by Eden Butler
She should have held that shame close in her heart, let it overtake the innate desire that kept replaying the sounds and scent of Donovan’s voice and skin, the masculine taste of his skin. Layla should have ignored that memory, focused on the way they parted, how she could only manage a look over her shoulder. How he didn’t stop her, didn’t even try to stop her.
She should have done all of that. She knew that deflection, denial, made sense. But Layla did none of those things, left logic and sense behind with every stop light she passed, every block she drove by that brought her closer and closer to Donovan’s apartment.
She told herself she only wanted to end whatever “it” had been. There would be no more touching. There would be no more of “them” at all. She’d spent the day practicing what she’d say to him. “You repulse me” and “That will never, ever happen again” seemed like good, reasonable things to say, things he’d understand and would probably relate to. She kept practicing, all through her classes, even jotted down the phrases over and over when she should have been taking notes. She texted them to herself, ignoring the twenty or so messages from the ever-persistent Walter who was still trying to “make her see reason” or so he’d said. She emailed the sentences to herself, intending on going home after class, writing up something intelligent and mature like “It would behoove us both not to entertain such juvenile physical releases when we clearly cannot maintain a civil interaction without resorting to insults or, the previously mentioned juvenile physical releases.”
That had sounded logical, a bit obnoxious, but Layla was certain “Obnoxious” was Donovan’s middle name so he would understand.
All of these things were intentions Layla committed to her heart. They will happen, she told herself. I will say these things, she promised.
But now it was late, near midnight and Layla sat in her Mercedes, hands tight on the steering wheel, forehead resting on that cold plastic. She tried to talk herself into going home. “You repulse me,” she said to the empty car, squeezing her eyes tight when she imagined his reaction—that damn line between his eyebrows relaxing. Donovan’s annoying, bastard grin he’d perfected from years of girls telling him “Yes, Donovan, oh yes, I do want you to bend me over your knee and spank me because I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”
She hated her imagination.
It hadn’t mattered, not really. Donovan was likely out, celebrating Cavanagh’s win against Georgia Community. He wasn’t in that small apartment littered with boy mess or the stinky filth Donovan claimed his alleged roommate who she’d never actually seen, left behind after binge games of World of Warcraft.
Layla knew she should have left. She should have, at the very least, started her car and pulled away from the curb before she was spotted.
Instead, she couldn’t seem to move, and she cursed herself and her stupid hormones that seemed to have overtaken any common sense. Those curses amplified when she heard the tap on her window. Donovan’s expression wasn’t smug like she expected. It was calm, as though he knew she’d come. As though it was something usual, understood.
It wasn’t. None of it.
Layla wanted to turn the key, put her car in gear and leave Donovan and that calm cool covering his face behind.
But she didn’t, raging ball of hormone drunkard that she was.
She couldn’t muster up the shame that had slipped in and out of her consciousness all day. The same shame she’d felt the night before on the drive home.
But that shame had dimmed, hidden behind the sight of Donovan looking down at her. The relaxed line drawn across his mouth told Layla he’d wait. He’d let her make the decision to stay or leave.
Her small car jarred as Donovan leaned against it, his blond hair falling into his face. His eyes were calm, not glaring down at her or burning with annoyance that she was there. One small twist of his chin, encouraging her out of the car and he opened the door, took her by the hand and into his apartment.
Layla could smell the lingering scent of ink on her fingers from her lame attempt at studying, another failed maneuver that didn’t keep the memory of Donovan’s naked body out of her mind. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t quite think of any plausible reason to explain why she’d ended up on his street, in front of his apartment.
She just… did.
He pulled her hands from her face, but didn’t smile at her, had no real expression on his face at all and Layla wondered what he’d say, what his words would do to her, to set the tone of that unpredictable night. But Donovan didn’t speak, barely touched her as he slipped in front of her, giving her enough space to push him away if she wanted to.
God help her, she didn’t want to. God help her even more that she didn’t.
She wondered what Donovan was thinking. Layla wondered if he’d speak, do something to tell her what he planned, what inane reason he’d give her for bringing her into his room. But that reason never came and Donovan’s cheeks lifted as he squinted, a look of examination, curiosity and then he stepped back and locked the door.
And still Layla didn’t complain, didn’t ask to leave. She didn’t give Donovan any reason to stop his approach, to stop reaching for her, touching, to stop his bringing his mouth over hers, for not waiting for her to open to him.
Low moans, easy, pleased cries bounced between them, then Donovan moved his mouth down her jaw, to her neck as he pushed himself against her.
Layla didn’t know what he’d say, what that weighted, cautious look meant, but Donovan kept her still, captivated by sweet hunger that had him frowning, had those eager growls moving up his throat.
Then he took her face in his hands, held her still.
She released the breath she’d been holding and though a small part of her brain told her to walk away, right then and there, Layla didn’t. Donovan’s eyes were too sharp, his touch too tempting.
“I don’t do promises.” His voice was even, composed and Layla didn’t think that declaration was said to be cruel. It was point of fact, something Donovan clearly thought Layla needed to know.
“I don’t want any.”
