While Chris lounged on the bed, tuning the guitar and
strumming vaguely, I strolled around the room, examining his
booksâ€”a diverse collection of music, politics, literature
and popular fiction. Although I tried to squash it, I was
very aware of him sprawling there on the suddenly inviting
bed. He looked lean and sexy and totally natural, the golden
skin of his arms rippling as he played. I found myself
humming along with the melody, although I didnâ€™t recognize
it. I opened my mouth to ask him what it was, when it
suddenly changed into a different tune, discordant yet
"Chris, thatâ€™s horrible!" I chided. "Play something else."
Since he didnâ€™t, I threw my head back in mock outrage
and announced I was going to make more coffee. If nothing
else, the break would refocus my wayward thoughts away from
his undoubted physical attractions. Chris didnâ€™t object as I
swept dramatically past the foot of the bed but at the last
minute he moved with startling speed.
Hanging on to the guitar with one hand, he launched his
body across the entire length of the bed and reached out to
grip my thigh.
Stunned, I stood quite still, staring at his hand. It
was warm, its grip too firm around the top of my leg, the
palm secure around my inner thigh. I knew I would have
difficulty removing it, at least by normal means. I didnâ€™t
want to. I liked Chrisâ€™s hands. He had never been short on
boldness and I supposed I had been enticed up here for a
reason. My ego wasnâ€™t sorry about that, either. His fingers
dug almost painfully into my flesh and yet treacherous
tinglings snaked upward from his fingers to my pussy. I felt
suddenly hot and moist. His fingers moved, rhythmically
kneading, sliding higher to the crease at the top of my
thigh. His knuckles touched my damp pussy.
I swallowed. Slowly, almost afraid, I lifted my gaze
from his rigid hand to his face. His blue eyes gleamed. But
he wasnâ€™t smiling. This was a new Chris to me, dominating,
determined, almostâ€¦scary. His caress was rough, forceful
rather than seductive. Somehow, this excited me and yet I
knew that if itâ€™d been anyone elseâ€™s fingers reaching so
greedily for my pussyâ€”
He said, "Fuck the coffee. Sit on my cock and screw me."
Shocked, I reacted from instinct. I hurled an
unnecessary amount of force at his fingers, prizing them
loose with my mind. In less than a second, I was out the
bedroom door and running for the stairs. Stupidly, I could
feel the ache of tears desperate to be shed and I didnâ€™t
even know why.
Chris had never been mealy mouthed. I wasnâ€™t exactly a
shrinking rose myself. In Pisa, part of his charm had been
his directness. It had been exciting, compelling. Yet here,
I feltâ€¦abused. And by a man I was beginning to like a lot.
My mobile phone chose that minute to go off.
I heard it from the stairs. Dashing into the living room
where Iâ€™d left my bag, I grabbed the phone out of it.
It was Jenny, damn her. "Not a goodâ€¦" I began but she
interrupted me, her voice high and harsh.
"Ellie, are you okay?"
"Okay? Yes," I mumbled in bewilderment. Was I?
"Get out of there, Ellie. Now. The readings are off the
I grabbed my jacket and my bag and bolted for the living
room door, trying to stuff the phone back into my bag with
shaking fingers as I went. A shadow fell over me, bringing
me to an abrupt halt. My heart thundered in my ears. Slowly,
I raised my eyes.
Chris stood in the doorway, distractedly rubbing the
fingers of his right hand