All of Me (Inside Out Series Book 6) (10 page)

The instant I’m naked he presses my hands to the wall, his body cradling mine, his thick erection pressed to my backside.

“Why are you still dressed?” I whisper, desperate to feel his skin against mine. But even as I say the words, I know why. Whatever happened on that phone call has him feeling his control has slipped away, and he burns to reclaim it.

His hands slide up and down my waist, sending shivers all through me, and when his hand cups my breasts again, and his other hand explores my backside, I am consumed by arousal.

No. I am consumed by
him
, and there is no explaining what it is like to be dominated by Chris Merit, to be owned the way he owns me in this moment. I am all woman in his arms, at his mercy in the most erotic of ways. And he is a master of creating a sweet torment.

His palm moves from my backside to curve over my hip and I suck in air at the biting pinch of fingers that continues to torment my nipple. Unable to take it, I dare to cover his hand with mine, holding it to my breasts. “Chris,” I whisper, begging him to do something that I can’t define.

He nips my earlobe, his breath a warm rush on my neck. “You aren’t ready yet,” he replies, as if he knows what I’m asking for, when I don’t know.

His hand on my hip moves, his fingers splaying on my belly, then moving lower, and my sex clenches in anticipation, a moment before his finger just barely teases my swollen clit. I shudder with the light touch that he withdraws, and then gives back, repeating the same torment again and again, each time touching me longer, deeper, until finally, when I think he will fully explore my sex, he withdraws. His palms cup my backside and he begins to massage.

“Oh,” I gasp, knowing this is a spanking in the making. And I want it. I want the way the anticipation and the fire of his palm makes everything fade except the here and now.

But he doesn’t give it to me. Instead he gives my cheeks a rough squeeze and orders, “Don’t move.”

“Chris,” I pant desperately, my elbows softening, my forearms settling on the wall to hold my weight. My only comfort is the sound of him undressing, and the hope he will soon be inside me.

He comes back, flattens his back on the wall and pulls me in front of him, his thick erection at my hip. I reach down and close my hand around him. One of his hands closes over mine, holding it to him while the other reaches behind my neck, dragging my mouth to his, and when he kisses me, it’s so passionate, so deep, that I can feel him everywhere. I moan into his mouth and he makes a low, sexy sound, cupping my backside with both hands and lifting me.

I wrap my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair. I don’t even remember him moving, but suddenly I’m on top of the counter and flowers are falling over, water pouring to the ground, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is him bringing his shaft to my sex and pushing inside me, driving deep, his arm still around me, my face buried in his shoulder. I tilt forward, and so does he, both of us driving our bodies together; I am not even sure if I’m on the counter anymore or just on him. Or how we start or stop kissing. Or how hard my nails and teeth dig into his back. I just know the burn in my belly and breasts that expands and grows until I am spasming around him, and he’s making these primal, sexy sounds that have me clenching him even harder. His body quakes, his legs tremble with his release and our weight, and somehow it’s over—and we’re on the wet floor and he’s sitting against the counter, me straddling him, my head on his shoulder.

The sound of our breathing fills the air, slowly becoming more rhythmic, our bodies each fully relaxing into the other. I come back to reality with the awareness of his fingers splayed on my back and mine lying on the gorgeous rainbow of colors that is his dragon tattoo. I blink and realize there are several bouquets lying on the floor around me, one of them my pink roses. “So, do you like the pink roses?”

A low, sexy rumble escapes Chris. “Did you just ask me if I like the pink roses while I’m still inside you?”

I lean up, pressing my hands to his chest. “Yes. Do you like the pink roses?”

“Yes, baby. I like the pink roses. And no one but you could take me from where I just was back to pink roses and laughter in sixty seconds flat.”

Knowing I can make him happy is all I need right now. He’ll tell me what upset him when he’s ready. I brush my fingers against the sexy one-day stubble on his jaw. “That’s why I’m about to be your wife.”

He covers my hand with his and rests it over his heart. “Yes, Sara. That is exactly why you are about to be my wife.” He wraps my arms around his neck and shifts. “Hold on tight. We’re getting up.”

