If I Were You
Page 31
“The journals on the table are Rebecca’s.” The words tumble out of me, and it is a relief to say them. “Her personal journals, with her most intimate thoughts inside.”
“Rebecca’s journals,” he repeats flatly, his expression as unreadable as his tone. “Did you get them from the gallery?”
“My neighbor bought a storage unit at an auction—people buy the ones that aren’t paid for and then sell the items for profit. She planned to do that but her rich doctor fiancé, who she barely knew, whisked her off to Paris. She left the storage unit for me to take care of.”
“You have a storage unit filled with Rebecca’s things?”
“Right. I couldn’t bear getting rid of her things. I wanted to find her and return the items to her. That’s how I started reading her journals and there were so many similarities in our lives that I knew I had to find her.”
“So you went to the gallery.”
His tone isn’t flat anymore. It’s sharp as steel, and his expression stony, his jaw tight, and nerves explode in my stomach in response. He doesn’t like what I’m telling him. I’ve made a mistake sharing this. “I was worried about her,” I say defensively. “I still am and...and my good intentions have snowballed out of control.”
He sets my legs down and straightens, staring at the journals. Seconds tick by, the tension in the room is volatile, stretching tighter, and I have a sense of a rubber band about to pop.
My gut clenches when he picks up one of the journals and I can’t breathe when he flips to a random page. I watch as he begins to read and his body is stiff, the muscle in his jaw flexing and re-flexing. I can’t move, can’t think of what to do to stop the explosion about to erupt.
Seconds tick by so slowly until he looks up at me. “This is what you’ve been reading?”
“I’m not sure which passage you’re referring to, but I’ve read most of the entries. I was worried about her, and I’ve been looking for clues to find her.”
He shoves the journal at me. “Read it out loud.”
“What?”
“Read the f**king entry, Sara, because I want to know you understand what’s on these pages.”
“I do,” I whisper. My hands are shaking.
His voice is low, lethal. “Read.”
I open my mouth to argue but his look, the glint in his eyes, freezes the words on my tongue. I don’t understand his reaction or why I’m compelled to follow his order, but I do. Slowly, I lower my attention to the entry, and begin to read.
Tonight he punished me. It was inevitable. I knew this. Looking back, I wonder if I didn’t taunt him intentionally by flirting with another man. I just…I don’t understand how he shares me, and yet he possesses me. When I was on my knees, my hands tied to the posts of the podium, waiting for the first smack of leather on my bare skin, I knew right then, if no other time, I was his world. There was nothing outside the room, nothing but what he wanted to do to me. What I wanted him to do to me. I craved the pain I knew he would inflict, as I never believed I could. Pain. It is an escape. When I feel the leather on my skin, I feel nothing else. There is none of the hurt of the past. There is--
Chris takes the journal from me and tosses it on the table, yanking me to him, his fingers curling around my neck in the way they do when he is in control. “Is this what you’re fantasizing about, Sara?”
“No, I--”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s…I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
But he does. I know it instinctively. “I’m not--”
His mouth closes down on mine, brutal and punishing, hot and seductive, long strokes of his tongue caressing mine, until I can barely breathe. When he finally relents, his hand moves roughly over my breast, and his lips linger above mine, his breath hot, and his voice a near growl.
“You have no idea how tempting it is to give you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
Yes. Yes please. Give me a lesson. Every part of me cries out for him, for what he threatens me with. There is no fear. Only a white hot burn and desperation. “Do it,” I challenge. “Do it, Chris.”
He pushes me down on the couch, framing my body with his. “You don’t know what you are getting into, Sara.”
“Show me,” I pant. “Make me understand.”
He shoves my hands over my head. “Damn it, Sara. I should. I should scare the shit out of you and throw those damn journals away.” He buries his head in my neck and then he is gone, leaving me panting and empty inside.
I sit up, my sex aching and wet, my body screaming for some unknown pleasure it’s been denied. Chris is standing with his back to me, raking a hand through his long hair. “Fuck,” he curses, turning to me. “What are you doing to me, woman?”
He’s at the edge and I’m hungry for what is on the other side of his control. Starving in a way I never believed possible. Pushing to my feet, I go to him and I don’t give him time to react. I drop to my knees and caress the thick ridge of his erection. He wants me. He is aroused by the idea of teaching me whatever lesson he spoke of. I am aroused by the idea as well.
“What are you doing, Sara?”
“Pleasing you like you do me.” I shove up his shirt and press my lips to his stomach, popping his button at the same time.
