too much to bear. I glance over my shoulder, seeking that answer, and find him on his knees behind me.

“Face the front,” he orders, and I jerk my head away, but panic expands inside me. Chris’s hands caress up my waist and over my backside. Again and again, he caresses me and I can’t take not knowing when gentleness will become something very different. I have to stop this now. I have to—

His hand comes down on my backside, a sharp blow that stings, and I want to cry out but the next blow is already there, and the next. Somehow I remember to count. Three. Four. Five lands and this one is harder, deeper. I arch my back against the sensation and six lands with even more force. I barely process that the spanking is over and Chris is pushing inside me, his thick cock stretching me. He thrusts hard, burying himself deeply, wasting no time. Immediately, he begins to pump his hips, his cock pounding into me and stroking out of me, and he repeats it over and over again.

I feel each thrust in every part of my body, as if my nerve endings are alive in a way they have never been. Pleasure overcomes all else, and I push back against him, until I am moaning and panting and that sweet release I’d been denied previously is right there within reach, right there where I can grab hold and take it.

I hear myself cry out but I don’t recognize the sound as mine. I would never be so vocal, but yet I am, and I ache with the need for completion. Every muscle in my body feels as if it’s on fire a moment before my sex clenches around Chris and begins to spasm. My body jerks, and pleasure spirals deep in my womb and spreads through my body. A low guttural sound escapes Chris’s lips as he buries himself deep inside me. I feel the warm, wet heat of his release and the tension in my limbs begins to ease. My arms are suddenly weak and I sink to my elbows only to have Chris roll to his side and spoon me, my back to his chest.

His leg twines with mine and he wraps his arms around me. I feel protected, cared about, and, to my utter shock, immensely emotional. My eyes prickle and there is a storm brewing inside me that I cannot seem to control. Tears spill from my eyes and a sob slips from my throat. Then I am bawling uncontrollably, my body quaking along with my emotions.

Embarrassed, I try to get up, but Chris holds me to him, burying his face in my neck. “Just let it happen, baby.”

And I do, because I really have no choice. How long I cry, I do not know, but when it ends, I bury my face in my hands, ashamed by my lack of control. Chris strokes my hair in that gentle way I’m coming to love, and hands me a tissue. I swipe at my eyes, wishing my nose didn’t feel like it had a clothespin on it.

Still I don’t look at him. “I don’t know what happened.”

He turns me to face him and captures my let with his. “It’s the adrenaline rush,” he explains, then slides a pillow underneath both our heads. “It happens to a lot of people.”

“I thought the idea was pleasure through pain, not a meltdown.”

“You have to find your hot spots and your limits.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “I knew from our pink paddle conversation that you wanted to try this, or I wouldn’t have gone where we did tonight.”

I remember the moment I thought Chris wasn’t angry anymore, yet he still spanked me. “So you’ve changed your mind about exploring darker interests with me?”

“I was never unwilling to explore with you, Sara. But I have hard limits that won’t change.”

“What does that mean?”

“No clubs. No collars. No canes and whips. No Master and Submissive roles.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “As long as you understand I’m in charge, that is.”

I laugh and I know he’s keeping things lighthearted and somewhat avoiding my question, but I decide to let him slide on everything but the control issue. “During sex only.”

He wiggles a brow. “We’ll see about that.”

“No. We won’t.”

“Then maybe I should tie you to the bed,” he suggests and pulls me close, and I’m not sure he’s entirely joking.

“I guess I should be glad you didn’t think of that while you were still angry. You were pretty intense.”

His mood does the one-eighty shift I’ve come to expect from him and his voice becomes somber. “I’m still pissed as hell at you, Sara, but you need to know that I’d never touch you if I had anything but your pleasure as my motivation. That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy driving you insane like you did me tonight. I did. You shouldn’t have gone to Alvarez’s alone.”

My defenses bristle. “Chris—”

He leans in and kisses me. “It’s your job. I get that. But if you think I’m going to let that stop me from protecting you, you’re wrong. Don’t leave your phone in your coat next time.”

I purse my lips. “Don’t assume the worst of me next time.”

“You mean the journal.”

“Yes,” I say in agreement. “It hurt that you thought I would lie to you.”

“I’m sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose.”

None of the many dominant males I’ve known in my life would apologize so easily. To me, this speaks of confidence, not weakness.

“My reaction wasn’t about trust,” he continues. “It was about how crazy it makes me to think you might judge me by other people’s actions.” Then tenderness lightens his eyes. “I don’t have to leave until late tomorrow. I know what your first reaction is going to be, but hear me out. I’d like it if you could work it out to fly back with me.”