I cup his face. “I will always hold on tight. I chose you.”

He curses under his breath. “We’re going to be late to dinner.”

I frown at the odd response. “What? Why?”

He kisses me and we end up back on the floor, laughing and making love in puddles of flower water. And yes, we are going to be late to dinner. And somehow it feels like one of the defining moments of our relationship. The past can torment us, but it can’t destroy us. Not anymore.

Part Ten

Gone, But Not Forgotten

For dinner and then the oceanside memorial, I choose a black dress, tights, and knee-high boots. When we arrive at the restaurant Chris urges me to go inside while he makes arrangements with Alex, who’s escorting us to ensure we have no press interference tonight. When I enter and round the corner, I smack into a hard body.

I gasp and look up to find myself staring into familiar, steel-gray eyes.

“Hello, Sara.”

I blink up at Mark, who’s as tall, blond, and good-looking as usual but unfamiliar nevertheless. “I must be in a Bizarro World where you call people by their first names.”

He smoothes the sleeve of his perfectly fitted grey suit. “What is Bizarro World?”

“You haven’t seen that episode of
Seinfeld
? It’s an alternate universe.”

“No, I have not seen that episode of
Seinfeld
, but I agree. Perhaps we are in Bizarro World, since the Sara I know
likes
to be called by her first name.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you always call me Ms. McMillan?”

“Perhaps I can’t stomach the idea of calling you Mrs. Merit.”

I grin. “Why don’t you wait until Chris walks in to give him a hard time?”

His lips curve into what is almost a smile, and I know I’ve busted him. “Because he doesn’t take my bait the way you do.”

“You’re maddening, Mark Compton.”

“So you tell me.”

“Finally!” A pretty woman with long blond hair in a knee-length charcoal-gray dress and boots steps to Mark’s side, her hand wrapping the sleeve he’s just straightened. And not only does he let her, he covers her hand with his. “The line for the bathroom was insane,” she adds before her gaze catches on me. “Sara?”

“Yes. Crystal?”

“Yes.” She lets go of Mark and throws her arms around me. His eyes are on her, softer than I’ve ever seen them.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she declares. “Thank you for all you’ve done with the gallery and Rebecca and—”

“We have a problem,” Chris announces, appearing by my side, his hand going to my back. “The press is outside. Jacob’s pulling up out back to get us while Alex distracts them.”

“Jacob’s here?” I ask.

“He flew in from New York with us,” Mark explains, “for exactly this reason. The press is stalking us all over again now that Ava, Ryan, and Ricco have all made a deal.”

“At least it’s almost over,” Chris comments. “Let’s go.”

“This way,” Crystal says, grabbing Mark’s hand. “I saw the door by the bathroom.” She takes off with Mark on her heels and Chris stares after them, giving his head a little shake as if he has cobwebs in his head.

I laugh and wrap my arm around his, sliding my hand in his jacket pocket. “Yes, he lets her touch him, and yes, it’s Bizarro World.”

“That’s an understatement,” he agrees as we start after them, and I love that he gets my
Seinfeld
reference.

We push through the crowd at the bar and have to squeeze by a line at the ladies bathroom to reach the exit. Mark pulls Crystal behind him. “Wait here until I’m sure it’s clear.”

At that moment, Jacob opens the door. “Let’s go. A couple of them rushed Alex at the front.”

Mark urges Crystal forward, staying close behind her, and Chris settles his hands protectively on my shoulders and walks us forward. In a rush of movement, we pile in the back of a limo-style SUV, Mark and Crystal facing forward and Chris and I sitting with our backs to Jacob.

Jacob climbs into the front seat, slamming the door shut and hitting the locks. “Hold on, boys and girls, because the press is coming and we’re going.” He hits the accelerator and we launch forward.

“We missed you, Jacob,” I say. “Please come back.”

“We’ll pay you more than Blake or Mark,” Chris inserts, as we all lurch sideways with a dramatic right turn.

“Doubtful,” Mark says dryly, “but you can try.”

“Why can’t ladies fight over me like this?” Jacob says; cutting another hard right that throws me into Chris’s lap.