“Sara,” he whispers, and I love the rough timbre of his voice. I love knowing I am affecting him as he does me. I unzip his jeans and reach beneath his boxers, wrapping my hand around the hard, warm flesh of his shaft, carefully freeing him from his clothes.
He’s staring down at me, his gaze nothing short of carnal, and I like it. Oh yes, I do. He is hot and hard in my hand and liquid pools at the tip of his erection, further proof of how on edge he is. I blink up at him and hold his stare, before snaking my tongue out and licking it off.
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 bl*w j*bs, 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?”
“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.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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.
Mark’s eyes glint with a hint of what I believe is amusement meant to be at my expense. “Now you have two compliments to start your day.”
“I hope that means it’s a lucky sales day on the floor for me,” I dare.
His lips quirk. “I’m fairly certain it will be. There was a certain client at the party Friday night who says you promised to get him a private viewing of Ricardo’s collection. Big promises, Ms. McMillan, make you, and me, look bad if they are not delivered upon.”
Oh crap. “I thought since you know Ricardo and he displays his art here, we could convince him to allow a visit.”
“Good luck with that one, Ms. McMillan.” He glances at Amanda. “Get her Ricardo’s number, and Ms. McMillan, you’re approved for the sales floor, but it does not dismiss you from the testing you’ll find in your email.” He starts to turn and stops. “If you do pull off this Ricardo meeting—I’ll be impressed.”
I watch him depart, and Amanda peeks over her shoulder. “Ricardo, Sara? Have you met him?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “No.”
She whistles. “Think Mark on acid. He’s arrogant and intense, and--“
“I get the picture.” I head for the office door and enter.
Amanda rolls her chair around. “Here’s Ricardo’s card.”
I accept it and she lowers her voice, “Ricardo had a soft spot for Rebecca. She’s the one who set up the charity event but he hasn’t given Mark another piece to show since she left. If you can win him over, you really will impress Mark.”
Rebecca. She’s everywhere I turn but I feel a bit of hope in this otherwise grim situation. “Thank you, Amanda. I am going to give it my best.”
She smiles. “Go, Sara. Go, Sara.”
I’ve barely settled into my desk when Ralph appears in my doorway and holds up a sign reading ‘Go Sara’ with a smiley face and then disappears.
I laugh and decide I should dive right in and call Ricardo before I talk myself out of it. I’m about to dial the office phone when my cell phone goes off. I dig it from my purse, and smile when I see the text message from Chris, remembering him adding his number in my phone himself the night before.
“Rebecca’s journals,” he repeats flatly, his expression as unreadable as his tone. “Did you get them from the gallery?”
“My neighbor bought a storage unit at an auction—people buy the ones that aren’t paid for and then sell the items for profit. She planned to do that but her rich doctor fiancé, who she barely knew, whisked her off to Paris. She left the storage unit for me to take care of.”
“You have a storage unit filled with Rebecca’s things?”
“Right. I couldn’t bear getting rid of her things. I wanted to find her and return the items to her. That’s how I started reading her journals and there were so many similarities in our lives that I knew I had to find her.”
“So you went to the gallery.”
His tone isn’t flat anymore. It’s sharp as steel, and his expression stony, his jaw tight, and nerves explode in my stomach in response. He doesn’t like what I’m telling him. I’ve made a mistake sharing this. “I was worried about her,” I say defensively. “I still am and...and my good intentions have snowballed out of control.”
He sets my legs down and straightens, staring at the journals. Seconds tick by, the tension in the room is volatile, stretching tighter, and I have a sense of a rubber band about to pop.
My gut clenches when he picks up one of the journals and I can’t breathe when he flips to a random page. I watch as he begins to read and his body is stiff, the muscle in his jaw flexing and re-flexing. I can’t move, can’t think of what to do to stop the explosion about to erupt.
Seconds tick by so slowly until he looks up at me. “This is what you’ve been reading?”
“I’m not sure which passage you’re referring to, but I’ve read most of the entries. I was worried about her, and I’ve been looking for clues to find her.”
He shoves the journal at me. “Read it out loud.”
“What?”
“Read the f**king entry, Sara, because I want to know you understand what’s on these pages.”
“I do,” I whisper. My hands are shaking.
His voice is low, lethal. “Read.”
I open my mouth to argue but his look, the glint in his eyes, freezes the words on my tongue. I don’t understand his reaction or why I’m compelled to follow his order, but I do. Slowly, I lower my attention to the entry, and begin to read.
