Or maybe I just wanted to believe that, that that's how much he loved me, because it turned me on to believe that.
He was actually hurting me now. My shoulder ached from how he wrenched it behind my back to tether my wrists. I could feel him fastening them together with a rope of some kind. His bowtie maybe, but he’d left that on the couch.
I glanced behind me and saw a flash of gold at my skin. One of the ribbons from the Christmas tree. When he was walking around the room he’d been preparing. Just like Theodore had done with Liz.
Perfect. Donovan was so perfect.
He knew that one day, inevitably, I would have nightmares about what Theodore did to Liz. I would create images where, instead of Liz, it was me that Theo wrapped up with the belt of a robe and raped. Especially after tonight, after seeing Clarence and believing he was the man who’d wanted to hurt me long ago.
Donovan was giving me images to replace those before I'd even created them.
I'd been hesitant to say I was in love. I'd been falling for so long, but I wanted to be sure before I told him. After all the years and energy he'd invested in loving me, I had to make sure my emotions were significant enough to match his. And I had to really understand what he felt before I could even make a comparison.
Right then, right there, with my hands tied behind my back, my cheek pressed against the wall, and his hand clasped at my throat, I finally understood the depth of what he felt for me.
And so I surrendered.
Even as I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. Even as he tore my thong and I wiggled and writhed. Even as he used his knee to separate my legs, and I flailed against him, I surrendered.
Surrendered everything.
And when he shoved inside me with his hot angry cock, he pounded all the tension and torment of the evening from my body, leaving me limp and weary and his.
We came together, both of us grunting out our releases like they'd been days coming. Like we'd been just practicing before, and this was the performance. A performance meant only for two.
Donovan let go of me, leaning back against the table to catch his breath. Meanwhile, I sunk to the ground, my hands still tied behind my back. I kept my eyes closed, my cheek pressed against the cool wall and allowed myself to revel in the blissful feel of nothing.
Suddenly, Donovan was kneeling in front of me, turning me to face him. He reached behind me to untie my wrists and then ran his palm down my cheek. "Talk to me."
He was checking in. Good man. Last time we’d played this I'd ended up sobbing in his arms.
"This was definitely a whole lot better than chatter. Just what I needed.” It was a lot more complicated than that, but the point was, I was good. “How about you?"
His shoulders eased, his face relaxed, and words rushed out of his mouth like air out of a balloon that had just been untied. “I love you. I want to be the one to take care of you. I’m not going to share you anymore. Not even with Weston.”
God, I was such a dummy.
He hadn't been tense because of Cade. He'd been tense because of me. Because he’d walked in and seen me in the arms of a man who’d once been a potential threat.
And all I’d wanted was Donovan. Wanted Donovan to comfort me, wanted him to say he loved me. How could he not understand that? Hearing it now for the first time for real shook me to the core. It was the balm I'd sought all night. He was the refuge I'd sought all my life.
I flung my hands around his neck and tipped my chin up to kiss him. Then I pressed my forehead against his.
“Okay," I said because there were no words for this, for all the words inside me. Just… "Okay."
Fourteen
The next morning, I studied Donovan across the kitchen bar as I licked yogurt off my spoon.
"Is it weird to have me here?" It was the first night I'd spent at his house since we'd been officially together, and what I was finding weird was how weird it wasn't.
Donovan looked up from his tablet, where he was reading the Sunday morning paper. "It's nice to have you here."
"But does it interfere with your routine? Am I in the way? Am I distracting?" I wondered what he had done with his days off in the past. Besides sit around and check up on me all the time.
His attention returned to his iPad. "I've thought about it enough for it not to seem too jarring," he said dismissively.
I set my spoon on the counter in front of me and leaned forward. "You’ve thought about it?"
He put his iPad down. "Yes, Sabrina. You aren't the only one who's had fantasies."
I bit my lip as I grinned. He really did have the romance thing down.
"Granted," he swept his eyes over my body, currently clothed in his tuxedo shirt from the night before, "in my fantasies, you were usually naked."
I shrugged with one shoulder. "Real life, man."
He was already coming around the bar for me. I shrieked with my hands held out to stop him from whatever wicked torments I was sure that he meant to implement.
"You've already attacked me once this morning."
"I’ve heard no mention of your safe word." He rested his hands on the arms of the kitchen barstool, caging me in, and bent down to kiss my neck. He normally had a bit of scruff on his face, but he hadn't yet shaved so his jaw was extra bristly, tickling my sensitive skin.
"No, no," I howled, laughing. ”You can't! I promised to call Audrey. You have to stop!"
He lifted his head. "Okay." He kissed me, long enough and deep enough to get my lower belly fluttering, then he pulled away. "I need to work out anyway. Want to join me?"
I pretended to think about it for all of three seconds. "No thanks. I have that phone call to make and everything." Besides, hadn't we gotten enough of a workout last night?
A thought occurred to me. “You haven’t bugged my phone, have you?”
"I have not bugged your phone. I told you, you know everything." He swatted the side of my bare thigh.
