“Keep looking at me like that and I may come just from that,” Donovan said, voice gritty.
She couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. She let her fingers encircle his erection, surprised at the silky, taut skin. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but she hadn’t expected velvet-encased steel. Her mouth went dry just thinking about what that would feel like inside her. “Show me what you like. Show me how to make you come.”
Donovan groaned and gripped the base of his cock, squeezing harder than she would’ve thought comfortable. His hand tightened in her hair. “Your mouth on me is about all it’s going to take, Rush. I’m already on edge after watching you come earlier and seeing you here now. Hell, I’ve been on fucking edge since you walked onto the X-wing. Just be careful of teeth and don’t try to be too gentle. Anything else, you can explore how you want. I’ll tell you when I’m close if you want to pull off.”
She positioned herself over him, inhaling the musk of his skin, and looked up. “Why would I want to pull off?”
He closed his eyes as if the question had caused him both pleasure and pain. “Some women don’t want to—”
But she didn’t wait for an answer. It’d been rhetorical. And she was too turned on, too curious to wait. She slid her lips over the head of his cock and let her tongue sweep around it. She didn’t know what she was doing exactly, but her nerves had fallen away the minute he’d opened his jeans. If going down on him felt even a tenth of what she’d felt when he went down on her, she figured she couldn’t mess it up too much.
He let out a grinding sound and his hand flexed against her skull, as if it was taking everything he had not to shove her down on his cock and use her how he wanted. Part of her wished he would, but jumping in that deep would sacrifice the chance to savor.
As her mouth closed fully over the head, his taste hit her tongue, and her thighs squeezed together at the rush of desire it sparked. She’d expected salt, the taste of sweat and skin and humanness. And there was that, but God, it was so much more that that. Earthy, musky, and very, very male. She wouldn’t have known that was a flavor, but there was no other way to describe it. Donovan tasted like sex and desire and temptation all wrapped around satiny strength. Whoever invented chocolate lube was a fucking idiot.
She’d never want to mask this. It pressed buttons in her she hadn’t realized she had, her body knowing just how to react to the feel of him in her mouth, a flood of wet heat going straight to her sex. She inhaled deeply and took another slow suck, earning a tense groan from Donovan.
That was all she needed to hear. She stopped being delicate and slid down his shaft, sucking and licking and working every part of him her tongue could reach.
Donovan cursed and his thigh muscle flexed beneath her, the springy hair of his leg teasing her sex. “That sound you just made . . . Christ.”
She hadn’t realized she’d made a noise, but her response to having him in her mouth was impossible to contain. She could feel his every reaction. Each swipe of her tongue earned her a coiled muscle or a sharp breath or more drops of the slightly bitter pre-come. She loved knowing what she was doing to him. Loved the immediate feedback that she was doing something right.
He clasped her head in his hands and wrested some of the control back, easing her pace. “That’s it. Slow it down. I want this to last. You feel fucking amazing.”
She groaned and rocked her hips along with the slow motion of her bobbing head.
Donovan shifted his leg beneath her, putting pressure where she needed it most.
“Mmm, I can feel you getting hot and slippery against me. You’re making a mess, Marin.” His words were low, the sound coasting over her like warm, seeking hands. “You know what that does to me? Knowing that sucking my cock is getting you off? That you need to come so bad again that you’re riding my leg?”
Heat flooded her face, an automatic reaction, but he didn’t let her pull away or give her time to be embarrassed.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, sinful intent lacing the words. He shifted his leg fully against her, dragging the hair-roughened surface over her flesh, grinding against her slick lips and clit. “You’re going to fuck my leg just like that and suck me hard while you do it. You’re going to come for me like I’m going to come for you.”
The feel of him grinding against her, the sound of it—all that wet, hot flesh—and the feel of him hard and full in her mouth was too much. All of her systems flipped to go almost immediately, release racing up the line. She whimpered, her hips canting forward despite the snap of shame trying to fight its way in. She was humping his leg like a dog. She couldn’t stop if she tried.
His fingers tightened against her head as he pumped her harder against him. He didn’t take her all the way down. Her gag reflex had protested the first time she’d tried. But he wasn’t taking it easy either. He gripped her hair in his hands, her scalp stinging in a strangely erotic way. Her hold on the moment started to slip, some state of surrender sliding into place. She was a passenger now, her mouth his tool. Her thoughts blurred. She let go of the steering wheel.
“That’s right, baby.” Donovan’s breaths were sawing out of him now, choppy and ragged. “Moan for me. Show me how much you need to come. How much you want to drink me down.”
Marin was lost. Her body jerked against his leg, and everything inside her detonated. She made some desperate sound around his cock, her tongue and lips still working, tasting, loving, but sensation spiraling through her and blasting thought from her brain.
“Fuck, yes, oh fuck.” Donovan’s words were hot rain over already boiling waves.
He swelled in her mouth and pumped into her roughly, spilling his release onto her tongue and down her throat, calling her name and saying sweet, dirty things to her.
She took everything he had to give as she rode the crest of her own orgasm. His taste. Her pulsing clit. The slick feel of her body sliding against his thigh. All of it morphed into one long, drunk-on-pleasure moment. Then he was easing her off of him and rubbing soothing fingers on her scalp.
