Inside Out: Behind Closed Doors

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” he says, and while the reply has me reeling, so does his mouth that’s now on me, this kiss hard, fast, intense, and drugging, his hands going beneath my shirt and pushing it upward. “I need you naked,” he orders, his fingers finding my bra and deftly unsnapping it.

  “I need you naked,” I reply, sounding breathless—feeling it, too.

  “Ladies first,” he says, pulling my top over my head and tossing it, my bra gone just as fast. And then his hands are at my waist, his eyes lowering to my breasts, lingering on my nipples that pucker and ache in response, before he is looking at me again, smoldering embers and fire in those green, green eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he declares.

  His words, low and rough, manage to be both sandpaper and silk, sliding along my nerve endings, a caress I feel in every part of me, inside and out. And I do not know what it is about this moment, but as I look at him, as he looks at me, it is perhaps the most erotic moment I’ve ever shared with a man. There’s something happening between us, something he is doing to me that I have never experienced, but oh, I want to. Badly. Intensely. Completely.

  My hands slide under his shirt, his warm, muscular body beneath my palms. “Please take this off,” I say, pushing it upward.

  He drags it over his head, tossing it away, exposing an all-black tattoo covering most of his right shoulder, opposite the red bull I’d seen once before. My hand goes to it, fingers tracing the intricate design of skulls, an ace of spades, and roses. And I have the craziest thought that, like our attraction to one another, these are pieces of a puzzle that do not fit, and yet somehow fit perfectly, beautifully.

  My gaze lifts and I find him watching me, unreadable, when I myself don’t even try to hide what I feel. Why would I? This is a weekend. He just said that himself. He’s a weekend kind of guy, and waking up with him a few mornings won’t change that fact. “I’ve never been with a man who had a tattoo,” I admit. “I’ve never been with anyone like you.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Good, I think. Really, damn good, but instead, I repeat my thoughts from earlier. “What we think we want isn’t always what we need.” And what I need right now is this man.

  He cups my face, staring down at me, his eyes sharp, penetrating, as if he can see my soul, and I have nowhere to hide. “I don’t want to be like anyone else you’ve been with, but I have to be honest. You make me greedy. I have you half naked. I could be inside you right now, and already that isn’t enough. I don’t want to just fuck you, Skye.” He steps farther into me, pressing my hands to the wall, his cheek back against mine, his breath teasing my cheek. “I want all of you. Even the parts that create your fear of that elevator.”

  I feel myself shut down instantly, my lashes lowering, my chest suddenly tight, emotions assailing me—they are always assailing me with this man. “She’s not available.”

  He leans back to look at me. “And yet she’s the person I’m with right now. She’s the one who just withdrew and shut down.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You did.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “And it’s okay. You don’t know me enough to trust me, but I want to work on that.”

  “We have two days, Jason. I think we should just get naked and—”

  He brushes his lips over mine and presses my hands to the wall. “I want you to hold your hands there. They’re not tied up. You’re free to move, but if you do, I’ll stop what I’m doing. My control. Your pleasure. Your choice.”

  “If my hands are against the wall, I can’t touch you.”

  His lips curve. “And I want you to touch me, baby, but when I tell you to touch me.”

  “I already don’t like this.”

  “You will. I promise. But if there’s anything I do that you don’t like, just tell me. I’ll listen. And I’ll lick you someplace else. Or kiss you a whole new way. As long as I get to kiss you and lick you, I’m a happy man.”

  My sex clenches, my nipples tighten, and I’m instantly losing my mind with need for him. It’s perfect. It’s amazing. He’s perfect and amazing, and yet my emotions are spinning, and his need for control is clear and present, while my own need for the same is clawing at me, and it’s not about fear. Or maybe it is. Not fear of what he’ll do to me, but of what he’s making me feel, fear of being exposed, of losing myself and getting hurt, in ways it took me years to recover from once before. No, twice. Twice before.

