But he didn’t give her a chance to fully form those nerves. He plunged into her fast and hard. She cried out, expecting it to hurt like the first time, but of course it didn’t. Oh, fuck it didn’t. She was so primed and slick, and her body took him in like it’d been waiting for it for a decade. And the sensation. God. Had it felt like this the first time? It felt like everything in that moment. Full and hot and decadent. Her fingers gripped the clothes rod hard as the force of the thrust rocked her onto her toes.
“That’s right.” Donovan stroked over her clit, playing her like she was a instrument only he knew the music to as he pumped into her again, sinking to the hilt. “You fucking take it. I know that’s what you wanted. Nothing sweet for you, Rush. You want real.”
She closed her eyes, her vision blurring from the feel of it all and from that sound in his voice, that catch that said he was losing his mind, too. He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t the stoic therapist. He was right there with her, unsure how they got here but clearly damn happy that they had.
He gripped her hip with his other hand, hard enough to leave marks, and he fucked her. Not nicely, not neatly, not quietly. Their bodies slapped together, damp skin against damp skin, and he made these noises. God. They were the sexiest grunts she’d ever heard. Like he’d turned into a werewolf behind her, huffing and snarling.
And the feel of him inside her was almost enough to send her right over the top. This wasn’t her first time, but it felt like it in a lot of ways. She’d used her fingers, she’d used toys, and she had the memory of him. But none of that had been like this. Not this naked, raw sense of being joined with another person. His flesh, a part of him, was inside of her. The man who’d patiently walked her through the computer system at work was currently sheathing his cock in her . . . cunt. The filthy word filled in the blank easily, her mind going to this lovely unfiltered place where no words were off limits. This was fucking. She was fucking. They were fucking.
Was she conjugating verbs now? Shit.
Donovan angled deep, grinding against a particular spot and eliciting an altogether new sensation. Oh. Oh. A loud moan rattled through her and words tumbled out of her mouth.
It sounded like nonsense to her ears, but Donovan groaned in appreciation. “Fuck yes, I want your cunt. It’s all mine tonight. You have no idea what it does to me to hear you talk like that.”
Had she said the filthy stuff out loud? She figured she must’ve because Donovan redoubled his efforts on her clit and thrust high and hard in her. Her ears started to buzz and her breath wheezed out of her like her lungs had lost half their capacity.
“You’re so tight and hot around me. You’re clenching so hard.” He rolled her clit between his fingertips. “Fucking take what you want. Come around my cock.”
She didn’t have any choice at this point whether he commanded it or not. She was glazed with sweat, her thighs slick with arousal, and her body screaming for release. His cock filling her and his fingers pinching her clit were too much. Everything inside her seemed to explode at once. Her arms jerked above her, rattling the hangers, and she pushed up on her toes, trying both to grab the release and run from it. It felt scary big, almost like she wouldn’t be able to take it standing up.
Then it crashed over her in thick, drowning waves. She lost her breath, and her body arched as the force of it rocketed through her. More dirty words tumbled out of her. Prayers. They were dirty prayers. For Donovan to please, please, please. To yes, God, yes. To help her. That she was falling.
But he held her up and never broke stride as he rode her orgasm with her, his own breaths harsh and strained behind her. Then when she was cresting, flying in the pleasure, he started telling her how beautiful she was, how sexy, how perfect. That’s when he fell in with her. He sped up and buried deep, swelling inside her with steel heat, and his noises changed. Donovan falling apart. Then he was coming long and hot inside her, his sounds like balm to her zapped senses.
She closed her eyes, letting her head sag against the wall, and immersed herself in the sensation of him coming, of losing himself to her. He’d used a condom, but in her mind’s eye she let herself imagine his release mingling with hers, the evidence of their shared arousal painting her flesh as he slowly eased out of her.
When he’d fully slid out, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his face to her shoulder. “Christ. That was . . . I . . . Damn . . .”
He was panting against her and obviously as blitzed as she was. That made her smile. Mr. Orgasm Whisperer had gone dumb. Not that she could say much more than, “I concur.”
He chuckled against her, his breath cool on her heated skin. “Two in two doctors agree.”
She smiled at that. “Empirically verified that it was great, then.”
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder then untied her from the clothes rod. He rubbed the tingles from her arms and turned her around. When she faced him, she was hit with the impact of him all over again. He’d pulled off the tie and his shirt was hanging open, chest glistening with sweat and slacks unbuttoned. But his eyes, oh, the eyes. He was looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Like she was something to him.
She could get addicted to that look. To him.
No.
She couldn’t. Not if she had any good sense.
But before she could pull her gaze away, get herself back together, he kissed her.
And she forgot she was supposed to be careful.
28
“I can’t believe I’m up this late on a school night.”
Donovan smirked. “I told you I was a bad influence.”
“You totally are.” Marin was sitting on his kitchen island cross-legged, wearing only his button-down, and eating watermelon in the moonlight. She licked the side of her hand as a particularly juicy piece got the best of her. In some ways, she looked childlike with her messy hair and his oversized shirt. In every other way, she was the sexiest damn thing Donovan had ever seen.