She blinked back into reality with slow awareness. Her lips were tingling, her jaw a little sore, and her body throbbed with aftershocks as he adjusted on the bed and dragged her into his hold. But she couldn’t find it in herself to do much of anything besides let him move her where he wanted her. He cradled her in the crook of his arm, his chest still moving with uneven breaths as he eased down from his release.
His skin was hot against her cheek, the sheen of sweat welcoming. She closed her eyes, sated and sleepy. A lot had happened tonight. She’d probably have thoughts about it. But not now. She’d think about everything later. Right now she just needed this.
“You okay?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Mm-hmm. You?”
“What do you think?”
“Guess I’m a natural at giving head,” she murmured sleepily. “Check that off my list.”
The dark, quiet laugh rumbled beneath her cheek. “Maybe I’m just a natural at receiving it.”
She snorted. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
He gathered her closer and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Get some rest, Rush.”
She snuggled closer to him, and he pulled the blanket over the both of them, the sweat chilling on her skin. “I can’t sleep here.”
“I know. But stay for a little while. You went somewhere during that. You need to come down easy from it. Plus, I’m not ready to let you out of my bed yet.”
She wasn’t sure what he was talking about. But she’d gone somewhere all right. She almost felt drunk with it, her thoughts sticky and her muscles lax. “Okay.”
“I’ll wake you up before it gets too late,” he said softly, but her mind was already halfway to sleep.
She dreamed of it never getting too late. Of staying.
22
Donovan picked at the gravy-soaked fries on his plate, staring at the documents in front of him, the steady flow of conversation around him in the div
e restaurant a background hum. He’d driven into Bellemeade to Parrain’s Po-Boys for a roast beef sandwich and to go over the most recent report his private investigator had sent him, but he was having trouble making sense of it.
Donovan flipped through a few more pages. Bret had outlined some discrepancies she’d found and some circumstantial stuff. But Donovan couldn’t seem to make it line up in his head. He rubbed the spot between his brows. Maybe his late night was catching up with him.
In the early hours of the morning, he’d woken Marin and had made sure she got back to her place. She’d been sleepy and quiet, and he’d been tempted to ask her to stay. But they had to be careful. Beyond risking someone seeing her leave his place, she had her brother to worry about.
But he’d wanted to keep her in bed with him, naked and curled up next to him until the sun came up. Unlike a typical night, he’d actually had to fight off sleep while he lay there with her. After that spectacular blow job and seeing Marin indulging her own pleasure in such a wanton, shameless way, he’d felt sated and sleepy. Content. His mind had been oddly quiet. So much so that he’d had to set an alarm on his phone just to make sure he didn’t let her down and sleep past time.
But when he’d rolled over this morning to empty sheets, he’d wished that he’d figured out a way to keep her there. He would’ve woken her up with his tongue between her thighs, relishing those sweet sounds she made when she got close to orgasm, and then he would’ve spread her out beneath him and fucked her deep and slow. He’d had erotic dreams all night of sinking into her body, of what she would feel like around him, of her losing herself to the moment. She was so responsive and gorgeous when she surrendered to it.
And that’s what it had been—surrender. He’d watched her slip into that in-between place he’d learned about from studying BDSM. Subspace. Marin may not be a dyed-in-the-wool submissive, but when she let go of control, she really let go—willing and pliant, like she would let him take her anywhere. She’d tackled last night like she tackled everything else in her life—all in, no half-assed measures. If she was going to do something, she was going to be the best at it. It was damn erotic.
He adjusted his position in the booth, trying to will himself not to get hard at the table thinking about it. Even though he’d just had her last night, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He needed more. Wanted to glut himself on her. They only had thirty days and he felt like they were burning daylight.
But when he’d asked her last night if she wanted to get together for lunch today, she’d said she had plans. He wasn’t sure if that was true or if she’d just needed some time and space, so he hadn’t pushed. But now he was kicking himself for not setting up another time to meet. Usually he spent Saturdays catching up on work, running errands, or volunteering therapy hours at the kink club in New Orleans—a packed schedule his drug of choice. But he hadn’t had the energy or desire to do any of it. All he’d wanted to do was track Marin down and change her mind about today.
God, he hated this shit.
He didn’t have sex brain. He had Marin brain. He shoved another fry in his mouth. What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn’t do this. He didn’t spend time worrying about a woman. He needed to get his head together, focus on this report, and get something productive done for the day instead of staring into space and fantasizing like some horny kid.
He tried again to read through Bret’s notes as he finished up his lunch, but the sound of laughter broke through his barely there concentration. He glanced toward the door, trying to locate the source and stilled, a fry halfway to his mouth, as he watched Marin step inside the restaurant. She had a parted-lip smile on her face, like she’d been the one who’d just laughed, and she was directing that grin toward the blond man she was with. A familiar man. Lane.
Lane pointed toward the line of people waiting to order at the counter and then slid his hand onto Marin’s lower back to guide her that way.
Something ugly and sharp rushed up in Donovan, the taste of it bitter on his tongue. He dropped his fry onto his plate, his appetite gone. What. The. Fuck.