Tonight he punished me. It was inevitable. I knew this. Looking back, I wonder if I didn’t taunt him intentionally by flirting with another man. I just…I don’t understand how he shares me, and yet he possesses me. When I was on my knees, my hands tied to the posts of the podium, waiting for the first smack of leather on my bare skin, I knew right then, if no other time, I was his world. There was nothing outside the room, nothing but what he wanted to do to me. What I wanted him to do to me. I craved the pain I knew he would inflict, as I never believed I could. Pain. It is an escape. When I feel the leather on my skin, I feel nothing else. There is none of the hurt of the past. There is--
Chris takes the journal from me and tosses it on the table, yanking me to him, his fingers curling around my neck in the way they do when he is in control. “Is this what you’re fantasizing about, Sara?”
“No, I--”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s…I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
But he does. I know it instinctively. “I’m not--”
His mouth closes down on mine, brutal and punishing, hot and seductive, long strokes of his tongue caressing mine, until I can barely breathe. When he finally relents, his hand moves roughly over my breast, and his lips linger above mine, his breath hot, and his voice a near growl.
“You have no idea how tempting it is to give you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
Yes. Yes please. Give me a lesson. Every part of me cries out for him, for what he threatens me with. There is no fear. Only a white hot burn and desperation. “Do it,” I challenge. “Do it, Chris.”
He pushes me down on the couch, framing my body with his. “You don’t know what you are getting into, Sara.”
“Show me,” I pant. “Make me understand.”
He shoves my hands over my head. “Damn it, Sara. I should. I should scare the shit out of you and throw those damn journals away.” He buries his head in my neck and then he is gone, leaving me panting and empty inside.
I sit up, my sex aching and wet, my body screaming for some unknown pleasure it’s been denied. Chris is standing with his back to me, raking a hand through his long hair. “Fuck,” he curses, turning to me. “What are you doing to me, woman?”
He’s at the edge and I’m hungry for what is on the other side of his control. Starving in a way I never believed possible. Pushing to my feet, I go to him and I don’t give him time to react. I drop to my knees and caress the thick ridge of his erection. He wants me. He is aroused by the idea of teaching me whatever lesson he spoke of. I am aroused by the idea as well.
“What are you doing, Sara?”
“Pleasing you like you do me.” I shove up his shirt and press my lips to his stomach, popping his button at the same time.
“Sara,” he whispers, and I love the rough timbre of his voice. I love knowing I am affecting him as he does me. I unzip his jeans and reach beneath his boxers, wrapping my hand around the hard, warm flesh of his shaft, carefully freeing him from his clothes.
He’s staring down at me, his gaze nothing short of carnal, and I like it. Oh yes, I do. He is hot and hard in my hand and liquid pools at the tip of his erection, further proof of how on edge he is. I blink up at him and hold his stare, before snaking my tongue out and licking it off.
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 bl*w j*bs, 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?”
“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.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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.
Mark’s eyes glint with a hint of what I believe is amusement meant to be at my expense. “Now you have two compliments to start your day.”
“I hope that means it’s a lucky sales day on the floor for me,” I dare.
His lips quirk. “I’m fairly certain it will be. There was a certain client at the party Friday night who says you promised to get him a private viewing of Ricardo’s collection. Big promises, Ms. McMillan, make you, and me, look bad if they are not delivered upon.”
Oh crap. “I thought since you know Ricardo and he displays his art here, we could convince him to allow a visit.”
“Good luck with that one, Ms. McMillan.” He glances at Amanda. “Get her Ricardo’s number, and Ms. McMillan, you’re approved for the sales floor, but it does not dismiss you from the testing you’ll find in your email.” He starts to turn and stops. “If you do pull off this Ricardo meeting—I’ll be impressed.”
I watch him depart, and Amanda peeks over her shoulder. “Ricardo, Sara? Have you met him?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “No.”
She whistles. “Think Mark on acid. He’s arrogant and intense, and--“
“I get the picture.” I head for the office door and enter.
Amanda rolls her chair around. “Here’s Ricardo’s card.”
I accept it and she lowers her voice, “Ricardo had a soft spot for Rebecca. She’s the one who set up the charity event but he hasn’t given Mark another piece to show since she left. If you can win him over, you really will impress Mark.”
Rebecca. She’s everywhere I turn but I feel a bit of hope in this otherwise grim situation. “Thank you, Amanda. I am going to give it my best.”
She smiles. “Go, Sara. Go, Sara.”
I’ve barely settled into my desk when Ralph appears in my doorway and holds up a sign reading ‘Go Sara’ with a smiley face and then disappears.
I laugh and decide I should dive right in and call Ricardo before I talk myself out of it. I’m about to dial the office phone when my cell phone goes off. I dig it from my purse, and smile when I see the text message from Chris, remembering him adding his number in my phone himself the night before.
