by S. Layne
The fire in his fire pit provides the only light.
I’ve been quiet, although the night was an absolute blast. Kicking Jeremiah’s and Donovan’s butts at basketball was the icing on the cake.
As if reading my thoughts, my reasons for my distance even through my earlier laughter, Donovan reaches over and presses his hand against mine.
“You’re quiet tonight. Something happen?”
Ben happened. I can’t keep my mind off him—his bruises or his fear.
“Just a kid at the clinic today.” I shake my head, trying to erase the memory of his swollen eye, but I can’t. I press the mug of hot cocoa to my lips and blow gently, cooling it. “Some days aren’t that easy.”
“I can imagine.”
“Sometimes I wish I could save them all.”
His hand squeezes mine. It warms me from the tips of my toes to the tingles on my scalp. The gesture is so comforting, I turn my head so I’m looking directly at him.
“How was your day?”
He arches a brow, and one side of his lips turns up. “Changing the subject?”
“Trying to avoid thinking about it, to be honest.”
He nods slowly, his eyes roaming my face as if he’s assessing my sincerity over the reason for my avoidance.
“The same as always: bought some companies, sold some others.”
“Ah…sounds thrilling.” I smirk.
“Tell me about your day.”
He sounds so sincere, his eyes pleading me with me to open up to him. I can’t help not to.
“There’s this boy. Shows up sometimes, sleeps on the streets others. Today he showed up with a black eye, bruised and swollen.”
I watch Donovan’s face harden, his eyes narrow and his jaw tightens.
“Pretty much admitted his dad’s a cop, so calling them to file a report could hurt him more than help him.”
I sigh heavily and close my eyes. I hate this. When it seems like there’s no easy answer.
“I don’t know how to help him. Legally, I have to report it. Morally, I can’t…not if what he says is true.”
“Do you doubt him?”
I shake my head. “No.”
My eyes still closed, I listen as Donovan stands from his chair, the scraping of metal against the cement. Opening my eyes, I smile when Donovan reaches down and lifts me up. Then he shifts until his back is in my chair, his legs spread wide, feet on the ground, and he settles my back against his chest.
I relax into him when his hands immediately move to my shoulders and he begins massaging them.
My head falls forward. “That feels so good.”
Pleasured tingles slide down my arms and back, up my neck. Little hairs stand on end and I close my eyes, groaning my approval.
“You’re tense.”
“Long week.”
I feel his lips brush against the back of my neck and I shiver.
“I want to make it better. What can I do?”
I sigh as his thumbs find a knotted muscle just inside my shoulder blade. “This. Just this.”
“I can do that.”
And he does. He does it so well my eyelids grow heavy and my head flops forward. My breathing calms, and the only thing I’m concentrating on is the feel of Donovan’s fingers and his breath brushing against the exposed skin at my neck.
I’m turned on. My thighs press together. I can’t help it. My reaction to him is visceral, and based on the hardness I can feel pressing against my backside, he’s not immune either.
“Stop it,” he growls huskily into my ear when I shift against him.
“Please.”
“Tonight is about you. I want you relaxed, de-stressed.”
My lips twitch. “That’s what you do to me.”
He nips my ear playfully, his hands holding me still. I squeal from the sudden sting of pain that is quickly soothed by his mouth and tongue on my earlobe. “I’m glad you think so.”
Slowly but firmly, his hands slide down my shoulders to my hips and he pushes me forward.
“Come on.” He climbs out from behind me and holds out his hand. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
I grin. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
He rolls his eyes, his smile wide and carefree. I love it. Love him. “Not that,” he scolds. “I want to run you a bath.”
My voice is wistful. “I don’t think anyone’s done that for me before.”
“Good.” He takes my hand and pulls me to him—chest to chest, body to body. His arms wrap around my lower back and he lowers his head, brushing a kiss across my lips that’s gone before I can feel it. “I’ve never run anyone a bath.”
“So, what do you think?”
I smile at Jeremiah’s controlled excitement. His nervous fidgeting belies the uninterested look in his eyes.
“I think you did a wonderful job.”
“Yeah?” He looks down at the finished wooden board. We’ve just finished the piece he originally started helping me with last Sunday.
I meant to get to it with him earlier in the week, but with him adjusting to a new school, moving my father, and the new developments of Ben—who was still at the center this morning when I arrived—the week has been hectic.
“I think it’s perfect.”
“It will look great on your office wall.”
I rest my hip on the workbench that Bentley brought over just like I asked. “Actually, I’m thinking of talking to Donovan. See if maybe we can hang this one here.”