“Chris, it’s so nice to meet you,” Crystal says, offering him her hand. “I’m a fan. Your work is amazing.”

Mark starts tapping his fingers on his leg and there’s no doubt that Chris notices, a look of pure enjoyment on his face as he accepts her hand. “If you put a leash on Mark, as it seems you have, I’m your fan.”

“Sadly, I haven’t figured out how to do that,” she concedes. “But much to his chagrin, he hasn’t figured out how to do it to me either.”

“New territory for you, isn’t it, Mark?” Chris challenges.

“One could say the same of you and Sara, I believe.”

“One could say exactly that,” Chris agrees, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

The SUV cuts left onto an empty side street, where Jacob parks. “You have an hour before we have to leave for the memorial. What would you like to do?”

Chris releases me, glancing out of the window. “Chinese food to the left.” He grabs my hand and opens the door. “Let’s eat.”

“What?” Mark demands. “We can’t stop here. We don’t know this neighborhood.”

“I painted it,” Chris informs him. “I know it, so either come with us or we’ll see you at the memorial.”

Crystal says, “We’re coming.”

She slides out of the vehicle and Mark says something to Jacob before he, too, joins us.

Chris arches a brow and Mark replies, “You aren’t getting out of dinner with us that easily. Nice try.”

“I’d try harder, but I’m hungry.” Chris wraps his arm around me and we cross the street, Mark and Crystal right behind us, with Jacob pulling the SUV around to park in front of the restaurant before we even enter.

The four of us step into the tiny dining area that seats ten people at most, and we all shrug out of our coats, taking turns going to the fast-food style counter. In a matter of minutes we’ve settled around the steel table with our food.

As everyone begins to eat, I notice some bruising on Crystal’s jaw. “Oh God. You’re still healing.”

Crystal touches her face. “The changing colors are pretty hard to hide.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Yes,” she confirms, glancing at Mark. “But it’s going to take me a long time to get him to stop worrying.”

“That bastard who helped Ava is still out there somewhere,” Mark all but growls. “I want him caught.”

I wonder if this is what they wanted to see us about. Chris sets his fork down, and seems to feel the same, asking, “What are they doing about it?”

Mark shoves his plate away. “It’s the FBI’s jurisdiction now, and Royce Walker is ex-FBI, which makes him a valuable resource. But this guy has been on the Most Wanted list for years. I’m not confident.”

“He doesn’t want me,” Crystal argues.

“Give it up,” I tell her. “Mark’s going to push this, just like Chris would.”

“What can we do?” Chris asks.

“Nothing,” Mark says. “Or believe me, I’d be calling in a few of the favors you owe me.”

“What favors?”

“Should I start the list?”

“Please do.”

“How’s your mother, Mark?” I ask, changing the subject before we run out of time.

He reaches over and opens a package of hot mustard Crystal’s struggling with, and then hands it back to her. “Cancer-free and planning the wedding of the century.”

Chris arches a brow. “Big wedding, then, I guess?”

“We’d elope if we could,” Crystal says, “but this has made Dana—Mark’s mom—excited to live again.” She goes on to tell us about the wedding in six months, about her father, and about the most recent media frenzy, with Mark interjecting here and there and the two of them often finishing each other’s sentences. She’s no submissive, for sure, and she works magic on Mark. He’s different, more human.

No. Real. He’s real in ways he had never been before.

I reach for my drink and Crystal’s eyes go wide. “Your ring. Oh my God, it’s gorgeous. Can I look closer?”

“Chris designed it.” I hold out my hand and to my shock, Mark grabs it.

“A rose? A fucking rose? Does he know what they mean?”

“No,” I say steadily. “This isn’t about Rebecca. Chris never read the journals. He refused to invade her privacy.”

“Yet he chose roses?”

“Yes. They have a special meaning to him and to us.”

“They were my mother’s favorite flower,” Chris interjects. “We’re getting married under rosebushes that she helped plant.”

I’m shocked but pleased that Chris, who is inherently private, has shared something so intimate. But it’s clear Mark is struggling with old demons, and if anyone understands such things, it’s Chris.

