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  He backs me against the counter, his hips pressed to mine, and the teasing, sweet lover of moments before is nowhere to be found. His jaw is tight, his eyes hard. “Did you really just suggest I leave you to deal with this alone?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You still don’t trust me.”

  “What? That’s crazy, Chris.”

  “It’s accurate. In the back of your mind, you still think that if something punches my buttons like Dylan did, I’ll leave. I told you. I’m not leaving, and I’m not letting you doubt us anymore.”

  “I don’t doubt us.”

  “You do. But we’re going to fix that and I’ve already figured out there’s only one way to do that, aside from me melting down and you realizing that I’m here to stay. I’ve taken things slowly to protect the trust between us, but we’re ready for what comes next, and I’m going to push you and push you hard. I’m going to tear down every inhibition you own until I own them. I’m going to make you crazy wondering what will be next and even crazier when it comes. I’m going to take you to places you think you can’t go, and find out you can. And when you say ‘I do’ to me, there won’t be any doubts or any barriers left. Are you prepared for what that means?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “It’s what I’ve been asking for.”

  “Then we start now.” He turns me to face the counter, shocking me by yanking my skirt up and palming my cheeks. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I’m going to spank you. There won’t be any foreplay or fucking after. It’s going to sting. You will not cry out. When I’m done, I’m leaving, and you will bring your pretty little backside and sit down next to me like nothing happened. And when I’m ready, I’ll fuck you. Choose now. Accept it or not.”

  The idea is horrifying and sexy, and I’m wet and aching and so many things at once that I can barely breathe. “I . . . yes. Yes, I do.”

  He yanks my panties off and stuffs them in his pocket. His hand comes down on my backside and it’s such a shock, I barely swallow my yelp. Already his palm is on me again. I try to count. Three. Four. Five. Oh God. Six.

  He turns me to face him, his hands going to the counter, not touching me. I’m panting in pain and pleasure, my knees weak. “Pull your skirt down and come back to the table. I want you there in two minutes. If you take one second longer, I’ll bring you back in here and spank you again. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He turns and leaves the bathroom.

  Eight

  It hurt in a bittersweet, arousing way, and while I felt exposed and vulnerable, I’ve come to know those things arouse me in ways I never thought possible.

  Rebecca’s words replay in my mind as I grab the sink to steady myself, the ache in my backside radiating down my wobbly legs. I’m warm all over, wet between my thighs, and so aroused that Chris’s absence hurts far more than his hand. Until now, I had never understood what drew Rebecca to this kind of encounter. It’s like I am spinning terrifyingly out of control, and yet somehow it’s delicious in a forbidden, fantastic kind of way. Chris is pushing me. I want to be pushed.

  His warning plays in my mind. I want you there in two minutes. If you take one second longer, I’ll spank you again. While the spanking isn’t such a horrible threat, my bottom is still ripe from Chris’s palm, leaving other parts of my body eager for the rewards of meeting his demands.

  I yank open the door and rush down the hallway, stopping at the curtain, where I have a moment of apprehension and not because of what’s happened with Chris. Because I’d left here angry with David, who is too observant for my own good right now. Silently I lecture myself about being cool and unreadable, like that will suddenly change how transparent I am. Chris ends my fretting by dragging the curtain back and I am instantly captured in the smoldering embers burning in the depths of his hot stare. He studies me for a moment, satisfaction slowly lighting his eyes, and I can feel the heat of my cheeks that matches the burn of my body. He knows I liked what he did. He liked what he did. And he really likes that I followed his orders.

  He reaches for my hand, pulling me into the booth, his touch downright scorching. “You’re late,” he reprimands softly, and this time I am happy to discover that David is, once again, on the phone.

  “I was standing right here,” I point out as he reaches around me and shuts the curtain, then settles back in his seat, his body angled intimately toward mine.

