Need you Now (Top Shelf Romance Book 2)

by Laurelin Paige

  He sat abruptly forward in the chair. “Three fingers—is that what you always use?”

  “No,” I gasped, drawing my fingers back out. “Sometimes I use a toy.”

  “What else?” He was on edge. I could feel it in the air between us.

  “Nothing else.”

  “If I couldn’t fuck you with my cock, I wouldn’t use a dildo.” His eyes began to frantically search the room. “Next time, use that bottle over there.”

  I followed the line of his gaze to my moisturizer sitting on the nightstand. The bottle was thicker than my toy. It would be an uncomfortable fit, but because the order to use it had come from Donovan, I was more than eager to comply. “Okay. I will.”

  Seemingly satisfied with my response, he returned his focus to me, to my hands and what they were doing, what I was pretending he was doing to me.

  He stood up, as though to get a better view. “Now,” he said, finally, finally drawing his cock out. “Tell me how I fuck you.”

  “Hard. Brutally. It hurts.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock, hard and thick in his palm. It made my mouth water, made my cunt wetter.

  “Show me,” he said, stroking himself lazily. “Show me how much it hurts.”

  I thrust my fingers inside of me again and again, rapidly, the way I always liked to imagine him fucking me. The way I always remembered him fucking me. The pressure of my hand helped relieve my discomfort, but it wasn’t perfect. I wanted more. I wanted him. I stared at him, stared at his cock as he ran his hand up and down his shaft, wishing again that I could touch it. Wishing it was closer.

  Without realizing what I was doing, I scooted closer to the edge of the bed. He still wasn’t close enough. “Show me!” I cried. “I want to see you too. Please!”

  For once, he didn’t argue. He walked to the end of the bed and scooped some of my wetness from my pussy. Then, standing over me, he matched my tempo, jerking himself off inches above where I finger-fucked myself. It was so hot, so dirty, watching his hand moving briskly over his thick cock while I imagined he was holding me down, plowing into me instead of his palm.

  I couldn’t take more than a minute of it before my orgasm ripped through me. My back arched and my toes curled and my vision went black and then spotted with lights. It was the kind of orgasm that I felt everywhere in my body. The kind I’d never had with another person other than Donovan.

  Donovan watched intently throughout my climax—I felt his eyes on me the entire time—and when I was finished, he was ready with his own. As soon as I could see again, I threw my focus back to him. His hand quickened and he moved to tug on just his tip. Suddenly, his tempo slowed and he came, spilling everywhere on my belly and my pussy.

  It was one of the most erotic things I’d ever experienced in my life. Even as sticky with sweat and cum as I was. I probably looked like a worn-out porn star, but I felt fabulous.

  Donovan was already tucking himself away and zipping up his pants when I gathered myself enough to prop up on my elbows and stare dazedly at him.

  “Was this you marking your territory?” I asked, sure that I had the dopiest grin on my face.

  “Is that the reason you came up with for your fantasy?” He kept his attention on his belt as he fastened the buckle.

  “Is that not the right interpretation?”

  “No, Sabrina,” he said sharply. He met my eyes. “I came on you because it’s dirty, and it gets me off. Don’t attach anything more to it than that, fantasy or not.”

  My grin slid off my face. More like he’d knocked it off my face by what he’d said. There were a thousand responses that came to mind, too many to sort through in the moment. There was nothing I could do except to sit there, dumbfounded, naked and covered in his cum.

  And what an asshole that he could say something so cold while looking me straight in the eye. To my credit, I wasn’t the one who looked away first.

  He finished putting himself together quickly. “I’m going,” he said, dodging my gaze. He’d taken several steps before—as an afterthought—he asked, “Would you like me to grab you a towel before I leave?”

  “No, thank you,” I said bitterly. “I need a shower.” I suddenly wanted to wash the whole night off of me, wanted to clean myself of Donovan Kincaid.

