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 tremble. 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.”

She shivered at the trace of his fingertips over her shoulders, her nipples stiffening to tempting points. “I can work with that.”

“So can I, Rush.”

So can I.

*   *   *

Marin didn’t know what was showing on her face, but she hoped she didn’t look as flayed open as she felt. She hadn’t known what to expect when Donovan said he had something in the bedroom for her, but the last thing she’d expected was this. The man who didn’t believe in The One, who seemed to see romance as a silly illusion we fed ourselves, had set up the most romantic thing she could imagine. He wanted to give her the fantasy first time, the storybook one. And though she had zero regrets about how her first time had gone with him, she couldn’t deny that this nudged that secret part inside her that still got swept away by happily-ever-afters and sappy movies.

This guy was going to freaking kill her. She’d told him she wanted him to be himself, to not put on any masks, but maybe that had been a dangerous thing. She could deal with the Donovan who got her body revving, the one who’d fuck her in a closet or do naughty role-plays. But she wasn’t sure she could handle this version. This version could hurt. Slice her right open and get to the tender parts.

But before she could finish her silent panic attack, Donovan lifted her and brought her over to the bed. The sheets and flower petals were cool beneath her back as he laid her out. He straightened by the side of the bed, looming in the candlelight, shirtless with just his pair of slacks on, and this intent, almost pained, look on his face. He brushed the back of his hand over her breast, making her shiver and sending heat blooming there. “You’re beautiful, Marin. You look like art right now. I wish I had my camera out.”

She licked her lips. She’d noticed the photographs hanging on the walls of his place the first time she’d been here. Mostly black-and-white landscapes and city skylines. The same type of photos that hung in the therapy office. Things captured from a distance, never close up. Behind him was a stunning one of what looked to be San Francisco Bay.

Now she realized why they’d drawn her attention. All those photos were his. The world seen through Donovan’s eyes. “You do photography.”

“Not anymore, but you’re making me regret that now.”

Goose bumps appeared at his full-length perusal. A few seconds ago, if someone had suggested she take nude photos, she would’ve laughed them right out of the room. Incriminating pictures that showed every flaw possible? Yeah, no thanks. But the way Donovan was looking at her made her skin pull tight and everything warm. “How would you photograph me?”

His gaze slid to hers, something fiery and dangerous there. He trailed his fingertips over her breast and down her belly, circling her navel. “Just like this. All spread out and bared for me. Willing and wanting. Trusting.”

Her toes curled at the teasing touch, her back arching. “Yeah?”

He walked around the foot of the bed, leaving his hand on her but trailing it along with him. He pinched her left nipple with erotic precision, sending fire through her. “Then maybe a close-up shot of just these pretty pink nipples, straining for a touch or my tongue. Then a shot of them swollen and wet from my mouth.”

She closed her eyes and could almost feel his lips on her. But all he did was map the edges of her areola, making everything hypersensitive.

“The possibilities are endless.” His voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, one that was lulling her into this suspended state of being aware of every inch of her body. He walked his fingers over her collarbone. “I could stroke myself just thinking about every way I’d want to photograph you.” He let his touch glide down her arm. “Maybe tied up for me. Maybe touching yourself. Maybe covered with my come because I just couldn’t resist rubbing my cock while I took pictures.”

She bit her lip and a little moan escaped her at that image. It was explicit and dirty, pornographic. But she couldn’t drum up shame about that. Being tied up and having Donovan masturbate over her—goddamn. Yes. Please. Could she put in an order for that?

Donovan made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, his fingers finding her hair. “You’re getting all pink, baby, and I have a feeling that’s not a blush. You like the idea of that, huh? Of me seeing you through a lens or documenting just how shamelessly sexual you can be.”

She fought to find her voice. “And give you blackmail material? No way.”

He laughed and traced his hand down from her neck, over her sternum and down, down, down until he was cupping her sex. She jolted at the touch. She felt hot and heavy there already, but his palm seared her. He slid his fingers over her. “Yeah, you seem really concerned.”

Her knees bent and she whimpered at the need building there. How could he stoke her fire so easily after what had already happened tonight? Surely, she had a limit. Or maybe her body had some storehouse of missed orgasmic opportunities from all these years and was ready to make up for lost time.

He slid two fingers inside her. “What’s your safe word?”

Her teeth dragged over her bottom lip. “Blue.”

“Grab hold of the headboard and keep your legs open like this. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

Her eyes snapped open at that. “Donovan.”

He gave her one last maddening stroke. “Trust me for now. You have your word if you need it.”

Anxiety rippled through her, but something in his gaze smoothed the edges of it. She found herself lifting her arms and reaching for the headboard. Donovan gave her a nod, clearly pleased if the look on his face and the obvious erection in his pants were any indication. Then, he walked over to his closet, opened the doors, and pulled something from a high shelf. She knew what it had to be, but when he turned around and pulled a fancy camera from a bag, her belly dipped.