  He lowers himself to the floor, settling on a knee, and my heart is racing, my adrenaline pumping like I’m running a marathon. Or running from a hot, sexy man who’s trying to chip away every wall I’ve carefully erected, only to leave me to repair it later. Once I’m standing before him naked, with him in control, I have this sense that I will be more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my life. Maybe I already am, but I can’t do it like this, without thought, in a hallway, of all places. “No,” I breathe out, grabbing his shoulders.

  He’s on his feet in an instant. “No?”

  No? Did I say no to this man? Do I want to say no to this man? No. No, I do not want to say no. I want to say yes and have it be safe. I want to be a little less vulnerable, and yet I want him. I want this weekend, and I’m screwing it up. “I meant yes.”

  “You said no, Skye.”

  “I meant not in this hallway. It feels cold and you make me feel warm, and it’s just this moment, okay? Can we—can you just—and then I will and we can and—?”

  He cups my face. “I just want you, Skye. And I can’t repeat this enough. We can do, or not do, whatever you want.”

  “What I want is for you to be naked, and me too, and I want you to kiss me, and—”

  He kisses me, wrapping my arms around his neck and silently telling me I can have whatever control I want. And just like that, the nerves of moments before feel silly. But even that emotion is momentary, because all of the wanting and needing for hours between us snaps. Our kissing becomes crazy, wild kissing, and we can’t get enough of each other. He’s picked me up and carried me I don’t know where until I’m on a mattress, and he’s leaning over me.

  And he is staring down at me, those green eyes of his darker now, troubled. I’ve seen his poker face, and I know he’s letting me see this. He wants me to know what he feels, when I’m not sure he lets many people see anything at all. But he says nothing. Instead, he rolls to his side, taking me with him and kissing me again. I lose myself in the rush of frenzied touches and kisses. Lose how we end up naked. But I am oh so aware of every lean, muscled inch of his body, which is more perfect than I imagined. And every thick inch of his cock as I help him roll a condom over it.

  But when I expect him to press inside me, he surprises me, rolling me to my back. “As much as I want inside you, baby, I want to know if you taste as sweet as I think you do. Stretch your arms over your head and grab the bars of the headboard.”

  I wait for that feeling in the hallway to return, but it doesn’t. Apparently being naked and exposed isn’t the real issue here at all. All there is is a throbbing arousal between my thighs and heat in my belly. And damn it, this man has promised me his tongue, and even if that wasn’t certain bliss, I don’t want the emotions and fears from that hallway to win. I stretch my arms over my head and my fingers close around what turns out to be rows of steel bars, the position thrusting my breasts against his chest, his palms covering them, caressing, teasing. His mouth follows, licking my left nipple, suckling, and then the right, then repeating.

  “Jason,” I pant, his name a plea for more, for him inside me. “I need you now.”

  But he doesn’t give me what I ask for. Instead, his lips drag down the center of my body, his hands down my sides, lips lingering at my belly, palms settling at my knees, easing them farther apart. I am positively coming unglued when he blows warmly on my clit, his tongue lapping, then twirling. I don’t let go of the headboard. In fact, when his mouth closes down on me and he’s suckling and licking, his fingers sliding inside me, I hold on tigh
ter. But I don’t hold on long, because it doesn’t take long. I shatter, so quickly it’s embarrassing, my body quaking and trembling until I collapse.

  Jason is there almost instantly, turning us to our sides again, lifting my leg to his hip and pressing inside me. And it is sweet bliss, exactly what I need and want. “Finally,” he breathes out.

  “Finally,” I agree breathlessly, but he doesn’t drive into me, or take the release he must crave.

  Instead, he cups my head and kisses me, licking into my mouth, the salty taste of me on his tongue, and he knows it, murmuring, “That’s what my new addiction tastes like. My first ever.”

  He doesn’t leave me time to read into those words, and I’m not sure I’m capable of it now anyway. Not when he’s inside me, thick and hard, and suddenly moving, thrusting, swaying. And kissing me and touching me. It is intimate, and right, in ways I have never experienced. All my vulnerabilities are lost in this man, a stranger who became my lover. I don’t know time. I don’t know limits and fears. I only know the perfect storm of pleasure that has us shattering in each other’s arms, then melting into each other.