  “Good try, baby,” he says, pinning me in a sizzling stare. “But I know you know that isn’t going to work.” His lips hint at a curve and if a tiny part of me worried that a spanking in a bathroom would make me feel awkward with Chris, it hasn’t. In fact, as he brushes my hair behind my ear, his fingers linger on my skin and he says, “But I promise to kiss it and make it better,” there is a warm sense of expanding intimacy between us. As if we’ve climbed a wall and we’re finally standing on top.

  “Get back to me,” David says loudly, ending his call.

  Chris’s gaze lingers on mine a moment, and with evident reluctance that pleases me, he leans back against the cushion to face David, who is staring at us. And staring at us. Seconds tick by and my fingers curl into my palms with the sudden fear he somehow knows about my burning backside.

  “I was a dickhead, Sara,” David blurts out, reminding me of what Chris had successfully made me forget. He’s right. He is. But thankfully he’s a dickhead who doesn’t seem to know my panties are in Chris’s pocket.

  “Because you say you were a dickhead or because Chris says you were?” I challenge.

  “Both,” he replies.

  I give him a nod. “Then it’s unanimous.”

  “Yeah well, I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again. I get passionate about what I do.” He grabs his briefcase. “And right now, I’m going to go do my job and compare case notes with Tiger. I can promise you he won’t be ripping this dickhead’s throat out.”

  “You’re meeting with Mark’s attorney?”

  “That’s right, sugar.” He winks and holds his hands up. “Don’t throw anything at me. I’m joking. No more sugar. I’ll stick to cutie or doll face in the future.” He glances at Chris. “I’ll call you in the morning with an update.”

  “Call me tonight,” Chris says.

  “It’ll be late,” David warns.

  “That’s fine.” Chris motions to the table. “I got the food tonight.”

  David grins. “Like I’d have it any other way.” He moves to the curtain and gives me another keen, unwelcome inspection. “You haven’t said much. That makes me nervous.”

  “That’s the caffeine,” I counter.

  He snorts out laughter and glances at Chris. “Witty, isn’t she?”

  “Too much for her own good sometimes.” David grunts for no apparent reason and then disappears through the curtain.

  Chris tosses money onto the table. “Let’s go, too.”

  • • •

  Chris and I chat with Marco as we collect our jackets, and the way Chris finds every opportunity to touch me makes me smile in ways that reach beyond the laughter his and Marco’s easy rapport sparks in me. When we finally step out into the chilly evening air, it’s hand in hand, an erotic charge in the connection of our skin, even in the air we breathe. But he doesn’t speak and he’s stopped looking at me and I know why. This is part of the anticipation of what comes next. He’s promised punishment. He will punish me. And just as he’d predicted, I crave the answer to what comes next. And while I normally welcome the sight of Jacob in our lobby, tonight I’m pleased to find his replacement is satisfied with a lift of our hands in greeting.

  Once we’re in the elevator, Chris surprises me by letting go of me, punching in our floor, and then leaning on the wall. I take his lead and lean on the opposite wall. “You were late,” he reminds me. “You know what that means.”

  “Yes. You told me.”

  “What did I say?”

  “That you’re going to punish me.”

  “How?”

&
nbsp; “Spank me again.”

  “Yes,” he agrees. “I am.” But there is something about the way he says it that tells me this is not going to be “just” a spanking, if there is such a thing. It’s going to be more. It’s going to push my limits.

  The doors slide open to reveal our apartment and Chris punches the button to hold it open, but his eyes stay on me. “Go into the living room and undress, and then sit on the couch.”

  My lips part at the surprising command. “You want me to—”

  “Yes,” he says, his tone firm. “I do.”

  “And so I will,” I say. “And you know why?” I move across the elevator and slip my hands under his jacket to rest on the hard wall of his chest. “Because it’s not a lack of trust that I have in you, and that you think you see in me, Chris. It’s your lack of trust in you that scares me.” I start to pull away, but his fingers twine in my hair and he kisses me, deeply, possessively, so damn thoroughly that I’m reeling when it’s over.