“I don’t do emotion.” The slow way he twisted her long hair around his finger didn’t make her think that emotion was absent in mind. She didn’t care if it was.
“Not asking for that.”
And then Donovan’s gaze left her hair, moved over her face until they stopped at her eyes. “I like the way you feel. I like how hot and tight and sweet your body is.” He moved closer, barely touching his hips to hers. “This needs to be between us. The others, they like to complicate sex. They like for it to mean something or everything. I don’t. You don’t, Layla. Not with me.”
“Not remotely.”
“If I didn’t like you at least a little bit, then I wouldn’t want to fuck you.”
She wanted that little issue cleared up. Layla knew what Donovan’s touch, his lips did to her, but outside of those moments when the air warmed around them, when they were pulled together by those licks of heat, she didn’t like him. Had no desire to be around him.
“I don’t like you, Donovan. I don’t think I ever will.” She didn’t think too much about the frown that pulled at his lips or how his eyebrows pushed together as though he doubted her. This was Donovan Donley, her nemesis, her enemy, and she was agreeing to terms and conditions related to them sleeping together. Insane, sure, but Layla knew it would be hot. She knew it would feel wonderful. It was that idea that kept her from insulting him completely. “But when you’re inside me, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to do anything but touch and taste. That’s enough for me.”
They were silent and Layla let Donovan touch her, take her hair in his fist and lean her against the wall. There was a moment when their gazes caught and held, expressions shifting, lips hesitating, holding back as though both Donovan and Layla each pushed away any thought from their minds.
Donovan’s chin dipped to bring his gaze to her, guiding her head with his fingers twined in her hair. Layla found it a
ggressive and insistent and God how she liked Donovan that way. “Tomorrow night… just walk in.”
“Tomorrow?”
Layla barely caught his nod, the slow lift of his mouth as he pulled his lips into a smile. “There will be a tomorrow, Layla and a next day. I’m tired of thinking there won’t be.” He moved closer, held her face up so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “Aren’t you?” A quick nod that Layla thought she couldn’t control and Donovan’s smile left his face. “Good. Tomorrow night, don’t park out front. I have a space in the back.”
“Ok… okay.”
“Don’t knock. You don’t ever have to knock when you come to me. Just fucking come.”
“Definitely.”
He nodded, pulled Layla against his chest and moved his mouth down her neck, slipping his fingers under clothes until they were both naked, sweaty and losing themselves with no thought of whatever this was between them. Until there was nothing between them.
Layla would come because Donovan wanted her. She’d find his bed night after night because she wanted him, because he asked for nothing but her promise not to hold back from him.
Layla didn’t knock. Not the next night or the nights that fell into weeks afterward. When she came to Donovan, it was always late, always dark. She slipped into his apartment without any preamble, without announcing her arrival or preparing Donovan for what she wanted. He knew. He always knew, and Donovan Donley gave Layla what she told herself she didn’t want from him.
Layla took what he gave, telling herself not to think about when it would stop. Or if it would stop at all.
He liked the way her skin looked in the early morning light. It had become a habit, Layla in his bed on Saturday mornings, her naked back next to him, skin pale, but flawless, soft. She’d leave within the hour. So would he. Coach Mullens liked eight a.m. practices and Layla liked sneaking back to her bedroom after her father left for them. But before Donovan let her slip away, he traced a finger down the tiny bumps of her spine, smiling when she wiggled in her sleep.
“Unless you have other plans for that finger, Donley, I suggest you remove it.”
“You want me to use it on you, Layla?” He rubbed against her, covering her mouth when he slid the tip of his finger between her folds and she yelped in surprise. That shocked gasp lowered, turned into a moan as Donovan moved her on her back, and pulled her legs over his shoulders. “My finger or tongue? You pick.”
“I bet Thor wouldn’t talk this much.”
He swatted her ass, loving how she groaned at the sound, at the sting that she seemed to relish. “Choose.”
But she never let him have the upper hand. Not completely and Donovan hated how much he loved that. Layla stretched her arm above her head on the pillow, wiggled deeper into the mattress and smirked at him, a challenge in her eyes that only made Donovan eager, hard. The delicate pink of her tongue went across her bottom lip and that smirk straightened, one of Layla’s eyebrow moving up.
“Both.”
He obliged, working over her, loving the heady scent of her body, the warmth of her soft pussy, wanting to fill it. Wanting her to feel him. When his tongue and fingers had given her the ride she’d asked for, Donovan licked up her stomach, rolling one nipple between his lips.
“Layla.” She managed a weak grunt, letting him know she was listening. “Are you clean?”
“What?”
Her sharp slap against Donovan’s head stung and he winced, rolling away from her when she hit him again. “What’s the problem? Stop!” Donovan dodge her fingernails, but just barely.
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
“Jesus, I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole.” She started to roll over, acting like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough, but Donovan wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling that fine, bare ass back onto the mattress, her small hands clasped with his on her pillow above her head. “Would you hear me out?”