  It’s long minutes later when he strokes hair from my eyes and tilts my head back, bringing my mouth to his and kissing me. “Give me about thirty seconds,” he says, pulling out of me and rolling to the other side of the bed.

  I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest and taking in the room for the first time, finding it to be the kind of high-end hotel room my father expected. A big TV screen. Neutral grays and blues. Expensive mahogany furnishings. A sitting area to the left with gray leather upholstery. All pure luxury items. But the best feature of all is Jason’s naked ass, as he crosses to the dresser under the television. Holy wow. The man has a great body I haven’t fully appreciated, but I plan to remedy that quickly.

  He opens a drawer and pulls on a pair of sweats, and since we haven’t unpacked I assume he keeps basics here year round. It’s then that I have a flashback to peeking around a corner into the hallway, tears streaming down my cheeks, while I watch my mother fight off my father from the corner she’s pinned against.

  “For you,” Jason says, sitting next to me and pulling a T-shirt over my head, the scent of him spicy and warm, easing me back to a much happier place than the past.

  The cotton slides down my body, and when our eyes meet, the connection between us punches me in the chest, followed by a ball of emotion I don’t understand or even know how to name. I shiver, and he must think it’s because I’m cold, because he reaches to the foot of the bed, grabs a throw blanket, and pulls it around my shoulders. He holds on to it, on to me, and I have a moment where I think I’m falling for him. He could hurt me. And I swore I’d never let anyone have that power over me again.

  “We should talk about us, and what happened tonight,” he says.

  “The hallway or the blackmail?” I ask. Considering that my heart is thundering in my chest, I am pleased that I sound as calm and cool as I do in my professional life, not like the crazy person he’s seen in elevators.

  “I wanted too much too fast,” he says, his eyes darker now—troubled, I think, because of me. “I pushed you in that hallway and—”

  “No,” I say, reaching up and cupping his face. “No, you didn’t. That was about me, not you.”

  He catches my hand, holding it and my stare. I brace myself for the probe to follow, the questions I’m not sure how I will answer, but that isn’t what I get. “I want to get to know you, Skye. Let’s turn off the weekend timer.”

  He has said exactly what I want to hear, and exactly what I don’t want to hear, at the same time. I am now conflicted and confused, two things I would never use to describe myself, but with this man they fit me like a glove. “You’re a weekend guy. You said that.”

  “And then a woman walked in the door.” His lips curve. “Isn’t that the premise of every country song? And you’re that woman for me, Skye. Maybe this is just sexual chemistry, and we’ll fuck our brains out for a week, or two, or six. Or six months. Or maybe it’s more. I’m not asking you to change your life for me, Skye. I’m asking you to give us more time than a weekend to figure this out.”

  I could decline, and tell him that I have more to lose than he does, but considering he’s being blackmailed and I’m being used against him, I’m not sure that’s true. It is, however, a red flag. “If this is about protecting me—”

  “It’s about whatever sparked between us the minute we set eyes on each other.”

  I search his face, looking for some unspoken answer, and I find it in the crazy, wild sensation I always get when I look in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask about the hallway?”

  “No,” he says, surprising me. “I’m not making the mistake of pushing you too fast or too hard again. I’m going to give you time to trust me, and hope that you’ll tell me then. Take the timer off, Skye. Say yes.”

  I should say no. I should tell him that I have to focus on school, and life, and surviving on my own. I should not let someone into my world who I could start counting on, who could make me forget how to be alone. “Yes,” I say anyway.

  He tugs the blanket and pulls me to him. “I’m not going to let you regret that answer, any more than I’m going to let you regret this weekend, or worry about that note, or the threat in it. I’m going to protect you. I’m going to take care of you.”

  My mind and emotions scream, Alert! Alert! Alert! Take care of me—protect me—control me.