“Just checking,” I teased. “But to be sure—there aren’t cameras in your house are there?”
His expression, annoyed as it was, was also hot and searing.
"Make yourself at home, Sabrina,” he said, refusing to address my last comment. “Join me in the shower later."
"I'll see if I can fit you into my schedule.”
He threw me a warning glare over his shoulder. That, and the magnificent view of his backside—his torso naked, his ass covered with sweats hanging low on his hips—sent delicious tingles down my body.
I sighed, my gaze still fixed on the kitchen doorway long after he'd left. I was sore and exhausted, and I couldn't remember the last time I’d been this happy.
I waited until I heard the treadmill start in the other room before going upstairs to get my cell phone. I’d brought a small overnight bag with me and had included my charger so my battery was full. Lazily, I stretched out on Donovan's bed and perused social media, something I rarely indulged in. Elizabeth had posted a few candid pictures from the wedding and I wondered if they were more crumbs for doubting family members or if they’d been real moments she’d wanted to capture.
Maybe Weston would never change. Maybe he was a wild playboy who could never settle in one bed. But seeing him with Elizabeth made me want to believe it was possible.
Or maybe it was being with Donovan that made me want to believe that love was possible for Weston. Because I wanted it to be possible for me.
Did I love Donovan?
That was a question better left for the experts.
I closed out of the social apps on my phone, found Audrey's name in the favorites list, and clicked to call.
"Tell me everything," she answered.
I laughed. "Hello to you too." To be fair, I hadn't talked to her since I’d parted with her the week before, and a lot had happened in the last seven days. Not that I was going to tell her every detail. But I planned to tell her the major points.
"I wouldn't have to rush to the meat of the subject if you maybe called me a
little more often," she berated.
"I know," I admitted guiltily. "It's been a busy week. But I do owe you a rundown." I stood up. This was going to require pacing.
I roamed the top floor of Donovan's apartment, giving Audrey the highlights of the last week. I didn't tell her that I had put him on trial, but I did tell her that we had gone through everything from the past, and that he had explained himself satisfactorily. That may have been somewhat simplifying the situation, but it was our relationship. Our business. Not anyone else's.
Then I told her we were making a go of it; that we were trying out something real.
"Has he said it yet? Has he told you he loves you?" Audrey's tone was as bright and eager as when she'd been ten years old asking me about Santa Claus.
"He has." I sounded especially young, too. Who was I? I wandered into the study. "Yesterday, he did. I didn't say it back. Maybe I should've said it back. Should I have said it back?"
"Did you want to say it back?"
"I wanted to say it back. I just wanted to make sure I meant it first."
"And you're not sure?"
I pressed my cheek against the cool window frame and switched the phone to my other ear. "I'm afraid that what I feel isn't worthy of what he feels for me.”
It was the first time I'd said it out loud, the first time I’d formed it into words and I had to pause for a second to make sure it was what I meant.
It was.
"What have I done for him? Spread my legs? Sucked him off? Let him get a little rough? I can't be the only woman willing…" I trailed off, not wanting to make the conversation uncomfortable for my sister by discussing specifics of the kink I liked.
"He's not in love with you because you're a slut.”
"I'm not a slut!"
I could practically hear her roll her eyes. "That's what I'm saying. You're not a slut, so that’s not why he loves you. And people don't love other people because of what they do for them, anyway. If they say they do, they’re wrong. That's not real love."
"Then why is he in love with me?"
"Oh, sister dear. You are wise and smart beyond your years, and yet you are such a fool."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. My sister's fountain of drama floweth over.
"The heart wants what the heart wants," she went on. "It is not ours to ask why. As for you and how you feel—there is no point in comparing your emotions with his actions. He did what he did because he wanted to do it, not just because he loved you. He didn't do anything that he wasn't completely comfortable doing whether you knew he loved you or not. He certainly wasn't waiting for you to give him something in return or he would've told you about his secret actions long ago. My guess is that he's out of his mind happy just having you wake up in his arms right now."
"Did you come up with that on your own or did you steal it from Hallmark?" If I didn’t mock her, there was a chance I’d tear up.
Besides, mocking her was my job as her sister.
But maybe she had a point. Donovan's comments from earlier replayed in my mind. He had fantasies about me being in his life. He’d said so himself. Maybe he really was just happy to have me here.
"I'm just giving you a hard time,” I said now. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I will keep that in mind as I go forth with my declarations of affection."
I walked over to the large wooden desk and plopped down in the brown leather chair in front of it. I meant to be present in the conversation with my sister, but at the same time I was thinking, This is Donovan's desk. This is Donovan's chair. Was this where he sat when he thought about me? When he watched me? When he called me and I imagined him nursing his drink?
Is this where I'd be sitting when I figured out my own feelings about him?
“It’s complicated,” Audrey said, as if reading my mind. “I get it. But I have every faith that you'll figure it out, and when the time is right, you’ll say the right words."
I wasn't quite so confident, but there was a power in sitting amongst Donovan's things. It made me more wistful, and my hope less tentative. "I'm sure you're right."
