Suddenly, breathing was harder than it should have been. My chest moved up and down, air passed through my mouth, but I couldn’t get enough of it to my lungs.
And he hadn’t even touched me yet.
The sight of him alone—Donovan Kincaid, one of the most powerful men in the world, down on his knees in his black Ermenegildo Zegna suit—it was overwhelming and erotic, and by the time he put his hand at the back of my knee, I was already trembling.
He smiled up at me with his devil’s smile, trailing his fingers up the back of my thigh, higher and higher still, to the round curve of my ass. His constant gaze kept my eyes pinned to his, and I knew he could read every thought, every emotion that ran through me. He knew exactly what he did to me with this caress of my skin, with that pinch of my flesh.
Finally breaking eye contact, Donovan brought his other hand around me and squeezed both of my ass cheeks as he buried his nose into the crotch of my white lace panties. My knees buckled when he inhaled audibly, and now I had to reach for the counter behind me. Just to keep myself from collapsing.
“I’m going to believe you wore these for me,” he said before licking slowly up the center panel.
It wasn’t a question so I didn’t comment. Besides, I was too busy stifling a moan. If he’d made me answer—if I’d been able to speak—I’d have told him he was full of himself. It wouldn’t have been a lie, but it wasn’t all the truth. Of course I’d worn them for him. There was a chance I’d see him today, and I dressed thinking about that, thinking about all the dirty filthy things he might do to me if I let him.
I just hadn’t actually planned to let him.
Keep telling yourself that, Sabrina.
“Fuck, you’re already wet.” He said this so quietly I was almost convinced it was for himself, but the gleam in his eyes told me differently. It told me I wasn’t fooling anyone. I was as at least as turned on as he was whether I wanted to admit it out loud or not—and judging from the way he kept having to adjust himself, he was pretty goddamned turned on.
He sucked my clit into his mouth through my panties, and this time I couldn’t keep my moan inside. There’d been too much want, too much need, and he sucked eagerly, driving me quickly to a frenzy.
But the material was an unwanted barricade. Like a condom, dulling the sensation, and I wasn’t getting where I needed to be. Not all the way. I was still dangling. Always dangling.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, he dragged his mouth lower, and found my hole. With his thumb now on my clit, he used his tongue, to push the fabric of my panties inside me.
I jerked forward, caught off guard by how fucking good it felt, my hands landing on his shoulders.
Immediately, he sat back. “Hands behind you.”
The rules, right.
Did he want my hands behind me because it was part of the game? Or because he didn’t want me touching him? Or just because he said so?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he finished, that he made me come, and I was far enough along now that I didn’t care about what I conceded in giving him my obedience.
I put my hands on the counter.
His mouth was back on me in an instant. This time he nudged my panties aside with his nose and resumed his attack on my bare cunt in earnest. With one hand wrapped around the back of my thigh, his other hand used the bunched material of my panties to cause extra friction on my clit.
He pinned my eyes once more, and maybe that was the most erotic part of the whole thing—the way he looked at me. The way he always looked at me.
I was whimpering now, bucking into his face, so close to coming.
Suddenly the door handle behind him jiggled as though someone was trying to get in.
I tensed in absolute panic, but Donovan didn’t ease up at all.
A second later, the person knocked. “Anyone in there?”
I recognized the voice. It was Ted from creative. And Jesus, I was so close to coming.
“Melissa?” Ted called out to someone. “Do you have a key to the copy room? Does anyone know where a key is?”
I tried to push Donovan away, but his grip on me tightened. Without ceasing the massage of my clit, he took a break with his mouth long enough to say, “I’m not stopping until you come. So either relax and let it happen or be prepared to give them a show.”
I knew enough about Donovan to not question his sincerity on this.
Giving my eyes back to him, I forced myself to ignore the commotion outside the door and focused only on the feeling of his mouth. Of his lips. Of his tongue. Of his fingers, and the expert way they played me—like he knew how to make me sing; like he had me memorized.
I didn’t think I could relax enough, that I could come with Ted outside and the door locked and the lights off, but suddenly my orgasm shot through me like a freight train at a railroad crossing. Even though I knew it was coming, its speed still surprised me. I saw stars, my knees buckled, and a burst of pleasure ricocheted through my body. I didn’t recognize the wail coming from me, low and unfurling like a ribbon of sound. Immediately, Donovan jumped to his feet to swallow my cry with a kiss, his hand still rubbing me through my climax below, and all I kept thinking was yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
I was still shaking when he broke away a minute later. Thankfully, I still had my hands on the counter behind me or I might have slumped to the floor. Donovan bent down and straightened my panties, then went to the floor, and picked up my skirt. I stepped into it, moving my hands to his shoulders for support while he pulled it up and fastened the zipper.
He didn’t complain about the touch this time, and even gave me a half-smile as he wiped at the makeup under my eye. He leaned in and kissed me once more, hard, his tongue sweeping deep inside me. As deep as I wanted him to be. Even after he’d just made me come.
“I love the way your jealousy tastes,” he said.