Almost a week of not having her in his bed had been way too long. When she’d left the morning after their role-play in the club, he’d wanted to call her right back inside, had wanted to spend a slow, lazy Sunday with her. But that knee-jerk reaction had scared the hell out of him. That need to simply hang out with her. He didn’t need. Not like that. So he’d let her go and then had volunteered for on-call duty for most of the week. But it hadn’t done any good. The need had only gotten bigger, more insistent, an addiction knocking at his door, calling to him, until every thought had been about her and what had happened Saturday night.
Their interlude in the closet hadn’t been planned. Usually he was one to have something in mind before starting, and he had come into the house that night with a plan. Plans were good. Predictable. But then it’d gotten all shot to hell when he’d grabbed her and she’d fought back. He’d never expected her to go there and definitely not to trust him so wholeheartedly.
And he could tell she hadn’t been playing along for his benefit. She’d wanted that edge of danger for herself and believed he’d keep her safe. That trust had been a potent aphrodisiac. Then when he’d touched her, he’d nearly lost all composure. She’d been more than turned on. Everything was so slick and hot. Like she was dying for him. And fuck if she hadn’t been wearing his boots. He rarely wore the things anymore. He’d left Texas behind in a lot of ways. But he’d never be able to look at them the same way again. Not after seeing Marin wearing them while bare naked and tied to his closet rail. Those boots may get bronzed and put on his mantel.
Or he’d save them for her to wear again.
Because despite how bad of an idea this was, he’d known there would be an again. He’d known it the minute they’d walked into work on Monday morning. His chest had swelled with this foreign sense of joy at just seeing her there. Then, she’d given him this look, this look that said she was happy to see him, that she’d been waiting to see him, and that now her day was better because of it. That look thrilled him. And terrified
him. Because it was one that made him want to be worthy of it, to be different than he was, to be able to give her more than a few weeks of X-rated role-plays. To be that guy who’d keep that smile on her face. But he knew better than to believe he was capable of that. He didn’t know how to keep a smile on his own face much less someone else’s.
He’d realized then that the thirty-day limit didn’t protect him. It protected her. He wasn’t going to be able to quit Marin Rush. When their time was up, he had to trust she’d quit him. Because otherwise, he’d just keep extending it, sucking up all that light from her until he dragged her down when he worked obsessively or hit a rough spot or the darkness washed over him again. She deserved more that that. She’d already been through enough.
But until then, he was going to give her everything he had. He’d learned that joy in life had a very quick expiration date. So he intended to make the most of every second of this time with Marin. He would go in without armor this time. No games. No filters. Just the two of them riding this wave together until it inevitably crashed ashore.
“Feel better?” he asked after eating a few bites of the melon. “I know sex with me requires regular hydration. It’s like training for a marathon. Need to get you in fighting shape, Rush.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and then spit a watermelon seed at him with impressive velocity. It plinked off his shoulder and he laughed.
“But seriously, you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I know I was . . .”
“If you say too rough, I’m shooting another seed at you.”
He lifted a brow. “I was just going to say rushed . . . and intense.”
“Sure you were. It’s been five days of longing looks at the office. If you hadn’t pushed me up against the wall the minute I walked in tonight, I would’ve been disappointed.”
“I might’ve left bruises.” In fact, he knew he had. She’d walked in, and every ounce of his self-control had flown right out of him. As soon as the back door had clicked shut, he’d had her pinned to the wall and his hands and mouth all over her. Once he was inside her, they’d come so fast, it’d almost been embarrassing. Only afterward had he realized how rough he’d been.
She licked juice off her thumb. “You know what word I know?”
“Hmm?”
“Blue,” she said simply. “I know how to pronounce it and spell it and everything.”
He nodded, loving how direct she could be. Marin played sex games with him. She didn’t play any others though. “Point taken.”
She set her bowl aside. “I’m not trying to be flippant about it. I appreciate your concern. I just would rather not overthink it, you know? Therapist me would love to pick it apart. Why do I enjoy that? What does it mean? I went through that in college when I first found myself reacting so strongly to the stuff on your recordings. But can’t a person just like things a little left of center simply because it’s fun and exciting and feels good? I don’t have some big dark reason for why I like how rough you are or why it was thrilling to fight back that night in the closet or why I’m not scared. I just know that you do those things and it turns me on and I go with it.”
He leaned back against the counter, considering her. “Some people like roller coasters and some don’t.”
“Exactly. Or skydiving. Or horror movies.”
“Did you just compare sex with me to a horror movie?”
Her lips hitched at the corner. “You know what I mean.”
He stepped over to her and parked himself between her knees. “I have to say. You’re sounding pretty shameless there, Rush. I wonder how that happened.”
She hooked her legs behind his back and fed him a piece of watermelon. “Be careful, West. Gloating is not attractive.”
He sucked the fruit juice from her fingers, nipping at her fingertip. “Liar. You love that I’m a know-it-all. You recognize your kind.”