  He nodded, as if his approval was necessary. At the door to my bedroom he stopped. “Make sure you lock up behind me.”

  Yeah, yeah. Like you care.

  I stood up to follow after him, but when I heard the apartment door shut, the first thing I did was pick up the night cream by the side of my bed and throw it across the room.

  Once again Donovan Kincaid had proven to me that he was a total asshole. It was not the first time. Not even the second time. Why, then, was I always surprised when he showed his true colors?

  A Dangerous Devil, that’s what he was. A Dangerous Dark Warrior Devil.

  After kicking a few things and locking the door, I took a scalding hot angry shower. I was angry as I washed my hair. Angry as I scrubbed myself clean. Angry as I erased every trace of Donovan from my body.

  And it wasn’t just Donovan I was angry with. I was angry with myself. More than anything else, I was angry at getting caught in his trap. I was angry for caring. I was angry, because if I wasn’t, then I’d be hurt, and I was pretty sure that would feel even worse.

  Chapter 20

  I spent the weekend engaged in a teeter-totter of thoughts where Donovan was concerned. He pissed me off; he didn’t piss me off. I cared; I didn’t care. It was just sex; it was more than sex. It didn’t matter; it mattered.

  By Monday morning, the conclusion I’d come to was that I was a strong woman who’d had dirty sex with a powerful man. It had been my choice, and I owned that. I was grateful for that choice. It had been consensual, and there was nothing to regret or be ashamed of.

  What I didn’t own was the disrespectful way that Donovan had left, and that had nothing to do with me—that was on him. I refused to feel bad about it. He obviously had a fear of women growing attached to him. If he’d thought that I’d grown attached after one roll in the hay or that I’d misread the situation, he’d worried needlessly.

  Or maybe he’d worried as he should. I’d thought about him for ten years after the first roll in the hay—if that wasn’t attachment, I didn’t know what was.

  The point was, I wasn’t planning to cling, and if he thought I was then he needed to get over himself.

  The only thing I hadn’t decided was whether or not I planned to say something about his nasty departure. Yes. No. The answer changed by the hour.

  It would have to be a bridge I crossed when I came to it. Luckily, I didn’t see much of Donovan on a day-to-day basis without going out of my way.

  Problem was, there were other people that I did see on a day-to-day basis. And, as I stepped into the elevator and found myself standing next to another man in a suit who was both my boss and had seen me naked, I realized I’d forgotten to consider how I planned to deal with Weston.

  “Morning,” I mumbled, unable to meet his eyes. What were the rules of etiquette in this situation? Did I need to tell him about Donovan? Did I owe Weston a heads up? We weren’t together, but we’d almost made out just hours before I’d ended up in bed with his best friend. What was my obligation here?

  While I bandied the two options—tell, don’t tell; tell, don’t tell—Weston fidgeted next to me. His eyes seemed focused on the dial watching as the elevator climbed from floor to floor when he abruptly burst out, “We need to talk.”

  Oh, shit.

  My options suddenly seemed slimmer.

  Or, maybe I was jumping to conclusions.

  “If this is about Friday…” I paused, realizing that wasn’t specific enough. “If this is about the restaurant, I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said.”

  “This isn’t about the restaurant.” He couldn’t look at me either, I noticed.

  “Oh.” My hands were sweaty. He knew. He already knew. Do
novan told him, and he knew. “Okay.”

  I took a breath.

  This was fine. I’d tell him that I was planning to tell him today. He couldn’t be that mad. We weren’t a couple. He was engaged to someone else, for Christ’s sake.

  The elevator arrived, and I followed Weston onto our floor. Might as well get this over with. “Right now good?”

  He looked at me as though he hadn’t expected anything else. “If you’re free...”

  “I’m free. I’ll just drop off my bag and be there in a few.”

  I took my time in my office, checking in with my assistant, and trying to decide what I’d say to Weston. But I could only dawdle so long, and there wasn’t much I could think of to say except the truth, so it was only ten minutes later when I arrived at Roxie’s desk.