We talked for a few more minutes about school and plans for Christmas and then we hung up with the usual I-love-yous and keep-out-of-troubles. And when her voice was gone, for a few minutes I missed her more than I had before I’d called.
I sat in Donovan’s chair and swiveled back and forth, flipping my phone absentmindedly against the desk while I thought about what Audrey had said, and about Donovan, about where I wanted our relationship to go. After the phone slipped through my hands one too many times, I got bored of the activity and let it lie. My eyes caught on the manila folder sitting on the desk in front of me, not unlike the folder that had contained all of Donovan's connections to my past. This one was thin, and I turned it to read the label that had been printed on the notch. Sun Le Chen.
I sat forward, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Why did Donovan have a file with Sun's name on it?
I opened it up.
There was very little inside, just a stack of black-and-white photographs. All were candid shots of the gorgeous model, seemingly taken without her knowledge as she shopped in a street market. I couldn't say for sure if they’d been taken recently, but they didn't seem to be in the United States. The style of the streets and the architecture appeared to be European, French maybe. And if it was France, it could have been recent. It had snowed here the last month but not there.
So Donovan had photos taken of Sun while she’d been in France?
"I'm sweaty," he said, suddenly standing in the doorway. "And I'm ready to make you sweaty."
I twisted my chin in his direction. "Why are there pictures of Sun here?"
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned one muscular shoulder against the frame of the door. "Have you been going through my things?"
"Is that a problem?" There was a hint of laughter in my agony.
He worked his jaw, not giving an answer. "They're part of the France campaign," he said finally, thankfully choosing not to debate my snooping further. "They were delivered the day I got back. I've barely looked at them."
"They’re candid." I flipped through them again. "She’s unaware of the camera." I looked up at him, pleading for a more satisfactory answer.
He cocked his head with incredulity. "Sabrina, you can't be suggesting…"
"Can't I? Secret photos taken of a woman—"
He cut me off. "She knew about the camera. It's called acting. The whole shoot was taken in that style. It doesn't mean—"
“How am I supposed to know that?" I let that hang, our gazes locked. To his credit, his eyes were stormy and tormented. "Do you have feelings for her, Donovan? Is this folder like mine?" I couldn't help the tremble in my voice or the heat of the tears in my eyes.
He rushed to me, coming around the desk and turning the chair to face him. "No. No, Sabrina. You are the only one. You are the only woman alive that I have spent any time… The only one I've wanted to… watch and know. Everything has been you."
I'd never seen him struggle so much to get a thought across, and it made me want to climb into his arms and believe everything he told me.
But…
"You've slept with her." He'd told me that he had. He’d had his mouth on her pussy. He'd even described how he'd gone down on her.
And if he’d slept with her—like he’d slept with me—then couldn’t he feel things for her too?
He didn't move, didn't lean forward or draw away, just stood there holding his ground with his hands planted on the armrests of the leather chair. "And you slept with Weston."
Ouch.
It felt like a punch.
I slumped back into the chair, absorbing the shock of his words. I knew what he was getting at—that I should understand that sleeping with someone did not equate to feelings. But what I heard was: you hurt me, I hurt you.
And he still had the upper hand.
"The thing is," I said, "you can just ask your private detecti
ve whether or not I'm sneaking off to see Weston behind your back."
Now he straightened. He considered for a moment, circling around the front of the desk. He was caught. If he asked me just to trust him, he would be a hypocrite.
When he was at the center of the desk, he turned to face me, placing both palms on the flat surface. "Is that what it would take to fix this? If you had someone watching me the way I have someone watching you?"
I turned the chair so it was pointed at him, and wrinkled my nose. "I can't really afford to hire a detective to follow you around everywhere, Donovan, if that's what you're getting at."
It was also dumb. If I wanted to know something about him, I’d just ask him.
Of course, he could always just ask me as well and that didn’t seem to be good enough for him.
"No, it's not what I'm getting at. I take care of you, remember?" He reached over and grabbed the phone that was secured to the landline and dragged it over to him. Before I could ask what he was doing, he picked up the receiver and dialed a number he knew by heart.
As it rang, he said to me, "You’re in luck. The guy I had working for Cade is free now, but he’s still on retainer, which means he's—" He moved the mouthpiece to his lips. "Ferris. It's me. I have a new job for you."
I was beginning to understand where he was going with this. "This isn’t necessary. Really.”
He ignored me. "It's going to sound odd, but here's the details: your contact is Sabrina Lind. Yes, the same Sabrina Lind."
So, I’d been Ferris’s subject before. Great.
"You're going to send the bill to me,” he continued. “Anything she asks you to look into, you do it, no questions asked, even if the subject is me.”
“No,” I mouthed. “Hang up.”
But he didn’t hang up.
He moved his eyes so he wasn’t reading my lips. “I don’t want any copies of the reports. They all go straight to her. You got it?"
“Donovan…” I warned.
Stubborn and alpha-minded, the man disregarded everything I’d said so far and held the phone out to me.
Dirty Filthy Rich Love Page 14