Enflame

by S. Layne

  I leave his room, trying to find strength and hope in Dr. Getting’s words, but it all feels out of my reach.

  Money may have been able to secure his stay, but nothing can fix him besides a miracle.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Donovan says as I clear the dishes.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my dad, and I know both Donovan and Jeremiah have noticed.

  There was no satisfaction to be found while I blasted zombies with machine guns and sliced through their brains with a machete when playing with Jeremiah earlier.

  He even stopped trying to give me the occasional fist-bump when mine were returned lamely and without a smile.

  Eventually he simply dropped his controller, huffed something about it being a stupid game anyway, and left the room.

  I have never felt like I’ve disappointed him, but seeing the frustration of a thirteen-year-old boy, who I can tell just needs a friend, has left me more down.

  “Just stuff on my mind,” I reply, turning my back to him.

  I don’t know why I haven’t been able to tell Donovan about my dad, but some things are just too personal.

  Opening up about my dad will make me more vulnerable, and while I’ve admitted to myself that I’ve given Donovan my heart, I still don’t know if I’ve fully given him my trust.

  “Something happen at work? Or with J?”

  I shake my head, rinse off the dishes, and load them into the dishwasher.

  Behind me, I can feel him turning into a wall of restrained frustration.

  The air crackles, sparking tension so thick I can feel it rolling down the exposed skin on my arms. I close the dishwasher and start it.

  Turning to him, I cross my arms over my chest.

  I almost smile when I see him in the same position, glaring at me. “Tell me.”

  “No. And I’m too tired to argue about it.”

  With one hand I rub my forehead and try pointlessly to soothe the stress and sadness giving me a headache.

  He opens his mouth to say something or argue or manipulate me into giving him what he wants to hear, but I shake my head and sigh.

  “I really just want a warm bath, a bed, and to sleep tonight.”

  “I’ll find out what’s bothering you one way or another,” he says, his voice carrying an ominous tone.

  I remember how he found out about my center’s financial situation and shrug.

  If he wants to figure it out, more power to him; I just don’t have the energy to explain anything.

  As much as I hate breaking down in front of my dad, it’s more dangerous to break down in front of Donovan.

  He sees too much of me as it is.

  His tongue teases my slick flesh, and my inner walls clench ferociously together, needing something more.

  I push my head back into the pillow, my chin tilted up, my panting breathy and needy.

  “More,” I demand on a raspy breath.

  I can’t handle his touch, the way he tastes me as if I’m the most decadent dessert he’s ever had placed in front of him. It enflames my body, from my toes to my scalp.

  His palms press into my thighs, spreading me wide open for him. With my hands restrained and Donovan pushing my hips into the mattress, I can’t move.

  I can only take.

  The thought, the knowledge that I’m under his complete control, sends a pleasured spasm straight to my core.

  He presses two fingers into me. “That’s it, T. Give it to me.”

  “Too much.” I strain against the leather wraps around my wrists and my back arches.

  His tongue replaces his fingers and he delves inside. His fingers move to my clit, his thumb presses.

  “Donovan.” My voice is a whimper, barely audible as my orgasm coils inside me so tightly I feel like I might explode.

  Sharp pain on my clit, as he pinches and flicks it once, unleashes the burning fire and I crumble, shattering beneath his unyielding touch.

  “Yes,” he murmurs. His gaze meets mine, sharp with need and satisfaction. “I love watching you like this.”

  The chilling click of a lock snaps my eyes open and I instantly gasp at the feel of cold metal and warm hands on my ankles.

  “What the hell?” My eyes widen and I jump when I make out a shadow at the foot of my bed. I try to move, only to find my arms secured to my headboard, my ankles hooked to something that doesn’t allow me to push them together.

  I blink rapidly, quickly adjusting to the darkness, and see Donovan at the foot of my bed, his arms crossed over his naked chest.

  The dim moonlight filtering through the cracks in my curtains is the only light in the room.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice ragged from sleep and from my dream.

  Was it a dream? Or did he just bring me to an earth-shattering orgasm while I slept?

  My chest heaves from the memory, trying to figure it out.

  I stop trying when he says, “Were you dreaming about me—when you just came in your sleep? I barely touched you and you shattered.”

  My cheeks burn hot and I’m thankful for the darkness in the room so he can’t see me.

  I can’t think quickly enough to come up with an answer—most likely a lie—when he gestures toward my lingerie.

  “Did you wear that to bed, hoping I would make good on my earlier threat?”

  If I wanted to be honest, I’d tell him that yes, I did. My babydoll is black lace, opening in the front, only secured between my breasts with a thin black ribbon that’s tied into a bow.

  My matching black thong has disappeared.

  I can feel my bareness against the satin sheets.

  But I’m too thrown by his presence and the fact that he’s somehow manacled me to the bed while I was sleeping—dreaming of him pleasuring me with his tongue—to answer.

  I force out the words lodged deep in my throat and repeat my question: “What are you doing here?”

  “You wouldn’t talk to me earlier, and for some reason, I hate it that you won’t. I hate it more that I haven’t earned that trust yet.”