  “He more relaxed than he was the other day,” she told me, which lifted my spirits. “But something has him on edge. Good luck.”

  “I still hear you,” Weston called through the open door.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to Roxie. “I think I need it.”

  At least I looked good today. I’d worn something different than usual—a short black skirt and a white fitted button-down blouse with a ruffle. I’d paired the whole thing with stockings and black high heels. It was less of a power outfit and more feminine, more demure.

  Ah, crap. Weston probably thought I’d worn it for Donovan.

  Huh. Had I?

  No way. I hadn’t dressed for anybody but myself. Most likely.

  I took a deep breath and walked into Weston’s office. He shut the door behind me but kept the windows clear. Like he had the last time I’d visited, he sat behind his desk and invited me to take a seat in front.

  And like the last time, I crossed one leg over the other and tried to stop the nervous tapping. Well, at least this would be out in the open once and for all. No more coming to Weston’s office and fretting about what he knew about Donovan and me.

  Silly, too, considering that Donovan and I had already dissolved into a big fat nothing.

  I sighed.

  Weston inhaled. “Friday night,” he began, “after you left the restaurant…” He trailed off as though unsure how to finish the sentence.

  And how could he finish it? You left the restaurant and fucked my friend and now I’m confronting you about it. Nothing he could say would come out politely.

  I had to help him out. This was my burden more than his. He shouldn’t have to be the one struggling to come up with the words. “Things change, you know, Weston. Things don’t always happen the way we plan and—”

  “I slept with Elizabeth,” he blurted out.

  I actually had to replay what he said in my head before responding. “Uh, what?”

  Totally not where I saw that going. Not even a little bit.

  “I slept with Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to. And I don’t know where things are headed in the future, but I thought you deserved the truth.”

  “I see.” So he didn’t know about Donovan.

  Did this mean I had to tell him anyway?

  “Are you upset?”

  “No! Not in the least.” Actually, I felt relieved. More relieved than I’d expected to feel. Now I didn’t have to feel guilty about anything I’d done behind Weston’s back. Not that I had felt guilty. “We didn’t have an arrangement between us. I didn’t expect anything from you.” Hint, hint—he shouldn’t have expected anything from me either.

  “I know, but we were in a closet together.” He moved his stapler from the corner of his desk to the center. “And I know I was acting weird that night, but it wasn’t you.” He pushed the stapler several times, shooting out a bunch of wasted staples. “It was because I was all wrapped up with her, and this bullshit that’s going on between her and me.” After fiddling for another few seconds, he returned the stapler to its original position.

  I studied Weston. He did seem to be in a better mood than he’d been on Friday morning, and more on edge at the same time. His eyes lit up when he talked about Elizabeth, and his body seemed tense, but it was strained with electric energy, the kind of energy that came from feeling out of sorts in a new relationship.

  The kind of energy that came from falling in love.

  “So you and Elizabeth…?” I asked tentatively.

  “No. God, no.” He flipped a pen back and forth between his fingers. “I mean. I don’t know. It’s complicated. Anyway.”

  It’s complicated meant more than a fling.

  The nervous tap of my foot was back, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why.

  I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “What does this mean for the pool? I had good money on you holding out.”

  The pen stopped spinning abruptly. “You placed a bet too?”

  I shrugged, trying to be elusive, but he seemed too affronted for me to carry the teasing any longer than that. “I’m joking. Any bet I would have placed seemed to be against my better interest.”

  He dropped the pen and put both palms flat on the desk. “But you’re really okay with this situation?”

  I smiled reassuringly. “I am.” My conscience, which had been niggling at me since he’d made his confession, took that moment to get the better of me. “Actually, I slept with someone this weekend too.” I paused to take a breath and decided I wasn’t obligated to say more.

  But I also decided I wasn’t a dick. “I slept with Donovan.”

  The air between us thickened, and Weston squinted at me for a beat too long.