  “Go undress,” he orders, saying nothing in reply to my confession, and making none of his own.

  I want to push him for something in reply, anything really, but the elevator isn’t the place. I zip out of the doorway and all but run through the foyer and down the stairs. I begin undressing, the moonlight and stars filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the room and me in a soft glow. Stealing a sideways look, hoping to catch a glimpse of Chris, I do not see him, but music begins to play and I recognize the song as “Madness” by Muse. Aware that Chris makes every choice with a purpose, I listen to the words.

  I, I can’t get these memories out of my mind.

  And some kind of madness has started to evolve.

  Mmmm. And I, I tried so hard to let you go.

  Swallowing hard, I know he’s connecting the meaning of this song to the war he wages daily against his inner demons, and to his fight to protect me from the person he believes they make him.

  More of the words repeat into my mind. And Now I need to know is this real love, or is it just madness keeping us afloat. He’s telling me he’s afraid I won’t love him if I fully know him. It’s always there between us. He’s fighting it now for me, and for us, and it matters. It matters so very much.

  I finish undressing, and then claim a spot in the center of the brown leather couch. Before me is a sea of stars dotting the black canvas of the sky, and I am reminded of the first night I’d come here, when I’d been enamored with the brilliant artist, unwilling to see him as more. We’ve come so far since then, and yet I feel as if we still have barriers to hurdle. And I want them hurdled.

  There’s a tingling to my skin a moment before Chris, wearing only his low-slung jeans, appears to my right, and I feel that familiar punch of awareness. It burns and spreads, like warm honey in my blood, between my thighs. He affects me in ways I didn’t know another human being could affect another, and in this moment, in this instant where I feel beyond my body, nestled deep in my soul, I know he was right in that bathroom tonight. It terrifies me to think of how deeply him leaving again would cut me. But I also know I’ve made the decision to take that risk.

  He walks to the coffee table and pulls it back several feet, giving us space for what I’m certain will be wicked torture. I see it in his eyes as he steps closer and does a sweeping, seductive inspection of my naked body; my gaze lands on the rectangular box he’s holding. He goes down on one knee in front of me and he sets the box on my legs. And while I know our games, and I know not to touch it as surely as I know not to touch him, I still have to curl my fingers around the leather seam of the couch to stop myself.

  “Open the box,” he orders, and his eyes hold the dominance I’d seen in that bathroom mirror before he’d spanked me. But there’s a hint of something more, something that reminds me of the vulnerability I’d seen in him last night. He’s opened himself for me to see this, and it’s this willingness to give himself to me that spreads hope over my fears.

  I reach for the box and my hand trembles with the rush of adrenaline and anticipation pumping through my body. He seems to understand, taking the lid from me and setting it aside. And then I just sit there, staring down at the pink, fluffy paddle inside.

  “It seemed much less intimidating on the AdamEve.com website,” I comment.

  His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my gaze to his, and I feel that tiny little touch in every part of me. I want him. I want him badly. “You can always say ‘no.’”

  “No. I mean yes. I mean—”

  He leans in and kisses me, and there’s a soft brush of his lips over mine, a sensual lick of his tongue before his mouth is gone and I am captured in the gentle command of his stare. “Pick it up and hold it. Get used to how it feels.”

  I inhale and breathe out as I flatten my hand on the paddle, letting the fur tickle my palm. He reaches down and closes my hand around it, moving the box to set the paddle back on top of my legs. “It’s a different feeling than my hand.”

  “Harder?”

  “Different. Not harder. Lean back and hold your weight on your hands.”

  Obeying him has become automatic and I do as he’s ordered, the position thrusting my breasts into the air. Chris’s gaze rakes over me, a hot sensual stroke I feel everywhere and yet nowhere. He does not touch me. It’s the fur paddle that contacts my skin, brushing over my legs, my arms, my belly, and finally, my sensitive nipples. He takes his time, missing nothing, returning to this place or that place. Warmth tingles through me, the tension in my muscles easing. More of that slick honey slides through me to settle heavily between my thighs.