She snorted. “I am no such thing.”
He took her hand and kissed her wrist, tasting sticky sweet watermelon there. “And a messy eater.”
“Shut up. That was an exceptionally ripe melon.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He pressed his teeth into the tender flesh of her arm, feeling her pulse against his lips. “And a girl who’s owed more than a quick fuck against the wall.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of a good wall bang. You don’t owe me anything.”
He smiled against her skin and looked up. “Good? Just good? Well, clearly I need to up my game. You’re not allowed to leave with just good. My entire reputation is at stake now. Things must be proven. Egos stroked.” He ran his thumb down the center of her palm. “Other things stroked.”
She licked her lips, giving herself away despite her protests. “We’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Sleep is overrated.” He leaned forward and kissed her neck, marking a path along her throat.
She closed her eyes and made a breathy noise that went straight to his dick. “Maybe so.”
“Plus, I have something in the bedroom for you.”
She lifted her head at that, playfulness in her gaze. “Is that something the hard thing that’s pressing against my leg?”
“Not quite. Though that will be heavily involved as well.”
“Now you’ve got me curious.”
“Hmm. We’ve done spanking and light bondage and role-play so far, a little voyeurism, a little exhibitionism. I’ve been thinking all week about what else we can check off that list.”
Her pupils were already going dark with desire, but she managed to stay focused on him. “Oh?”
He straightened and unwound her legs from around his hips, his own nerves trying to make an appearance now at what he had planned. She kept her gaze on him, but once she’d scooted to the edge of the island, he lifted her up and set her on her feet. “Come with me.”
He grabbed her hand and guided her toward the hallway.
She cleared her throat as she followed. “If there’s some massive sex swing or something in there, West, I’m out.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Come on, give me some credit. I save that for at least the fourth date. Plus, you’d have to do stretches before that. I wouldn’t send you in cold.”
She smirked. “Okay, so defiling via wine bottle is date one. Tied-up sex in the closet is date two. Third date is wall sex. And fourth will require yoga warm-ups. Got it. You should write a dating guide.”
“Totally. I’ll do that.” When they reached his locked bedroom door, he lifted his arm to feel around for the key on the top of the doorframe and then unlocked the door without opening it.
She frowned as the lock turned over. “I meant to ask you last time. Why the dead bolt on your door?”
“I’m that kinky.”
She tilted her head and gave him a not-buying-his-bullshit look.
“You’re giving me the therapist look?”
Her eyebrow lifted.
He sighed. “Fine. Remember how I slept in my office at school?”
She nodded.
“I used to have nightmares that my parents’ killer came back for me. It kept me from sleeping at home and when I did, it was pretty ugly. So Dr. Paxton suggested I get a dead bolt for my bedroom to make me feel safer. It’s become kind of a touchstone wherever I live.” He ran a hand over the back of his head. “Stupid, I know.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Not stupid at all. I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol until last year because I was convinced if I did, I’d instantly transform into my mom and not be able to stop. We do what we need to do to keep moving forward.”
He released a breath. The complete acceptance and lack of judgment did more for him than he would’ve expected. He hated looking weak or scared, but she didn’t see it like that. She saw it as just another thing, a part of him. He leaned down and kissed her because he had to. There was nothing else he could do in that moment but that.
When he finally pulled back, he grabbed the handle of the door. What lay behind it made his hand trembl
e. But now more than ever, he wanted to give this to her, wanted to show her that despite their thirty-day agreement, she was not just another notch in his bedpost. Not a hookup. Not back then and not now. She’d always been something more. He swung it open. Here goes nothing. Inside, his bedroom was just as he’d left it. Filled with flickering candles, the bed covered with rose petals, and the scent of vanilla in the air.
Marin blinked as if she couldn’t quite make sense of what she saw. Then, she slowly turned to him, big question marks in her eyes. Questions and something else altogether—wonder. “What’s all this?”
Her voice was soft, like she was almost afraid to ask.
He cupped her chin and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “There’s one thing I wish I could’ve given you back then. One thing that’s always bothered me. I like you dirty. And I like you kinky. But everybody deserves a little romance for their first time. I didn’t give you that. I thought we could have a do-over.”
She simply stared at him, leaving him feeling far too vulnerable as he braced for her reaction. He could feel his defenses rising, a smart-aleck comment poised on his lips to downplay things.
But then the smile that broke over her face stole the words right from him. She pushed up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Everything that was knotted inside him unwound at that, and he dragged her against him. When she leaned back from the kiss, her eyes gleamed in the reflection of the candles. “You’ve had this planned the whole time?”
“I’m a planner, Rush. I can’t help that someone has no patience and assaulted me as soon as she walked in the door.”
She grinned wider. “Oh, is that how you see it?”
“I was a mere passenger on the train.”
“Uh-huh. So do you have a plan for what happens next?”
He reached for the buttons on her shirt, unfastened them, and then pushed the fabric off, revealing all that smooth, fair skin. “Just this. You and me. Naked. On that bed, doing what feels good.”