I frowned, remembering all of a sudden how this whole interaction started. “I’m not sure that—”
The doorknob twisted. Donovan dropped his hands and moved away from me just as the door opened and Ted walked in.
“You guys were in here the whole time?” he asked, confused. “The door was locked. I had to find a key.”
“I didn’t realize you were trying to get in,” Donovan said without apology. “It’s all yours.”
He slipped out around Ted before he could say anything else. Before I could say anything else.
Maybe it was for the best. I didn’t know that Donovan wanted to hear what I had to say anyway.
Six
I spent the next day devoted to touring the town with my sister. I’d only lived in New York since September and hadn’t made much effort to see any sights beyond those tied to spots used in the marketing campaigns I’d put together. Before that, the only other trip I’d taken to The Big Apple had been spent in Weston’s bed. It was time that was remedied.
Together, we’d hit Macy’s and much of the fashion district over the weekend. Today we hit One World Trade Center, The Met, and Rockefeller Center. It was warm enough that Audrey managed to convince me to get on the ice skating rink. I fell several times and didn’t last long before calling it quits, but I laughed a lot more than I’d expected, despite the aches and bruises the adventure earned me.
Outside the office, it was easier to pretend that there weren’t other things weighing on my mind. That Donovan didn’t occupy my every waking thought. That every joke I made and every smile I gave wasn’t laced with him, as though he had been grafted onto my DNA and every part of me contained a fragment of him.
I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding it, anyway. If I didn’t, it wasn’t until the intermission of the Rockettes’ Christmas Spectacular that Audrey said anything about it.
“Is it a new thing? Or just all the old things?” she asked.
“Huh?” I’d been lost in my head, sure I must have missed the first part of what she’d said.
“You’ve been staring blankly
at the stage for the past several minutes. And there’s nothing happening up there at the moment. I’m guessing it’s Donovan that’s on your brain. Is it a new thing he did that’s bothering you? Or all the old stuff?” Before I could answer, she clarified. “The old stuff is enough, by the way. I’m just curious.”
I groaned and threw my head back on the seat. Which hurt more than I’d expected. So I groaned again. “Am I that obvious? Have I been a terrible drag all day?”
“No,” she laughed. “You’ve been awesome. Now spill.”
I grabbed a lock of hair and twisted it around my finger. “It’s the old stuff. But there’s new stuff too.” I hadn’t told her what had happened the day before, and I didn’t plan on telling her. Not all of it, at least. “I found out that Sun—the woman from Gaston’s—was in France with him.”
“Not with him, with him, though. Right? Working together probably.” She was so certain. It was enviable how certain she could be.
I studied her, wondering if she’d developed psychic powers while away at college that I was unaware of. “How do you know that?”
“I told you how. He came after you, Bri. He ran out of that restaurant for you. He looked at you like if you didn’t hear him out he was going to be lost for a long time.”
Oh, right. My sister wasn’t a psychic. She was a romantic.
I closed my eyes so that I didn’t roll them. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe what she said. I just couldn’t base truths in our relationship on how he looked at me.
I couldn’t base them on anything physical. Which was the current problem.
I opened my eyes. “Okay, yes. He said she was there for work,” I admitted. “And then I…” I hesitated, looking for a way to convey the situation without telling her the actual situation. When he’d knelt in front of me and brought me to a mind-blowing orgasm with his tongue. “I let him…kiss…me.” Yeah. That was a good way to frame it.
She tilted her head. “You let him kiss you? Why is that a problem?”
“It was a really serious kiss.” I watched her to see if she understood. “Serious enough that he might think things are better with us then they are.”
“Ah. I see.” Her face got inexplicably red. “One of those kinds of kisses.”
I didn’t know exactly what kind of kiss she was thinking of, or what kisses she’d experienced herself to start her fidgeting the way she was, but I had a feeling she got what I was talking about.
“Well, you’re just going to have to tell him the situation then,” she said. “Set him straight.” It was something she’d never do herself if she was in my shoes, but I would, and we both knew it.
“Set him straight,” I echoed as the lights dimmed for the second act of the show. “Yep. That’s what I have to do.”
I might have already known that’s what I needed to do. But doing so would require reaching out to Donovan.
Again.
Like last time, I waited until Audrey had gone off to the guestroom for the night. With a glass of scotch in hand and wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties, I curled up under the covers with my phone.
After the show at Radio City Music Hall, Audrey and I had gone out for drinks at a piano bar. It was late now. Past two-thirty. Before when I’d called Donovan, it had been morning his local time. It was too late to call tonight.
But I could text.
Can you call me soon? We need to talk. It was embarrassing how long it took me to come up with those nine words. I pushed SEND, dropped my cell in my lap and sat back against the headboard to take a sip of my drink. Hopefully that would get him to call. If not tomorrow, which was Thanksgiving, then the next day. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. The last time I’d texted him, he hadn’t responded at all.
Thinking about the possibility of him not responding this time made me need to take another sip.
And then my phone started ringing in my lap.
I answered it quickly before it woke Audrey.
“You missed me,” Donovan said, his voice as smooth as the Macallan 12 Year I was drinking.