  No. Wrong. That’s trapped elevator girl talking. The one who fears being at the mercy of anything she can’t manage herself, doing anything to keep that from happening. The smart, present-day woman can manage herself, and unfortunately she has a word far worse than control in her mind. Obligation—and his need to protect me from a threat he feels he created.

  “No,” I say again.

  He leans back to look at me. “No?”

  “No,” I repeat. In an effort to keep intact any portion of the protective shell I had before I met this man, I add, “I think it’s best if I catch the next flight back to San Francisco.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JASON TIGHTENS HIS GRIP on the blanket and pulls me closer to him. “What just happened, Skye?”

  “If I’m not here, I don’t need protection.”

  “You can’t remove yourself from blackmail. If it were that simple, I would have already done it. And I’m not letting your life be destroyed because of me.”

  “And yet you just asked me to be more a part of it?” I challenge. “If you wanted me to stay to keep an eye on me, you should have been honest with me.” I shove at his chest, suddenly unable to breathe. “Let go of me, Jason.”

  “I’m not letting go until you talk to me.”

  Tension knots in my belly and starts to rise higher and higher. “I don’t do well when I feel trapped. You might know little about me, but you know that part.”

  His jaw clenches, and I can tell he wants to reject this idea, but he doesn’t. To his credit he releases the blanket and I toss it aside, scrambling to the edge of the bed.

  “Please don’t run, Skye. Every part of me wants to reach for you again, or stand in front of you and block your way until you talk to me. But I’m willing myself to understand that your claustrophobia extends to this situation, and resist those urges.”

  My lashes lower and I inhale, standing to turn toward the bed, finding him doing the same on the opposite side. “I just want to go home.”

  “And I’m asking you to hear what I have to say before you make that final decision. No matter what answer you gave me about us, and no matter what decision you make about staying or going, I got you into this mess. I am, and I was always, going to get you out of it. What kind of asshole would I be if I didn’t? My parents raised me better than that. And why would you not even want to know me for one more day?”

  It takes me a moment to digest how true his words really are. If he didn’t care about how that blackmail note affects me, he would be an asshole. �
��That’s true,” I concede.

  “And?”

  “And now I feel really confused about your motives and my reaction.”

  He leans on the bed toward me, fists settling against the mattress. “I know it feels like my protecting you and my wanting you to expand our relationship are one and the same, but baby, I promise you, they’re not. When I said I don’t invite people into my life, and I don’t ask them to stay if they somehow end up there, that was the honest-to-God truth. I know the people you met tonight made that clear as well.”

  I think of every shocked reaction my presence brought tonight and give a small but decisive nod. “Yes. Actually, pretty much everyone I met.”

  “Then doesn’t that say you are anything but an obligation?”

  I inhale and let it out. He’s right. I shove my hands into my hair and swallow hard. My God, what’s wrong with me? Aside from the fact that I’m letting the past, which I’d thought I had under control, dictate my every response to this man?

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” I hug myself. “I think it’s time to admit that more of the woman in the elevator is present right now than I’d like to think possible.”

  He studies me a moment, those eyes of his too probing, too aware, leaving me nowhere to hide. And as insane as it is, considering I just tried to leave, I’m not sure I want to. “How am I causing this?” he asks.

  “How are you causing this? Don’t you mean how did you end up in Vegas with yet another crazy woman?”

  “You aren’t crazy, Skye. You’re real, and real doesn’t mean perfect. In fact, it’s always flawed. And look at me, baby. I’m being blackmailed. I’m pretty sure I come with about as much baggage as one man can come with. I’m taking crazy ex to a whole new level.

  “Stay with me, Skye. Or go back to San Francisco and take me with you. Or don’t. It’s your choice, but just for the record, I vote for one of the options that include me. With you.”

  “I didn’t want to leave,” I confess. “It was just that obligation thing hit a nerve.” I regret those words. I see a question in his eyes and quickly add, “Here. Let’s stay here.”