Scowling, Layla leaned away, tried fighting out of his hold, as though the idea of their skin touching made her sick. When she started shaking her foot, moving the entire bed in the process, Donovan rested his forehead on her chest, placing a light kiss over her heart. That seemed to calm her, at least slow the shaking foot. “You have…” she glanced at the clock on Donovan’s bedside table and then glared at him, “ten minutes.”
“I’ll take two.” Layla didn’t fight Donovan when he moved his thighs over her hips, releasing her hands to brush his fingertips down her ribs, under the swell of her perky, beautiful tits. “You’re on the pill, you told me that.” She nodded, but her low lidded eyes told Donovan that she didn’t like where he was going. “Relax, brat,” he told her, brushing a long wave of white blonde hair from her cheek. “You ever do it bare?”
“You mean, like, nothing at all, no condom or anything?” Donovan nodded, getting excited when Layla didn’t hit him again. She bit her bottom lip, finally shaking her head.
“Me either. Not once.”
“You… that’s what you want to do?” Donovan’s smiled seemed to be all the confirmation Layla needed. “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
“You want to do me bareback. I want to know why.”
He hated when she wanted clarifications, when she put too much thought in the things that Donovan wanted from her. “I thought we agreed not to over analyze any of this.”
“This isn’t overanalyzing. This is me requiring an explanation of why you want to do something with me that you haven’t done with anyone else.”
He understood why she wanted to know, but the truth was, he didn’t have an answer for her. Donovan only knew he liked the possibility of what Layla, completely raw to him would feel like. “Layla, you have the sweetest, tightest pussy I’ve ever been inside of.” He kissed down her chest, her neck, licking a wet line over the top of her breasts and stayed there, nibbling against her skin. “I have dreams about it, how it feels moving, rocking against those tight muscles, touching you deeper each time. I just wanna know if that sweet, delicious pussy is tighter, wetter with nothing between us.”
He could feel her swallowing, a tiny pant releasing from her mouth before she pushed him back, making him rest on his hands to get a good look at her. “And you’ve honestly never done that before?”
“You wanna know if I’m clean?” She nodded. “Have you met your father?”
“A few times.”
“Uh huh. You know how fucking anal he is about testing us for absolutely everything?” The man was insane, domineering and Donovan closed his eyes, reminded himself not to insult his coach in front of Layla. “And when he finds out one of his players is dating a new girl, he makes them have their girl tested too.”
Her mouth fell open. “He does not.”
“Ask Autumn. Declan said your dad caught an earful from her when he insisted she get tested.”
He liked her smile just then, that easy laughter that was honest, not forced. He didn’t get to see that often. “I bet he did.”
“My point is that I’m squeaky fucking clean.” Donovan would have given anything to know what she was thinking when she looked at him like that. Those bright blue eyes were too calculating, too serious and it was all Donovan could do to keep relaxed, but he still held his breath as she stared at him. “You too? Have you been tested?”
“You’re the only person I’m sleeping with.” He didn’t mean to smile at her, knew that he seemed too pleased, too proud. Layla being Layla, though, cleared that smile from his face. No one could cut him to the quick like her. “For now, anyway.”
Donovan hadn’t exactly warmed to the idea that Layla could be giving someone else what he thought was his, at least temporarily, but he knew her. He knew most women. If he told her that, she’d read way more into it than he wanted. So he deflected. “When was your last test?”
“A year ago. There was a ‘Be the Match’ bone marrow drive in Beechum Hall. They only took people with clean tests.”
“And sin
ce then?”
“I told you, Donley,” she added an eye roll that Donovan thought was fake, “you’re the only one I’m sleeping with.” When he narrowed his eyes at her, she sighed. “You’re the only one I’ve been with since that bone marrow drive.”
“You and Walter?” He doubted anything had gone on between Layla and the Rent-a-Cop. That asshole had a stick so far up his ass he walked like someone was pulling a string out of the top of his head.
“Are you serious?” Hearing Layla’s loud laugh had Donovan relaxing a bit more. “He wouldn’t know where to stick the vital parts. He’s clueless and definitely not my type.”
“But you were together for six months.”
“You were counting?” Donovan calmed when she waved her hand, as though she didn’t need an answer to her question. “I didn’t let him touch me. I’m clean. We can go bareback if you want.”
“Seriously?” She nodded, her laughter rising as Donovan quickly pushed her legs a part, ready for her, eager to feel all of her.
“You idiot, now?” she asked, pushing on his chest.
“Why not?” He was already guiding himself over her folds, loving the feeling of her heat.
“Because you have practice and I need to get home.”
“Layla, come on…” He knew she liked it when he nibbled on her nipple with just a touch of his teeth pressing down and so he did just that, smiling against her skin when she moaned. “I’ll be quick and you know…”
She pushed down on his shoulders, making Donovan release her breast with a loud pop. “Did you hear that?”
Head tilted and his attention off the sweet smell of Layla below him, Donovan narrowed his eyes, listening for what she’d heard. “I don’t…”
“Hey mate, you awake?”
Perfect timing, Declan.
“Shit!” Layla’s quick whisper of a shout matched Donovan’s and they both scrambled away from each other as his best friend knocked on the door.