Being Me by Lisa Renée Jones Read Free Book Online

admire him when he’s pulling me forward, spreading my legs. He sinks to his knees and his mouth closes on my clit and he suckles and licks. I gasp and fall back against the mattress, my fingers curling around the black comforter. I pant and try to hold back but his fingers are inside me and his tongue tantalizes me in all the right spots. I shatter with ridiculous speed that screams of him owning me. He owns my pleasure. He owns me. It is a terrifying thought because I’m not sure I will ever have that power over him. Not the way he does over me. I scoot up the bed, grappling with my emotions, but he is already undressed and pulling me beneath him, and I am helpless to resist. Of course I am. He owns me. Damn it, he owns me.
    My arms wrap his neck, and he comes down on top of me and his weight settles on me. I am suddenly, intensely aware that we have never been like this, in a bed, with him on top of me. We’ve fucked all kinds of ways, but never in a bed, never in his bed. Awareness rushes over me, the reason I’d been nervous. We are in new territory, the intimacy of this night taking us to a new place.
    “I’m going to make love to you now, Sara.”
    It is the last thing I expect, and everything I both want and fear. My world is spinning out of control and I’m not sure if it will stop in a place where I will have even footing. “What happened to fuck and get fucked?”
    “Baby, the ways I’m going to fuck you are too many to count, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to make love to you.” His lips part mine, his tongue delving deeply, exploring, and the demand of minutes before becomes a sultry, sensual caress. He has torn down every wall I possess and I cannot fight him, or this.
    He spreads me wide and settles between my thighs, thick and pulsing, parting me with the promise of finally filling me. I feel him press into me and my arms tighten around his neck. I lift my hips and meet him, urge him to go deeper, to give me more, when I know it is him demanding more of me, taking what I try to hold back but cannot.
    He sinks into me, buries his cock inside me, and we lie there, foreheads touching, breathing together. I have never felt as part of a man as I do in that moment. Never felt so a part of another human being. I do not know what to do with the emotions inside me. I do not know how to be this close to someone and still hold on to myself.
    “Chris?” I rasp desperately, afraid of this, of him, of where I am spiraling and will never be found.
    He moves then, the thick ridge of his shaft caressing a path backward until I think he is going to pull out, to move away. I arch forward, desperate to bring him back, and he answers me with a hard thrust. I cry out and wrap my leg around his, lifting my body, moaning as his hand slides under my backside and pulls me closer, drives him deeper. He pumps into me over and over and I feel him shaking, or maybe it is me who is shaking. I don’t want this to end, and I sense he, too, is fighting it, as if we both fear the moment after, and what comes next. But the pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, to be sustained. My sex clampsdown on him, spasming with the most intense orgasm of my life. He growls low in his throat and thrusts deep into me, before I feel the wet, hot heat of his release. And then we are there, in the moment after, him on top of me in his bed. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what to do with this ball of emotion threatening to explode in my chest.
    Chris moves first, shifting me to lie in front of him and pulling the blanket over the top of me. I feel the wetness clinging to my thighs but I don’t care. Chris is wrapped around me, holding me in his bed. For long minutes, we lie there in silence and I don’t want to sleep. I just want to feel him here with me.
    “Come with me to Los Angeles.”
    For a moment I consider saying yes and my reasons are many. Chris somehow steadies the shaky ground of uncertainty in my world.
    “I