I have never had a woman demand anything from me. They beg. They plead. They call out “Master,” as I command they do. But right now I would kill to have her say my real name. To plead for more from me. The real me I show no one.
But she doesn’t. She moans loudly and stiffens, her sex closing down on me in a tight clamp a moment before the spasms overtake her and me. Damn it, I’m going to come. I don’t want to come; I don’t want to return to reality.
But I do. I come. There’s a tugging sensation in my balls, and then I shake with the fierceness of my release. The world goes dark for a moment that’s both eternal and too short.
Somehow her legs are no longer over my shoulders and my weight is on my elbows, my head buried in her hair. And her delicate little fingers are caressing the back of my neck. I don’t want to move.
Then my cell phone rings, and the reality I’ve tried to escape slams into me like a concrete block. I jerk my head up, instantly worried that something is wrong with my mother. By the third ring, I’ve pulled out of Crystal, rounded the bed, and answered my phone. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, son,” my father assures me. “I just wanted to be sure Crystal got hold of you.”
I can hear her in the background, grabbing her clothes. “Yes,” I say. “She got hold of me.”
“She seemed fretful. What was going on?”
“She’s flying out in the morning to make a large purchase.”
“Tomorrow? Your mother will be upset she won’t be here.”
“The customer wouldn’t have it any other way. How is Mom?”
“She’s awake and in pain and asking for chocolate. She says it cures all. I don’t want to leave her. Can you—”
“If you can get me past the nurses, I’ll bring her some.” A door opens and shuts, and I jerk around to find Crystal out of sight. “Let me call you back, Dad.”
I walk to the bathroom to find it empty. Then a note pops under the front door, and I bend and pick it up.
Mr. Compton:
I’m sparing you the awkward morning after. This never happened. Okay, maybe it did. But this really was “just” a fuck.
Ms. Smith
Was it just a fuck? I’m not so sure. With Crystal, I’d lost the steely control I pride myself on, despite my guilt over Rebecca and my worry over my mother’s surgery.
No. What happened tonight wasn’t just sex. It was something else. Something very dangerous. Something I will never let happen again.
Click through for an exclusive sneak peek at Lisa Renee Jones’s spicy final installment to the Inside Out trilogy
Revealing Us
Available September 2013 from Gallery Books
The elevator opens and he waits for me to enter, and I do. With fast steps, I rush inside and whirl around to confront him. He stalks forward, and this time he doesn’t avoid looking at me, his expression etched with pure determination and some raw, dark emotion I cannot fully name. I don’t get the chance to try.
Before a word is out of my mouth, and I have many intended, the bags he’s holding hit the floor and he has pressed me back against the wall. My purse tumbles from my arm and his powerful thighs encase mine; his hips mold my hips. I gasp with the rough tangle of his fingers in my hair and the blaze of his eyes as they capture mine. I am angry with him. I am aroused. And when his mouth claims my mine, his tongue slicing past my lips with a delicious lick followed by another, demanding my response, I am at his mercy. My fingers curl around his T-shirt and I eliminate the tiny space between us, molding myself against him. He owns me and, considering how the past thirty minutes have gone, this terrifies me, but I’m all in with him. I decided that long ago. I am his to command, moaning with the taste of him, sultry and male, on my tongue.