"Don't make this more than it is?" I echoed. "Which part? The part where you butt your way into every relationship I've had? Every job? Every situation I've been in—none of which you were ever invited to be a part of. That part? Or the part where you spy on me, like a common peeping Tom? Or did you mean the relationship that we have right now, the relationship where I actually wanted something with you, wanted something real with you? Where I asked you for it and I begged you for it, and you pushed me away? Is that what I'm not supposed to make too much of?"
I was trembling with anger and hurt.
Donovan rounded the table to approach me, reaching his arms out toward me in the way I’d wondered if he wanted to earlier. "Sabrina," he said again, softer.
"Don't!" I said, backing away. “I don't want this."
He lowered his arms, but he didn't move away from me. "You don't want what? You don't want this?" He pointed to the file. "Or you don't want me?"
I shook my head, unable to answer.
"Because they’re one and the same, Sabrina. This file is who I am. You don't get one without the other.” His tone was sharp.
It cut at me where I was already bruised.
"You never gave me a choice.” The sum of everything I’d learned. My eyes were wet. I blinked to keep tears from falling.
"I'm giving you a choice now." He took another step toward me. "I fucked up when I pushed you away. But I'm here now. And you have to decide."
I shook my head again. He was so close I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. And I had wanted to touch him for so long. The yearning and desire from the night before were still inside me, still layered just underneath my skin. Pressing at my edges, begging for his skin on mine.
But the wall that I had hoped would be gone after today was still there too, perhaps less thick than before, but a barrier just the same.
"I think this is enough for one day," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "I'm ready to go home."
Whatever decision was going to be made, it was going to have to wait for another day.
Nine
I let Donovan give me a ride home. His driver was already at the curb when we got outside the building, and it seemed petty to refuse and wait for a cab. Especially considering how cold it was outside.
We were quiet as we drove through town. I couldn't even look at him. Instead, I stared out the window, my thoughts lost in the overwhelming scraps of discovery from the day. There were too many new pieces of information; too many things that startled me in beautiful and amazing ways. Pieces of my past I now had to look at through an entirely different lens, stories that took on entirely different meanings. Some of them moved me in ways I never thought I could be moved. As if I’d been a boulder stuck in mud that finally had enough rain washed upon it to sweep it down the mountain.
But some of it was too raw, or I was too raw. Donovan's symbols of affection felt like lemon juice against paper cuts. He'd been well-meaning, maybe. But I never asked for that. I'd never asked for him. I'd never asked for his invasion.
The worst part was knowing how many times I would have wanted that invasion. How much of my life had been lonely? How many years had I longed for anyone, any man to love me? No, to get me. To understand. It wasn't fucking fair of him to love me in secret.
Dylan’s description of the way Donovan had loved Amanda echoed in my mind. Too much. Loved her too much.
And now when we were finally together, Donovan pushed me away over and over in every way he knew how, all the while watching me, invading my most sacred moments…
Could I forgive him for that?
I didn't know if I felt betrayed or hurt or violated or desired, or all of those things combined. But I was wound up; my insides a whirlwind, a tornado.
Too much.
And next to me, Donovan sat still and quiet like he was in the eye of the storm. Like it didn't matter that I wasn't talking to him. Like it didn't matter that I had just put him on trial for the last several hours. Like it didn't matter that the jury was now out deliberating, and that the verdict didn't look good.
I was jealous of his ability to remain stoic. Of his ability to have no emotion.
Except it was a lie, and I knew it now. I had seen a whole file that proved how much emotion he had where I was concerned.
And yet sitting together in the backseat of his car, I felt further from him than I had in days.
I didn't know how to fix it.
I didn’t know if I should even try.
When his driver pulled over to the curb in front of my building, I didn't wait for him to get out and open my door for me. I bolted. As if I could run from these volatile emotions within me. If I could just get far enough away from him, from Donovan, from the way he invaded and possessed and obsessed and cared…
Halfway to the front door of the building I came to a halt.
What was I doing? I was mostly angry because Donovan had kept himself away from me for so long, and now I was pushing him away further? How did that help things?
I didn’t care anymore about what he’d done. As long as he didn’t drive away. As long as he kept loving me too much. Maybe too much was just enough for me.
"Sabrina?" Donovan called from behind me.
I spun around and found his car still at the curb. He had slid across the seat. The back door was open; he was half out of the vehicle. "What's wrong?" he asked, his expression etched with concern.
"I don't care," I said testing the words out. Finding them true.
"What?" The note of hopefulness was unmistakable even in that one word.
"I don't care," I repeated, stronger.
He shut the door the car, and in two strides he was at my side.
"Sabrina?" He said only my name, but I heard what he was really asking. I heard how eager he was for me to give him the words that I was feeding him.
"I don't care. I really don't. About any of it. I know I should. I should be mad. And I am, though not for the right reasons. I'm only mad because it took you so long to invite me in."
I had more to say, more to explain. But he cut me off, pulling me into him, his mouth crashing against mine. His lips were hot, his kiss desperate. Or maybe it was my kiss that was desperate. My hands were already all over him, wandering up inside his coat, stroking along planes of his chest, my hips grinding against his.