My chest felt warm and fluttery. “What are you doing up?”
“What are you doing up?”
“Don’t you already know?” I teased.
“Touché.” There was a smile in his tone. “I’m nursing a scotch and talking to my girlfriend on the phone.”
I suddenly felt dizzy, like I’d fall off the bed. I wrapped the fingers of my free hand tightly into the comforter. “You can’t keep calling me your girlfriend.”
“Because you’re not? Or because you’d prefer a different term?”
“Because I—” I broke off. He always threw me like this. I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t know the answer. “Because I don’t think we should be talking about that right now.”
He let a full second go by. Then two.
“Fine,” he conceded. “What should we be talking about?”
I said a silent prayer of gratitude, thankful to have been given the reins. “Yesterday.” Then, because I did not want to start arguing about Sun Le Chen again, I clarified. “We need to talk about what happened in the copy room.” I took another sip of my drink. I needed it.
“Ah. The copy room.” His chair creaked like it was made of leather. A recliner? A desk chair? I didn’t know. “I assure you, Ted doesn’t know anything. He thinks he knows. He doesn’t.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Though, now I kind of was.
“What are you worried about, Sabrina?” He didn’t sound curious—he sounded annoyed. As though he already knew the answer to his question, but he had to go through the procedure of asking before he could challenge the response.
I didn’t like that feeling. The feeling that he was two steps ahead of me.
But there was no turning back now.
I took a deep breath. “I’m worried that because I didn’t stop you, I let you think that you can use sex to fix this. Fix us.”
“I see.” The reply was tight.
“And you can’t. You can’t use sex to fix this.” There. I’d said it.
I swirled the liquid in my glass, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
But he sat silent, and I had to nudge him. “Are you going to say something?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” It hadn’t sounded like he was challenging me, but it was so hard to figure out what a person truly meant from a two syllable word. “Can I have more than an okay?”
“I’m actually impressed you made it more than a day before you let this bother you.”
And I was impressed that I thought for a minute he wouldn’t be a dick about this.
“I am not predictable,” I grumbled. Though admittedly, I might have given him grief about sex at times in the past.
But that wasn’t this. This was different.
He chuckled. “I never implied that you were.”
“You’re implying that you knew I’d eventually complain about it,” I huffed.
“Are you complaining?”
The low rumble of his question made me shiver. Add to that the memory of his hands on my thighs, his eyes pinned on mine, his mouth buried in my pussy…
“No.” Except it never should have happened. “Yes. It won’t fix things.”
“But did you enjoy it?” Of course he wouldn’t let me get away without the exact truth.
I closed my eyes as if that would make it easier to give this to him. “You know I did,” I whispered.
“I just wasn’t sure you remembered.”
I bit back a groan of frustration. Donovan was not an easy person to interact with, but I wasn’t a cakewalk either. I had my own issues. I was too proud. Too serious. And I had a borderline unhealthy comfort level with the kind of sex I liked.
We were both works in progress. I needed to be better about remembering that.
I set my drink down and pulled my knees to my chest. “I do remember,” I said, softer now. “Which is why it took so long to
make myself do the right thing and call. I want you, Donovan. I always want you. But we have to sort things out before anything like that can happen again. It can’t be what we use to make this better.”
“Okay.” There was that damn two-syllable response again.
“I’m serious,” I said, solemnly.
“All right. Got it.” Without missing a beat he moved on to a new subject. “Where’s your sister?”
“In bed. In the other room.” I still wasn’t sure if we were on the same page or not.
“Good. Now.” There was a rustle like he was shifting the phone to his other ear. “What was your favorite part of riding my face?”
“Oh my God.” Against my will, blood rushed to my lower regions. “Did you hear me, Donovan? We can’t do this.”
“I heard you.” Unconcerned. As though he hadn’t just been talking about eating me out.
The calmer he was, the more worked up I got. “You’re not taking me seriously!”
“What did I do?” he asked innocently. “I just want to hear you tell me what you liked most about having your cunt pressed up against my face. Then I can tell you what I liked most. Would you rather I go first?”
“So basically you want to have phone sex.” I pressed my thighs together, wishing I didn’t want that as well.
I could hear the shrug in his voice. “I might pull out my cock later. Depends on how good you make the details.”
“Donovan!” I rubbed my hand across my forehead, trying to convince myself I wasn’t tempted. But I was tempted. And was it really that big of a deal? If we just talked about how good it felt to come with his fingers inside me pressing at just the right spot?
My resistance was waning.
But this relationship—whatever this relationship was turning out to be—was important to me. So I made another attempt at keeping my ground. “This can’t be anything real if sex is the only thing you want from me,” I told him pointedly.
“Think about it and tell me if I’m the only one who seems to want just sex from this relationship,” he said just as pointedly.
I wrinkled my face, about to protest. Then I did think about it. Thought about the fact that I’d been involved with him in a pretty much sex-only relationship for less than two months. Even when I’d known him back in college, every thought I’d had about him, every instinct that had drawn me toward him had been sexual.
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