  “I’m not sure locking me to the bed is the right way to earn that trust.”

  He chuckles softly. The heat swirling low in my belly belies my words. I’d do anything for him right now because somehow, as soon as Donovan cuffs my hands, I become completely willing—pliable and needy under his commanding touch.

  He leans down, brushing his palms slowly over my ankles, up to my knees. Shivers dance along my skin, making me restless.

  “I love seeing you spread for me like this,” he murmurs, leaning forward and crawling onto the bed. “The fact that you can’t run from me or hide anything. It’s incredible, seeing how your pussy is already wet, wanting me.”

  “I’m not the one who ran,” I say breathlessly.

  His hands are doing amazing things to me, barely touching me but igniting my body all the same.

  His head dips slightly before he lifts it and meets my gaze. “Worst mistake I ever made.”

  I inhale a sharp breath, stunned by his admission. His mouth falls to mine before I can say anything.

  He tastes like scotch and cool mint. His tongue plunders my mouth, as if he wants to commit the deepest parts of me to his memory.

  I’m aroused. I was as soon as I woke up, as soon as I realized he was at the foot of my bed.

  He came for me.

  Seeking answers to what was bothering me earlier.

  This isn’t the most polite way, but any other way wouldn’t be him.

  With one hand bracing some of his weight off my body, his other hand slowly roams down my torso, barely touching my breasts, just teasing me at the edges.

  His thumb takes one quick swipe against my nipples, already hardened into tight buds.

  I mewl into his mouth, leaning forward, but my cuffs prevent me from pressing into him like my body desires.

  Lust-filled anticipation pulses at the tops of my thighs and I try to spread my legs, to arch into him, to have
him press against me at the area where I need him most.

  He pulls away from the kiss as his hand covers my hip bone. “You can’t go anywhere.”

  The teasing tone in his voice does nothing to quell the heat burning my skin.

  “What is this?” I ask, trying to push my legs together. A bar is in the way and I frown.

  “Spreader bar,” he answers. His hand moves inward, his thumb brushing over my clit. “I told you. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll free you. Until then, I will use whatever resources at my disposal to get you to talk to me.”

  And what incredible resources he has, I think, as he presses his hips against me. I can feel his hard erection straining against the cotton of his tight boxer briefs.

  Briefs he fills out incredibly well. He could be a model with a package like this.

  His forehead drops to mine. His thumb presses against my clit, sliding through my wet folds. “God,” he groans. “I love how wet you get for me. How much this turns you on.”

  I shake my head, unwilling to admit it. But it does. Something snaps inside me when Donovan takes control.

  Perhaps because for the last several years, I’ve had to control so much. So many people depend on me, and now with my dad…

  I blink the memory of him in his nursing bed away.

  I tilt my head back, his lips falling into mine. “I don’t want to talk.”

  He licks my lips, tracing my bottom lip with his tongue. “Tell me.”

  “Why is this important to you?”

  He pulls back, emerald pools swirling in his eyes. “Let me in.”

  My heart clenches. It aches to burst free from the safe, free from the wrap, and jump into his worthy hands.

  I don’t know what face I make, but Donovan laughs and he slides a finger inside me, crooking it so it hits the most delicious parts of me.

  “Stubborn woman,” he murmurs. “I’ll get you to tell me, one way or another.”

  “Please,” I gasp, arching into him. With his weight on me, I can’t plant my feet into the bed like I want. “Donovan.”

  He slips another finger inside, and his thumb presses my clit.

  My lower stomach trembles as my orgasm climbs. His fingers continue pressing in, pulling out, his thumb doing deliciously torturous things to my clit until my mind feels like it’s mush.

  “What happened today?” He leans down to my ear, whispering the question. The words dance across my skin, igniting me everywhere.

  My body shakes as it heats and tightens. “Please.”

  “Please what? Let you come? Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  His fingers thrust inside relentlessly. “I will, T. Just give me this.”

  Something in his tone, the desperation in it, makes me focus on him. “Why is this important to you?”

  “Because I want to know you.”

  His sincerity makes my eyes burn. “Let my hands go.”

  He smirks. “Tell me first.”

  “I can’t think with your fingers inside me.” They had stilled when he made his confession, and at my reminder, he removes them.

  I whine.

  My pussy clamps around nothing, feeling the loss.

  I throw my head back into the pillow and groan. This is horrendous. Sweat lines my skin and my pulse is pounding wildly. I’ve never been more aroused.

  I turn my head and my eyes widen as his hands move to the waistband of his boxers. He pushes them down, pulling them over his erection, so thick and beautiful as it bounces free from its confines.

  I lick my lips, unable to take my eyes off him. My chest heaves, and without his weight on me, I’m able to move my legs, plant my feet onto the bed. They’re spread several feet apart and the movement is awkward.

  His tantalizing smirk turns into a full grown smile. “Going somewhere?”

  “Ugh. I hate you.”

  His playful expression disappears. “Don’t say that.”

  I blink. This is too much. I was just on the brink of an orgasm that was going to make me scream, and now we’re talking.

  I want sex instead.

  It’s so much easier.