Too soon he pulled away. "I'm coming inside with you.” Confident. Sure. As if it was his decision.
"I know."
There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted him to be.
Donovan nodded to his driver, then laced his hand in mine and tugged me toward the building. We breezed past the doorman and caught an elevator that we shared with a father and his teenage daughter, the latter as distracted with her phone as I was with the heavy curtain of sexual tension between Donovan and me. I couldn't even look at him. I was certain that if I did, I would end up ripping off all my clothes despite the other people in there with us. Even the slight touch of his thumb rubbing up and down the length of my finger was almost too much, enough to make me wet and fully aroused. Ready to explode.
When we arrived at my floor, I stepped out, appearing calm and collected, despite the torrent of urgency inside me, with Donovan right behind me. But as soon as the elevator doors shut, I was rushing down the hall, swollen with need, my hand still laced in his.
At my apartment, he dropped my hand so he could move my hair from my neck. With his body pressed up behind me, his erection pushing into my ass, he kissed along my skin, nipping at the spot where my shoulder curved upward while I dug in my purse for my key. A door opened down the hall, and he stepped slightly away from me. He grinned politely at the elderly lady as she passed by us in the hallway, but under his breath he whispered to me in a low rumbling voice, "If you don't stop fumbling with that lock and get the door open, I'm going to fuck you in this hallway, and I don't give two shits about who watches."
I almost melted into the floor right there.
And h
allelujah, the door finally opened.
I burst through the entry, not bothering to turn on the lights, dropping my keys and my purse and my coat as quickly as I got into the room. Stripped of my accessories, I spun around into Donovan who shut the door behind him with his foot. He tossed his coat on the floor.
And then we were there, in each other's arms, ravishing each other.
I moaned against his lips. His tongue was driven and aggressive, plunging inside my mouth, scraping against my teeth. I grabbed the edges of my sweater and pulled up, breaking from him only long enough to pull it over my head and toss it aside.
He took the moment our mouths were apart to push his hand under the waistband of my leggings, inside my panties to stroke along the length of my slit. When I met his eyes again, they gleamed with satisfaction, and I knew it was because of how wet I was. How drenched.
"Please," I begged, pushing into him. I got my hands under his pullover, plucking his shirt from his pants, desperate to feel his skin. "Please."
I was too frantic.
Donovan liked control.
With his free hand, he grabbed my wrists, and in one quick motion whirled me around so that I was pressed against the wall. He held my arms stretched above my head, and I let out a groan of frustration. I needed to touch him. I needed to feel him.
"Donovan, I need—"
"I know what you need." Proving his words were true, his hand, which was still inside my pants, rubbed ruthlessly against my clit. My knees buckled at the intensity.
Jesus, I was going to come quickly at this rate.
"I've thought of so many ways I want to fuck you." He whispered in my ear. "So many ways I want to make you come. Every way I can imagine. That’s how many ways I’m going to make you come. Every way I can imagine.”
He maneuvered his hands so that his thumb was still pressing against my nub and his fingers could reach down lower, inside my hole. Two long fingers stroked inside me, massaging exactly the right spot. He didn't warm me up. He didn't need to. He didn't take his time. He went right for the kill, intent on making me come hard and fast.
And I did. Fast and hard, so hard I couldn't stand.
He let go of my hands so he could anchor his arm around my waist to hold me up while sonic waves of pleasure rippled through my body.
I hadn’t even recovered when he turned me around again, turned us both around, so that he could walk me backward, his arm still around my waist, the other now snug in my hair. His mouth again claimed mine. Devoured mine.
And I was dizzy, dizzy, dizzy, and wanting more.
When I hit the back of the couch, Donovan lifted me up and set me on top. He broke away from me and pulled off my boots. Then I lifted my hips so he could pull off my leggings and panties. As soon as I was bare, I reached for the fly of his slacks, assuming the command before he gave it.
"Take out my cock,” he demanded, his voice warm like scotch.
I was already halfway there, tugging first his pants down, then his boxer briefs, just far enough to get to the prize. Out he fell, heavy and thick, his angry pink tip dripping with pre-cum.
I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him toward me, pulling his cock toward the ache between my thighs.
He took his dick in his hand and dragged it down the length of my pussy, and for one terrible torturous second I feared he was going to torment me, tease me, make me beg before he filled me. But then his crown was notched at my hole, and, with his hands gripping my hips, he rammed inside me. Then again. And again. Over and over, pounding into me with a frenzy that matched the agitation within me.
"Fuck. There. Right there. Oh, shit."
I was an unneeded director. Even if he didn't know how to touch me, how to make me feel good, he wouldn't listen to me telling him what to do if he didn't want to. My commentary might even have provoked him to change tactics, because a moment later he was pushing my knees back so that my feet rested on the back of the couch. And now when he drove into me it was so far, so deep, it was as though he reached the very center of me.
He did reach the very center of me, I realized. Not just with sex, not just with his cock, but with everything he did. He was the only man I knew, the only man I'd ever met who could reach so far into me that he could see my darkest secrets and understand my most intimate self. Even before he'd manipulated my life and put cameras on me, even before he stalked me, even before he violated every bit of my privacy, he'd known me. He'd seen me. He’d noticed me.