  But just when I forget that this is the prelude to what is defined as “punishment,” Chris lets the paddle fall away from me and he claims the cushion beside me. “Sit up on your knees and face my lap.”

  I see where this is headed with a hard smack of realization. He wants me across his lap in the most vulnerable of ways. “Chris, I—”

  “No thinking. Just do it.”

  His tone is hard, sharp, even, and it’s as if he removes my options. I don’t know how or why it works for me, but it does, and I listen. I turn so that my knees rest against his jean-clad thigh, the muscle flexing beneath my palm where my hand rests on his leg.

  He leans in and frames my face, drawing my gaze to his. “Have I ever hurt you?”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  “I’m not going to start now.” He runs his thumb over my lips, inching closer to rest his cheek against mine, his warm breath teasing my ear. “This position lets me hit certain spots that will please you.”

  “And you know this because you—”

  “Have experience,” he supplies, easing back to look at me.

  “So you’ve done this to other women.” I know his past, and I try not to think about how I compare for fear it will drive me, and him, insane.

  “I’m no Boy Scout, baby,” he reminds me. “You know that, but it’s different with you. Everything is different with you.”

  It’s exactly what I need to hear and what, even in my most insecure moments, he’s made me feel. My hesitation evaporates, and with a deep breath, I lean into his lap, but Chris laces his fingers in my hair and drags my mouth to his. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I was just nervous. That’s all.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He isn’t convinced, his eyes narrowing, probing. “I see fear in your eyes, Sara. I don’t like it.”

  My fingers curl on his jaw. “Fear of being too vulnerable and needing you too much.”

  “And my fear? It’s of you not needing me enough.”

  His mouth lowers to mine, and I whisper, “Too late,” a moment before his tongue licks into my mouth with a long, drugging sweep that leaves me breathless, before he releases me, and I don’t hesitate to answer the question I see in his eyes.

  I stretch over Chris’s lap, my elbows settling on the soft leather of the couch. My head tilts forward, allowing me th
e solace of my long, dark hair, though there is none for my bare backside. I am exposed in every possible way.

  “Relax, baby,” Chris murmurs, his warm hand flattening on my lower back.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Take a deep breath and let it out.”

  As I suck in air his hand begins stroking up and down my spine. Over and over, I feel the slow, gentle movements seducing me, softening my tense muscles. Time seems to stand still, and it could be seconds or minutes that pass, but the music begins to come back to me. Words meld with his touch, becoming soothingly erotic, almost hypnotic. Gradually his hand moves lower, over my backside, and still he continues the same back and forth motion. Sensations seduce me, draw me in, and I forget to think. Until his hand stills and his fingers flex against my cheek.

  I jerk, trying to sit up, and Chris’s hand flattens on my back, holding me in place. “Stay, baby. I’ll warn you first.”

  I pant, trying to slow my breathing. “Yes. No. I mean yes.”

  “Easy, baby,” he murmurs again.

  I force myself to relax, to sink against him and the couch, and close my eyes. I’m expecting the paddle any instant, but instead, he spreads my thighs and traces down the seam between my cheeks until his fingers slide into the slick, wet heat that defies my resistance and declares I am hot and aroused. And I am aroused, by how completely at his mercy I am. He reaches beneath me, his fingers stroking my clit in a deliciously, oh so right way, but one hand stays on my backside. One hand promises what is to come. But his fingers slide inside me, and the threat of that hand on my ass fades in the shameless lift of my hips, the pump of my hips against his hand.

  Suddenly, though, his fingers are gone and I’m left gasping as his hand begins a gentle patting on my backside. I hold my breath, expecting this to be the warning before the sting, but his touch remains light, erotic. Over and over, he drums on me, the sensation an intoxicating vibration, and unbelievably, I’m on the edge again, my sex clenching, aching.