  Donovan wraps his hand around his thick shaft, stroking himself from base to tip. I lick my lips, straining against my wrists to get to him. My eyes cloud with desire.

  He arches a brow and continues stroking his erection. “You want this? Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eyes on me.”

  I lift them at his command, obeying instantly.

  “What happened?”

  He takes a step toward the side of the bed, and with one hand sliding slowly up and down his shaft, leans over and unties the ribbon on the front of my lingerie with his other hand.

  He grips one of my breasts, feeling its fullness before he slides his thumb over my nipple.

  “My dad,” I gasp, unable to hold myself back.

  Every touch shoots straight to my warm and throbbing sex.

  He rewards my honesty and leans down over me, sucking my nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the painfully hard nub. “More.”

  He slides his hand down to my other breast, fully opening my black lace babydoll before his hand trails slowly down my abdomen, skimming along my sensitive and overheated flesh.

  I whimper as pleasured goose bumps break out on my skin, chasing his touch.

  “He had a stroke,” I quietly admit, closing my eyes.

  His hand stills and my eyes snap open, remembering what he likes.

  His eyebrows are knitted together in obvious concern. “Today?”

  “No.”

  Whatever he sees in my expression, the fact that this obvious isn’t sexy-time talk makes him nod.

  “Thank you,” he says, his eyes still weighted. But his hand begins moving again, and that concern quickly shifts to a smirk as his eyes gleam with something else—something much more enthralling.

  He slides his fingers through my still wet folds and makes a hum of approval.

  He’s there and gone before I can fully enjoy it, moving to the end of the bed.

  I lean forward as much as possible. “What are you doing?”

  “As much as I love to see you spread for my pleasure, I want to feel your legs wrapped around me, squeezing me tight when you come and scream my name.”

  His arrogant smirk makes me want to smack him.

  “So confident.”

  He slides up my body until his thick cock rests against my pussy. Shifting his hips back, he grips himself with one hand and pushes himself inside me. He steals my kisses like he steals my breath as he pulls out. “I’ve earned it.”

  And then he spends the next few hours showing me exactly why he has the ability to be confident.

  I wrap up the last of the sandwiches and slide them into a picnic basket I picked up on my way to Donovan’s house after work yesterday.

  After feeling guilty for disappointing Jeremiah the other day, and after hanging out with him Friday at the center when he showed up after school, I decided we needed to do something fun.

  That Jeremiah and Donovan both need to spend time together. They’re both too stressed, too uptight, and too angry at things I don’t fully understand. I’m hoping that today brings them closer, but also fills their chests with deep, rumbling, stress-relieving laughter.

  Yesterday, Jeremiah spent some time talking about his mom and his family—how they didn’t see Donovan or his grandmother that much when he was younger. It seemed to me that somehow his mom, Emily, didn’t have much interest in the impressive Lore lifestyle. She married a construction engineer, made their home near Lansing, and was a stay-at-home mom to her two kids.

  Jeremiah made their life seem idyllic. He began opening up about how much he missed his friends and missed playing football because his new private school only has a lacrosse team in the fall.

  My heart hurts for him even more now, but as I grab a few water bottles from the freezer, using them as ice packs to keep our lunches cold, I
can’t contain my smile.

  Today is going to be fun.

  At least for me. I haven’t been on a roller coaster in ages, and I can already feel the adrenaline zipping through my veins, filling me with excited anticipation for the upcoming day.

  I look up when Jeremiah stomps into the kitchen, his familiar and standard scowl making him seem angry.

  “What’s going on?”

  He points his thumb in the direction of his shoulder.

  Behind him, Donovan is walking down the stairs dressed in a light blue buttoned shirt, brown dress pants, and shiny brown shoes.

  He looks like he’s dressed for a casual day at the office, not a day at the park.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, this time to Donovan, suddenly terrified that he may, in fact, be going in to work and not staying with us.

  Donovan slides his hands into his pockets and frowns. “He’s upset with me about…whatever.” The man looks genuinely confused.

  I press my lips together.

  “Are we ready to go?” Donovan asks, one eyebrow raised.

  But it’s his tone…or something…that’s off. He sounds like we’re taking him to jail.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t wear that to the park.” I scan his outfit and watch as he looks down at his feet and up at my disappointed gaze. “When did you become so uptight?” I ask, almost ashamed of myself.

  I can’t help it. The Donovan I dated in college played video games. He laughed often. He didn’t want to take over his father’s company, and he certainly never would have entertained Cassandra for more than a necessary greeting at some stupid party.

  He’s completely different from the man I remember—and he’s not altogether better, either. Even the nights of sex and his whispered words of regret don’t sway me enough. I see hints of the Donovan I remember occasionally peeking through his hard exterior.

  But has he really lost so much of himself that he can’t freaking let loose for one day?

  “I’m not uptight. And my clothes are perfectly acceptable.”

  I snort and roll my eyes. “Yeah, for lunch with your mother—but not for a day riding roller coasters. Jesus, Donovan. Go change and look like you want to be with us.”

  “Told you he wouldn’t think this is fun,” Jeremiah mutters, and my heart instantly clenches inside my chest.