Now he noticed me with his fingers tangled in my hair. He pulled my head back, exposing my throat, then with his free hand, he plucked down the cup of my bra and twisted my erect nipple between his thumb and finger until I squealed at the pain. Immediately he brought his mouth down to suck on it and soothe it, alternating licking with biting, sending jolts of shock and pleasure straight into my pussy, which throbbed and screamed, at the brink of coming again.
"No, I can't," I said, when he moved his hand down to brush against my clit. It wouldn't take much before I was erupting.
"You can," he insisted.
"No. No. I can't. It's too much.” Too much.
"Keep saying no. That only makes me more determined." I could feel him grinning, even as he went back to nursing on my tit.
I clamped my jaw shut, intent on keeping silent, but my protests seeped out in high-pitched one syllable no-no-no’s.
Donovan angled his hips and rubbed his thumb and pulled at my nipple with his teeth in just the right, right way—that right way that only he knew. And then I was coming again, exploding. Trembling. Convulsing.
"Fuck, baby, that's it," Donovan urged. "Come all over my cock. Just like that." He shoved against me as I tried to push him out, his pace slowing as my pussy vice-gripped around him. He rode out my climax, a satisfied smile on his lips.
When he pulled out, his eyes moved down to stare at his cock, dripping with my cum.
"You look so pretty on my dick," he said. He stroked his finger along the length of himself and rubbed my wetness along my lips. Hovering just above my mouth he whispered, "I bet you taste so pretty, too."
He kissed me, licking my cum into my mouth. I could taste myself. Sabrina-flavored lip gloss.
"Don't you think you taste pretty?" But he didn't let me answer, instead kissing the breath right out of me.
He didn't let it go on long, though. Soon he cut off sharply and pulled me down to the ground. When I was steady on my own, he let go of me and wrapped his fingers in the hem of his pullover. “Go to your bedroom. Take off your bra and your socks. Bend over the bed, your ass up, and wait for me." He didn't wait for me to leave before pulling both layers of shirts over his head.
I stalled, my eyes drinking in the sight of his naked chest. It had been so long since I'd seen it. So long since I’d touched it freely. I felt like an inmate who’d been newly paroled, drunk on the absence of bars between me and my man.
But that man didn't appreciate my delay.
"Go." He smacked my ass, and I dashed toward my bedroom.
Once there, I stripped the rest of my clothes off and situated myself on the bed like he’d asked—ordered, more like—tilting my head so I could peer in the direction of my door under my arm. I wanted to watch him walk in. Wanted to watch him see me. Wanted to watch as much as he’d let me see.
Was this how he’d felt all these years?
Maybe I understood that feeling more than I thought I did.
But even more than liking to watch Donovan—I liked it when he watched me.
He made me wait, arriving a long five minutes later, naked now himself. He leisurely stroked his cock as he walked in, and I felt my jaw drop. He was magnificent. So magnificent to look at. Even in the dark, with only the light of the city streaming through the window. I'd already had two massive orgasms, and at the sight of him, all power and man, I was aching for him to be inside me again.
This time, he did taunt me. Instead of plunging inside me, he stared at me,
his eyes glazed and filled with lust.
"Sabrina, you can’t imagine the things I think about, seeing you like this." He came up behind me, and swiped his free hand across my wet pussy, dragging my cum up higher, to the rim of my asshole. "So, so pretty.” He pressed his thumb just inside.
I bucked forward, surprised by the invasion.
But he persisted. "You’ll let me in here, if that's where I want to be."
And I would. After every other invasion, it seemed almost inevitable. I did trust him. I had a safe word.
Still, I wasn't sure I was ready for that now. Not when what we had was still so fragile and, not new, exactly, but raw.
My heart sped up as he pushed in even farther. "Don't worry, Sabrina. Not tonight. But when I say."
Then his cock was at my entrance, sinking into me, slow this time, so I could feel the length of him as he fell in. His thumb remained where he'd put it inside my other hole, and with both parts of him filling me, I felt so full and tight, like I was inflating, like everywhere was being pressed against at once.
I let out a moan, long and low as he rode in and out, massaging all my nerve endings.
I couldn't think in words anymore. Couldn't think in details. All I was aware of was this feeling of abundance, a feeling that existed not just in my lower regions, but everywhere inside me. As though the tiny speck of contentment that existed in me at all times had suddenly ballooned, reaching out along every vein, along every bone to the ends of my appendages, from the top of my head to the ends of my toes. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, and the final orgasm that Donovan teased from me stretched and lingered like a new morning on a spring day, tightening and pulling, screaming from my being.
When everything was drained from me, I collapsed, listless, on the bed. Donovan secured his grip on my hips and pummeled into me, racing toward his own climax, eager to join me. Soon, his pace lagged and his thrusts deepened until finally he stalled. With a ragged grunt, he spilled his release inside me and fell on the bed at my side.
I opened my eyes, barely conscious, fighting against exhaustion. We had needed each other like this. Needed to let our bodies speak to each other in the dirty, filthy ways we knew best.
Dirty Filthy Rich Love Page 9