  “Uh. Say something?” I prodded, suddenly concerned that I shouldn’t have been so honest.

  “I’m trying to decide if I’m jealous or if this relieves me of my guilt.”

  I reached across the desk and playfully punched his lower arm. “It relieves you of your guilt. Jerk.”

  He nodded. “Donovan, huh?” He inhaled. Nodded again. “I have to admit—I didn’t see that coming.”

  So we were both stunned by the weekend’s developments.

  “Is this a bad thing? Should I have not told you?” I wasn’t friends with Elizabeth. Maybe this was harder for Weston because of his relationship with Donovan.

  “No, no! I’m glad you told me. It’s just…weird.” Immediately he realized his error in wording. “I don’t mean it’s weird because of you. It’s weird because of him. He hasn’t been with anyone that I’ve been on a first-name basis with since Amanda.”

  That was impossible. Donovan’s fiancée Amanda died eleven years ago. Surely he’d had relationships since then. “What about Sun?”

  “That model?” Weston brushed his hand dismissively in the air. “I guess he sleeps with her now and then. He sleeps with a lot of women now and then, but I’m telling you, Sabrina, he doesn’t sleep with anyone that he has any interaction with outside the bedroom.”

  “Oh. That is weird.” Goose bumps shimmied down my arms. What did that mean about me?

  Nothing, probably. We worked together, but it wasn’t like we saw each other that much around the office.

  Still, something warm burrowed into my chest insisting I was different. Insisting that this implied I was special. Special to Donovan in some way.

  Yes, Sabrina, you have the distinct honor of being a sex partner that Donovan has also seen with clothes on. Congratulations.

  Right. I was being ridiculous.

  But maybe this explained why Donovan was such a dick when he’d left my place. Maybe that’s how he always left women’s beds. Since he usually didn’t see them again anyway, he had no reason to act differently.

  “Although it’s weird, this could be good.” Weston started nodding again. “Yes. I think this is really good. You’re the perfect woman to show him what romantic relationships are supposed to be like. You could domesticate him. Show him how to love again.”

  I burst out laughing. “There are so many things funny about that statement, I don’t know what to laugh at first.” Like, who was Weston to talk about relationships? Was he sud
denly an expert because he’d banged his fake fiancée?

  And even more hysterical—a romance between Donovan and me? Show him how to love? Ha. Ha. Ha.

  “I’m serious,” Weston said excitedly, seeming to have warmed up completely to the idea of our coupledom. “You’re right for him. You’re already in his world. You won’t take his bullshit. I already approve of you, which is essential. The whole thing is brilliant. I should have thought of this before.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Right. In between making your own moves on me, it totally should have crossed your mind.” The whole thing was insane. “It’s not happening. That’s not where this thing with Donovan is going.”

  Weston stared at me skeptically. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. With a capital P.”

  “Okay, okay.” He didn’t appear entirely convinced. “Wanna talk about it at least?”

  I brushed a loose piece of hair behind my ear and considered. It might be nice to have some insight on Donovan. But I didn’t necessarily know if it was fair to ask about him when I hadn’t tried hard enough to get insight from the guy on my own.

  And what did it matter since Donovan and I were a done deal? “I don’t,” I said. “If that’s okay.”

  Weston wasn’t quite ready to let it go. “Just a one-night thing, then?”

  “Just a one-night thing.” Why did it make my stomach knot so tightly to say that?

  “Fine, fine.” Weston narrowed his eyes. “Even just a one-night stand, he better have treated you right.”

  Again, I laughed out loud. “Or else what?”

  “Or else I’ll have to kill him.” The wink he gave as he made the declaration sort of ruined its power, but it was a nice gesture all the same.

  “Yeah, I totally believe you’d kill Donovan,” I said sarcastically. “Glad to know you got my back.”

  I didn’t need Weston to take care of Donovan or any of the men I dated, but what the heck was going on? Was he treating me like a sister? Was that what happened when ex-lovers became coworkers and found other lovers?