I open my mouth to object and he kisses me, his tongue stroking mine in a slow, sensuous caress. “Hear me out,” he repeats.

“You convinced me.”

“To come with me?”

I smile. “To hear you out.”

“There are a number of big names involved in the activities over the next few days who I know Mark would salivate to get as clients. Your going is an investment for him.”

“Like who?”

“Maria Mendez. She’s never shown her work with Allure. I think she can be convinced to donate a painting and use Riptide to manage the sale. Nicolas Matthews, the New York Jets star quarterback, will also be there. While he’s not an artist, I believe getting a Riptide donation would be as easy as handing him a football and pen to sign it.”

The possibility of going on this trip with Chris excites me. “You think it’s enough to get Mark to support me going?”

“I know it is.”

“Because you know Mark?”

“I know Mark far more than I wish I did.” He rolls off the bed before I can dig for more information, and walks in all his bare naked beauty across the room to snatch up his pants. He holds up his cell and tosses it to me.

I grab the phone. “I don’t have his number memorized.”

“Auto-dial number four.”

“You have Mark on auto-dial?”

“The price of doing business with him is that I can never get rid of him, and since he donates to my charity I don’t want to.” He saunters toward me, all male grace and confidence, and joins me on the bed again. “In case you need further incentive to take off work, I’m meeting with the PI tomorrow and you can come with me if you’re free.”

I punch the auto-dial. “Merit,” Mark says tightly when he answers the line.

“Actually, it’s me,” I say.

“Ms. McMillan. I guess I know why I haven’t received my phone call after your meeting with Alvarez. You’ve been occupied.”

Oh crap. “I left my phone in my coat, but anyway, it didn’t go well. He says there’s a reason you’re aware of, and that’s why he won’t do business with you.”

“Then why did he see you?”

“To try to recruit me away from you.”

Chris arches a surprised brow and I nod to confirm it really happened. He scrubs his jaw, and I can tell he’s not pleased.

Mark’s silence tells me the same of him and it seems to stretch eternally. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him I am loyal to Allure. Speaking of Allure, I have another opportunity.” Nerves get the best of me, and I begin a long spill about the event and the guests and Riptide. “And you see—”

“Enough, Ms. McMillan. Tell Chris he’s done a good job of arming you with reasons for me to agree, but make sure you bring me back clients.” He hangs up without saying good-bye and I hold out the phone and stare at it.

Chris laughs and takes it from me. “Stop looking like it will bite.” He pulls me beneath him. “I believe I owe you an orgasm or two.”

“Six,” I correct. “One for every time you spanked me.”

His eyes twinkle. “Five. You had one already.”

He leans in to kiss me and I press my fingers to his mouth. “If you make good on this, you can spank me again.”

“I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge.” His mouth covers mine and I am quite certain that no matter what the final number is, this is a challenge I can’t lose.

Three orgasms later, I am naked when Chris carries me to his bathroom and sets me on the edge of the sink. Chris heads to the towel closet and I study the dragon tattoo, thinking about the wounded, lost teen he’d been when he’d gotten it. How young was he when he entered the BDSM world, and what is he keeping from me?

“Have you ever had a reaction to the adrenaline rush like I did tonight?” I ask, hoping to get him talking.

He freezes as he’s about to toss the towels over the top of the shower, and it’s clear I’ve hit a nerve. “No,” he says, completing his task, and glancing at me before opening the shower. “I told you. I’m always in control. I take people for the ride. I don’t go on it myself.” He turns on the water.

“But how do you do that and have someone inflict . . . pain? Isn’t that what you said you need?”

“Needed,” he corrects, walking over to me and lifting me off the counter. “And sex is never involved.”

“You just have someone beat you?” I choke out, appalled.

“It’s past history,” he says, pulling me toward the shower and inside, the warm water enveloping us. He molds me to him and stares down at me. “If I need to get lost, I’ll get lost in you.” His mouth comes down on mine, and the kiss is laced with the torment and pain he never lets me see. He is so much more damaged than I’ve imagined, and I wonder what I have yet to discover about my talented, beautiful artist. I wonder if I will ever truly reach him, if I will ever truly be enough to stop the pain inside him. If I dare love him for fear I won’t be . . . but then, it’s too late. I already do love him and I yearn to tell him so, to have him feel the same way. But there are other things I must confess first—things sure to bring me more pain than the whip he’s vowed to never use on me.