If I Were You(57)

His eyes darken. “Ah, my pretty little school teacher. I’m beginning to wonder, who’s corrupting who?”

I am no more corrupting him than he is truly at my mercy, while I most definitely am at his. In fact, I’m not sure he ever could be at my mercy and there’s a part of me that feels I will never know this man until he is. The desire to show him I can handle whatever he throws at me is a seed taking root.

I let the condom drop to the couch, and one of my hands settles on his thigh, the springy hair there tickling my palm in a surprisingly erotic way, but then I am ultra-sensitive, my body tingling all over. I wrap my free hand around the base of his erection, and his flesh is softness covering solid steel. I lean over him and lick the salty sweet drop of arousal there. It explodes on my taste buds and he moans. The sound of him turned on ignites my desire. I lick a circle around him, and suckle him between my lips.

I can feel his thigh tense beneath my palm, and I am enthralled with my ability to please him, but I want him to touch my head, to need this so badly he can’t bear the idea of me stopping. Driven by this goal, I begin a slow glide up and down his length and his hips lift with me. I can almost feel his need to hold me in place, but still he does not. I increase the pressure, and scoot closer, intentionally nestling my breast to his leg.

A low moan slips from his mouth. “Enough,” he orders, reaching for me.

No, I scream in my head, determined to take him all the way, but it’s too late. He’s too strong for me to fight. I am already flush against his chest, his hands in my hair, his mouth over mine. He was lethal, a drug…in some part of my lusty fog-laden mind, I remember the words of that first journal entry I’d read. Chris is quickly becoming my addiction, a drug I will never get enough of.

I can feel his erection press against my backside and I reach behind me to stroke him. He caresses my breasts, teases my nipple. “Get the condom, baby.”

“We don’t need it,” I whisper, so ready for him I hurt with need. “I’m on the pill.”

He stops kissing me and goes utterly still. My palms flatten on his chest and I’m not sure whose heart is beating faster, his or mine. Dread forms inside me with his reaction and I instinctively know what he is thinking. I push back and stare at him.

Anger and hurt collide inside me. “You think I’m on the pill to sleep around. I don’t believe you. Well, for your information I haven’t slept with anyone in...a long time...and I won’t be tonight again either.” I try to get off of him and he holds me. ”Let me go, Chris.”

“Not a chance.” He slides a hand up my back and neck, forcing me into submission and this time I resent it. “I told you I wasn’t ready to let you run away and I meant it.”

“Let go,” I demand. I’m hot and it’s not all about anger and that makes me furious with myself now, too.

“I’m not that complicated, Sara. I wear a condom and I protect myself. I fuck and I get fucked, Sara. That is who I am and what I am. I told you that.”

His words are hard and they wash over me with icy clarity. I drop my gaze and I feel like I’m going to crack into pieces. He’s right. I’m being emotional and no condom is stupid. How did I let myself drift into this territory? This is an escape, it’s sex.

His fingers lace into my hair, palms framing my face, as he forces his gaze to mine. The stormy, hot turbulence in his eyes, a total contradiction to the ice of his words, steals my breath. “Damn it, woman,” he hisses. “What are you doing to me?” He presses his forehead to mine, and his voice rasps with eternal struggle. “I didn’t think about safe sex when you said you were on the pill. I wanted to know who the guy was who had you and lost you when I have no right to care. I don’t want to care. I don’t want to want to know.”

But he does care, that’s what he is telling me, and suddenly, I can breathe again. “He’s the past,” I answer, as he had told me about the tattoo artist.

“How past Sara? How long since you were last with a man.”

“Are you sure you really want to know?” My heart thunders in my chest. “Because if I tell you, I think you’re going to-”

“How long?”

My throat restricts. “Five years. I stayed on the pill because...I just did.”

He pulls back to study me. “No one for five years?”

I cut my gaze. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I repeat what I’ve already said. “That’s my past and you’re now.”

His hand slides to my face and he studies me, and seconds feel like hours. I fear he’s going to think I can’t handle this no strings relationship. “That’s right, baby,” he finally whispers. “I’m now.” He kisses me, his tongue sliding against mine, stroking me into a softer, needier place, where thinking thankfully isn’t an option.