Lane was a friend and a colleague. A good dude. But he was also something else, something Donovan had found out by accident one night in the city. And the way his gaze slid over Marin’s backside when she stepped in front of him in line was more than co-worker interest. Donovan’s fist curled beneath the table. He and Marin had agreed to no one else in their bed during this arrangement, but she hadn’t specified not going out with anyone. He thought it’d been implied, but maybe not. Maybe he’d read everything wrong.
Donovan watched as Marin stepped up for her turn. Lane leaned around her, one hand braced on the counter and pointed to the menu board, telling the cashier something. Ordering for Marin? Marin put her hand on his arm and seemed to thank him for whatever it was he’d done. Possessiveness flashed through Donovan—like a whip snapping loud and sharp in his ears.
He watched as they waited for their food, chatting animatedly. He should probably leave. He was done with his food and not having any luck with this report. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up. When they grabbed their trays and turned his way, Lane was the first to notice Donovan sitting there. Lane broke into an easy smile and leaned over to Marin to tell her something.
Marin looked up, those big hazel eyes widening when she saw Donovan. He schooled his expression into impassivity. Lane put his hand to Marin’s back again and guided her toward Donovan’s table.
“Hey, Dr. West. Looks like we weren’t the only ones with this idea today,” Lane said amicably.
“Seems so.” Donovan peered over at Marin. “What are you two up to today?”
Before Marin could answer, Lane jumped in. “I figured I’d show Marin some of the local haunts, introduce her to the best shrimp po-boy, and help her get the lay of the land.”
Or the lay of something. Donovan tamped down the thought before it could slip out.
“I also thought it’d be a good chance for me to get to know more about Lane’s role,” Marin said. “I’m admittedly ignorant about the ins and outs of it.”
Despite Donovan’s annoyance, he couldn’t let that one go.
“The ins and outs?” He lifted his brows and Lane coughed over his laugh.
Marin groaned. “Ugh, you know what I mean. God, the double entendre traps are everywhere in this freaking job.”
Donovan smirked. “You get used to it. You two want to join me?”
Lane glanced down at Donovan’s mostly empty plate. “Nah, looks like you’re wrapping up. We won’t bother you with shoptalk on the weekend.”
Marin shifted on her feet. “Maybe some other time.”
Right. Of course. Some other time when she wasn’t on a date with another fucking guy.
He was about to stand up and just get the hell out of there. But then Marin cleared her throat, forcing him to look her way again. Marin held his gaze for a moment, those eyes conveying so much, and something settled inside him.
Okay. This wasn’t what he was labeling it as. Lane was definitely interested in Marin—that much was pretty transparent. But Marin . . . well, he was reading something entirely different off of her. And that something had his predatory instinct unfurling.
Donovan cocked his head toward the main part of the dining room. “Why don’t you grab a table before they all fill up, Lane? I’m going to steal Dr. Rush for a minute. I’ve been working on one of our cases today and need to ask her something.”
He tapped his report as proof.
Lane smiled and reached out to take Marin’s tray. “Sure. I’ll go get us set up.”
“Thanks.” Marin handed over her food.
“See ya, doc,” Lane said with a quick nod.
When Lane sauntered off, Marin crossed her arms and gave him a look full of saucy challenge. “Yes, Dr. West? What pressing case may I assist you with?”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “You do realize he thinks this is a date, right? Or at the very least, a prelude to a
date.”
She made a derisive snort. “Oh, please, he does not. We’re here for exactly what I said. Plus, I’ve heard interoffice relationships are frowned upon at The Grove. He wouldn’t ask me to a local place where we could run into anyone.”
“Lane is a contractor with us, not a full-time employee. And I promise you he doesn’t give a shit about that rule. In fact, I bet you that before you finish lunch, he asks you to go somewhere tonight.” He grabbed his papers and set them in front of her, making it look like they were discussing work.
She braced her hands on the edge of the table, pretending to read the pages and giving him a lovely view down the collar of her shirt. She didn’t look up at him when she spoke. “You’re on, West. What are we betting?”
Donovan grinned and leaned back in his chair. “If he doesn’t ask you out, I will take your next on-call night for you.”
“And if he does?”
“If he does, then you’re going to say yes.”
She straightened. “What?”
“You’ll say yes, and then you’ll text me the time and place of where you’re going.”
Deep furrows appeared in her brow. “Why?”
“Ah, that is the price of the bet. You don’t get to know. You just have to promise you’ll say yes, send me the details, and then go on the date.”
She frowned. “He’s not going to ask me.”
He shrugged and gathered the stack of documents in his hands. “Then I guess you have nothing to worry about.”
Marin looked like she was going to say more, but Donovan slid out of the booth. He put his back to where Lane had gone and gave Marin a slow, up and down look, making sure he lingered on all the good parts.
She smoothed her lipstick, and her nipples instantly became visible points beneath her shirt. He wanted to bend down and take them between his teeth, mark her skin. He wanted to see that sated look on her face again. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. From the outside observer, it looked friendly, professional. But no one else could feel how she shuddered beneath his grip.