He kept his eyes on her and set the bag aside. “This camera is not connected to the Internet. Pictures are stored on a little card inside. You can have the card when we’re done or break it in two. But right now, I want to see you through my lens, naked on my bed, wearing only candlelight.”

Her heart had crawled up into her throat, but her body was starting a one-woman band of pounding beats. Everything felt electrified. Her fingers curled around the rails of the headboard.

He waited for a long moment, watching her, then finally asked. “What color is the sky, Marin?”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her head fall back against the pillow. “Green.”

That was when she heard the first click.

It was like a blast in her ears in the silent room. But a wash of heat went over her like the camera had hands, touching every naked part of her. Click. Click. Click. There was nowhere she could hide, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Knowing Donovan was there behind the lens, caressing her with his eyes, seeing her in a way no other had, making art out of her body had desire winding through her like thick smoke.

What was he photographing? The hard pebbles her nipples had become? Her goose-bumped skin? The way her thighs were parted for him? Or maybe the slick, wet place at her center? Just imagining Donovan photographing her there had her clit throbbing and her arousal creeping into the near unbearable state.

This shouldn’t be doing it for her. She didn’t even recognize this version of herself. But that soft click of the camera might as well have been a kiss against her skin from him.

She heard the metal sound of a zipper opening. She didn’t dare look yet, afraid she’d lose her nerve if she stared into the camera’s eye, but her ears were tuned to high. And the rustle of Donovan’s clothing had her pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. He was taking her picture, but he was getting naked. Maybe this was driving him just as out of his mind as it was driving her.

She swallowed hard. “Are you touching yourself?”

Another click. “I’ve got my cock in my hand, but don’t worry. I’m just teasing myself. I’m saving the real thing for you. You have no idea how fucking sexy you look. I could take a whole series of pictures of just the way your teeth keep digging into your lip or how your belly’s rising and falling or how slippery and flushed your cunt is getting. You look like you could come and I haven’t touched you.”

Her mouth was a desert, words a former ability.

“But this. This is my favorite.” Click. Click. “This I can’t get enough of.”

Marin couldn’t stop herself. She ventured a peek and something tight squeezed her chest. Donovan was on the side of the bed, naked as she’d ever seen him, cock in one hand and camera to his eye. And the lens was focused in one very specific place. Right on her face.

He snapped another picture. And then lowered the camera, turning the screen her way. On the bright little square was a woman she didn’t recognize. Hooded eyes, puffy lips, and ransacked hair, the candlelight hitting her just so, making her sexy in a way she’d never have assigned to herself. This was what wanting him looked like on her. This is what he saw.

“What do you think?” he asked softly.

“I think your camera is kind.”

His lips curved as he set the camera aside and bent to brush his lips over hers. “I think it doesn’t capture even one percent of what I see.”

She inhaled deeply, trying to center herself. She’d joked earlier about sex with him being like skydiving, but now that was proving true. She felt like she was falling, falling and there was no parachute cord to pull. He wasn’t playing fair. She reached out for him, feeling the ground rushing up toward her. “Donovan. I need you.”

“I’ve got you.” He climbed onto the bed and pressed a line a kisses along the curve of her neck. She writhed under the touch, and he put a hand on her hip to anchor her. “I need you right back.”

He took his time, using his mouth on every square inch of her, teasing her nipples and pressing hot wet kisses along her ribs. Then he was stroking between her thighs with maddening precision until she thought she might cry from all the pent-up . . . everything. Fear. Desire. Emotion. It had all weaved into a glowing, knotted ball of sparking energy in her gut. She called his name, not sure what she wanted him to do. But then he was rolling on the condom and he gave her the answer. He braced himself over her, settled in between her thighs, and pushed deep inside her in a long, slow glide.

Yes. That. That was what she needed.

And when she opened her eyes, finding him watching her, his deep blue gaze capturing her and holding her there, she felt all of those swirling things settle. He was skydiving with her. They were on this ride together. They’d either float safely to the bottom or crash alongside each other.

But at least she knew one thing: He was as lost to it as she was.

She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, and she took him deep inside her body, never breaking the eye contact.

They’d never made love face-to-face. She’d never seen him this stripped down. So naked. So human. And she couldn’t get enough.

She’d asked for the boy she used to know. But she’d gotten a man who was so much more than that. He was fire. Brash and bold and dangerous. But he was also rain. She could see it there in his eyes, like he could drown if he let some of the stuff inside him come to the surface. Like he was always saying good-bye. Deep, deep waters.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

But when they both fell over the edge of the cliff together a few minutes later, all she could do was fly with him and hope they landed in one piece.

Twenty-three more days.

It would be too much.

It would never be enough.