If I Were You by Lisa Renée Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

It’s clearly a sentimental
item, which isn’t so unexpected really, considering she worked at the gallery.
So was the man in the journal an artist? The prospects of who he might be are
far reaching. My stomach knots as I think of Chris. I keep thinking
about Chris and those greener than green eyes.
    I seal the picture and the paint brush back inside the box
and set it on my nightstand. My laptop is also on the bed with me and I power
it up before typing ‘Chris Merit’ into the search bar and clicking on images.
Almost immediately I get photos of two different people and realize that one is
an older version of Chris. His father had been a famous classical pianist who’d
lived in Paris. I don’t know how I forgot such a thing, or how I tied the image
of father with son, though the resemblance is uncanny.
    I google Chris and he comes up in Wikipedia. He is
thirty-five, not thirty-three, and he’s dated a couple of models and an
actress. Right. Way, way out of my league so I have no idea why I read into
anything tonight with the man. My lips thin as I note that he has never been
married. My mother’s words come back to me. Any man who isn’t married by
thirty-five is either gay or he’s got skeletons in his closet. A knot forms
in my throat. God, how I miss her, how I wish she was still here so I could
call her now. Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t call her now and explain my obsession
with another woman’s sex life. I bite my lip. Am I obsessed with another
women’s sex life? No, I tell myself immediately, rejecting the idea. If I’m
obsessed, it’s with her safety.
    And if Chris has skeletons, could Rebecca have discovered
them and become a liability? It sounds so much like a fictional novel that
laughter bubbles from my lips. Besides, with further reading, I realize Chris
lives in Paris. Chris must be here for a visit. He is probably gone already.
    Unbidden, disappointment fills me. Chris is the first man to
interest me in well over two years, since Michael Knight, the CEO of a large
computer company, whom I’d met at a charity event. I’d soon realized he was the
kind of man I found alluring for all the wrong reasons. The kind that dominates
and controls, and makes you feel all feminine and protected. That is, until he
shreds everything you know of yourself to pieces. I’m still not sure I
understand why he appealed to me, or why men like Mark, who ooze that kind of
power, still appeal to me. I only know that dating men who are sensitive
and caring, like I had in the past, doesn’t seem to be working for me. Chris,
well, he doesn’t seem to be one of those power control freaks like Mark, but
then I doubt I’ll ever see him again.
    I reach for one of the journals and begin to read.
    I told him I wouldn’t see him again. He told me he’d
decide when I see him and when I don’t. I should have known I couldn’t simply
walk away. I should have known he’d come for me, and that I, weak as I am,
would not be able to resist him. Before I knew what was happening, I was in the
storeroom in the middle of the day, with others nearby.
    He shoved me against the wall and then tore down my
panties. His lips pressed close to my ear, his breath hot on my neck, as he
said, ’you know the rules, you know I have to punish you.’ I squeezed my eyes
shut because I do know. I know and not only do I know but I want him, too.
That’s what I’ve become, what he’s made me. I was wet and aching and all but
ready to beg for the very thing I craved…punishment. 
    The first smack of his hand on my ass was pure pain, no
pleasure like in the past, but I didn’t scream. I couldn’t scream. Not when I
could be heard. Somehow, as it always does, the pain turned to pleasure. The
need for him was intense, complete. He entered me and it was then I barely
contained my cry, my need. He couldn’t fuck me hard enough to suit me. I was,
as always, powerless to the pleasure that is him.
    When it was over, he turned me around, tugged my