Lisa Jones - His Secrets

“And this Amber thing made you decide you were some sort of monster again?”

“Guilt was already eating me alive, making me worry about what monster was going to jump out of the closet to destroy you. Amber just made it happen now instead of later. Tonight you got to witness who I am and was, and what I’m capable of creating in someone else. Seeing Amber at her worst scared the shit out of me. I love you too much to hurt you.”

“I understand holding back until you’re ready to share something that feels traumatic, Chris. I was ashamed over Michael, and I needed you to know about him and accept me afterward, but I wasn’t sure how to tell you. I had a lot of guilt over that—and he, like Amber, forced my hand. But we’re over that hump, and I don’t see Michael in you. I don’t know if you can do the same with me. Shutting me out will gut me. I can’t call you my husband and then wake up alone.”

I pull her closer, one breath from the kiss I crave. “Husband. I like how that sounds, and even more how it feels.”

“Me, too,” she whispers. “That’s why it hurts so much to be kept at a distance.”

“I can’t promise you I’m not going to protect you. It’s who I am. But now everything is out in the open. Now we can deal with it.” I rest my forehead on hers. “Whatever it takes, Sara, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t leave—no matter how bad you are.” She leans back to stare at me, flattening her hand on my chest. “You have to promise me that.”

“I promise,” I say, pulling her mouth to mine. “Wife.”

She smiles against my lips. “Husband.”

I kiss her, a hot possessive claiming kiss that says she belongs with me. Sara melts into me, sliding her hands under my shirt, her fingers warming my skin. I lean the seat back, lowering her on top of me, touching her. I can never touch her enough, tugging down her dress to discover her naked breasts.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” I murmur roughly, nipping her ear and teasing her nipple with my fingers.

She moans and covers my hand with hers. “Stop. We can’t do this here.”

“I’m reminding you that you’re mine.” I tug her dress up her hips, cupping her bare backside, tracing the thin strip of silk along her cheeks. “And you are mine.” Palming her breasts, I lean in to suck on her.

She presses her hands to the ceiling. “Chris. We can’t have sex in the 911. It’s too small.”

I lower my seat flat and mold her to me, my hand going under her dress to caress her backside. “I say it’s not. Let’s find out who’s right.”

“You’re crazy,” she whispers.

“Maybe.” I press her against the thick ridge of my cock. “But I really need to be inside you.” I kiss her and she moans again.

“Now you’re making me a crazy woman,” she says.

“I like crazy,” I assure her and reach between us to unzip my pants. “Help me pull these down?” She stares at me for a long moment and I press, “I’m dying here. I need to be inside you.”

She blinks, and then reaches for my pants as she erupts into laughter.

A frenzy of tugging and pulling on clothing erupts between us, until finally, I’m buried inside her and our eyes lock, the humor fading, heat simmering.

Her fingers trace my lips. “No in-between, Chris. You told me that. And I’m telling you that now.”

“No in-between, baby.”

I’m all in with Sara—and we’re about to find out where that leads us.

“How long did you know Rebecca, Mr. Compton?”

“Asked and answered, Detective Grant,” I reply, leaning back in my seat, and I can feel the eyes on the other side of the glass wall behind him.

“All right, then,” he replies. “Let’s try something new. Is it true Rebecca called you ‘Master’?”

Tension ripples down my spine. “Yes. She called me ‘Master.’ ”

“Having such a beautiful young girl call you ‘Master’ must have been a real power rush.”

“What’s the point?”

“I’ll get to the point when I’m ready. See, I’m the Master of this conversation. I’m in control. Now, what exactly did being her ‘Master’ mean to you?”

To be continued in

My Hunger

in July . . .