Mark’s hands flatten on the table. “Talk about irony.”

Crystal’s hand covers one of Mark’s, a silent question in the action that I don’t expect him to answer.

Not for the first time tonight, Mark surprises me. “Rebecca loved roses,” he replies. “She had rose candles, rose bath wash. Roses everywhere.”

I watch Crystal’s face, afraid this is hurting her, and it is, but what I read in her is his pain. His pain hurts her. She loves him. Deeply. Completely.

“I gave her a rose painting for her wall from my collection,” he continues, and the memory of that painting makes her loss feel very real right now. “I sent her roses to convince her to be my damned submissive,” he adds, his eyes meeting Chris’s. “You were right. I should have walked away from her, and my regret cuts through me like knives every single day.”

“If only I could have seen my own errors when I was discovering yours,” Chris replies, his voice thick, gravelly, affected by Mark, but also the rawness of losing Amber.

I wrap my arm around his, holding onto him, and Crystal and I look at each other, understanding each other in the depth of our glance. Chris and Mark are different, but alike in ways that make me understand how they once were both friends and enemies.

I hope now the rift will be mended.

“I heard about Amber,” Mark says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, yes. This is a
much
softer Mark—and I believe two women, Rebecca and Crystal, have on some level come together to create this new person I’m seeing.

“Me, too,” Chris says. “And like you, there are things I’d do differently.”

Mark inhales as if he’s trying to push down some emotion, then straightens. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you both about. My mother and father are retiring and plan to travel. Crystal and I have taken over Riptide in New York. I sold my house here, and I sold the club to Tiger. But we’ve decided to keep the gallery and reopen it with a new purpose.”

“What purpose?” Chris asks.

“All proceeds will be donated to your charity.”

Chris and I sit up a bit straighter now. “That could be a substantial amount of money,” Chris points out.

“I hope it will be,” Mark assures him. “Rebecca lost her mother to cancer, and I almost lost mine to it. This is my tribute to a woman I was lucky enough to save, and to one I loved and lost. I can’t bring Rebecca back, but I can make sure she’s never forgotten. I can do something good in her name.”

“We want to rename the gallery ‘Rebecca’s,’ ” Crystal adds softly.

I look at her and I know in my heart that she has been a big part of this idea, and of Mark’s path to healing. When she asks, “Will you help us do it right?” I believe she truly wants to honor Rebecca.

“Yes,” I say, without looking at Chris. I don’t have to. I know he wants to help. “What can we do?”

Chris shoves his plate aside and leans closer to Mark. “What can we do?” he repeats.

“We have Ralph lined up to manage it, but we need to get the gallery filled again,” Crystal replies. “All the drama has scared people away.”

“Consider it done,” Chris says. “I’ll make the calls. I’ll get the support.”

“Is Amanda coming back to work the front desk?” I ask.

“She won’t even take my calls,” Mark replies.

“I can try,” I offer.

Mark gives me a nod as Crystal asks, “Is ninety days a good timeline?”

“Make it four months,” Chris says. “We need to get through our wedding to focus on this and do it right.”

From there we all start talking, and the excitement is clear. Rebecca is gone, but her name will live on; a new friendship is forming between Crystal and me; and the friendship once lost between Chris and Mark is not over.

In fact, I think it’s just begun.

•    •    •

After dinner, Jacob drives us to the packed parking lot off Muir Beach by the memorial site. The location is, by intent of the event organizers, chillingly near the dock where Rebecca’s DNA was found on the boat that took her out to sea and left her there. “There are a lot of cars,” I murmur.

“It’s been all over the news,” Crystal says. “The public has really connected with Rebecca.”

Mark shifts in his seat uncomfortably, scrubbing his jaw, and shifting again. He makes a low, frustrated sound, then swiftly gets out of the car. Chris and I exchange a look of understanding as Crystal pursues him and we follow.

Chris pulls me close and I watch as Mark does the same with Crystal. We cross the parking lot, Jacob on our heels, then step onto the beach. I shiver with the cold wind coming off the ocean, thankful for my flat boots that handle the sand well. Not sure what to expect, we round a corner—and stop dead in our tracks.