His hand gently brushes over the still-drying polyurethane coat. It’s sticky and won’t be fully dry until tomorrow, but he doesn’t smudge it.
He shrugs, and I see him fighting a smile. “Yeah. Whatever. That’d be cool, I guess.”
But I see the hope and excitement in his eyes—as if he wants to be excited but is too afraid he’ll be disappointed.
I long to reach out and hold him, assure him everything will be fine. The relationship between him and Donovan has already changed so much in the few weeks I’ve been around. I’m not taking credit for it, Donovan’s done all the work, but my heart swells thinking that maybe he needed me in his life to see the importance of the decisions he’s now making.
Giving Jeremiah a good life.
A life Emily wanted for him.
We’re momentarily blinded by bright lights pulling up to the open garage door, and both of our heads turn to see Bentley pulling up.
My pulse picks up before Donovan is even out of the car. As the car lights dim and both men exit the vehicle, my eyes are immediately on Donovan. He steps gently out of the car, buttoning his suit coat as he stands up. I watch every movement.
His fingers on the buttons.
His long, slow strides toward me.
The slow quirk of his lips as he catches me checking him out.
His eyes and how they slowly roam down the length of my body, taking in every inch of my covered skin. I may be wearing an oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants, but I’ve never felt so naked in my life. My hair is in a sloppy ponytail, my makeup washed off. I should feel like a slob, but as Donovan continues closing the space between us, I know he doesn’t care about any of that.
He simply cares about me.
“Hi,” I say, my voice a little breathless from the realization.
“What are you two doing out here?”
I step away from my workbench and wave my hand in its direction.
“We were finishing this.”
His brows pull together and Jeremiah steps back hesitantly. I watch as he takes in every move Donovan makes, every glance of his eyes, with trepidation.
“You made this?” Donovan asks, turning toward me with awe in his eyes.
“Jeremiah did most of it.”
His head snaps back in surprise before he looks at his nephew.
“She did most of it, I just helped.”
Donovan reaches out and clasps a firm hand around Jeremiah’s shoulder. “It’s fantastic. You did a great job.”
I watch as Jeremiah rises to his full height, his confidence growing under Donovan’s praise.
I know what it’s like to have those satisfied and thrilled eyes on you.
I smile for both of them. There’s ease in how they can talk now and show affection.
The moment is gone when Donovan asks, “You have homework to do?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Get to it, then. I need to speak with Talia.”
Jeremiah mutters something indecipherable, frowns at me, and then slowly walks toward the house through the garage.
“He was really excited to show this to you,” I tell Donovan once we’re alone.
He looks down at the board, runs his hands tenderly over the words like Jeremiah did only minutes before, and looks at me.
I’m stunned by the heat and desire in his darkened eyes. “You do this?”
“It’s just a hobby.”
“It’s incredible. Truly. I had no idea.”
My cheeks flush from the compliment and I lean forward, wanting to touch him, to show him my thanks. I’m not given time when he picks up the completed piece and moves it to a shelf along the back wall of his garage.
When he walks back, his fingers move to his suit coat and he begins unbuttoning it, sliding it off his shoulders as he walks toward me.
My nipples harden, my entire body comes alive watching his slow, slick movement toward me.
“What’d you need to tell me?” I ask, my voice husky. Needy.
“Nothing.” His hand comes out and cups my cheek. “But your ass in those pants, your hair all messy, your face so beautiful…I just needed you and didn’t want Jeremiah to see my erection.”
I gulp and lean into his hand gently caressing my heated flesh.
I look behind me to see that Bentley has disappeared. We’re alone, but in the open—not far from his nephew or his driver.
The thought terrifies me and turns me on.
“What did you have in mind, then?”
He leans forward and pulls me against him. The soft fabric of my sweatshirt brushes against my nipples, and they harden further when I collapse against his chest.
My hands reach for his waist.
His lips brush against my ear. “I’m going to fuck you out here. Over the workbench. Hard.”
Oh my.
“And fast.”
Yes, please. I rock my hips into him, whimpering when I feel his thickness beneath his trousers.
“Talia?”
“Mmhmm?”
Words have disappeared—vanished into the dark night and chilly air.
He laughs, low and deep. It rumbles over me and through me.
“Talia?”
I drag my eyes to his, forcing myself to move. My jaw is slack, and I lick my dry lips. “Yes?”
“Turn around and grab the edge of the workbench.”
My eyes widen in shock and I find my voice. “You can’t be serious.”
He grins, a slow-spreading smile that turns predatory, showing his teeth. “Turn around and let me give this to you.”
I’ve suddenly never wanted anything more.
I listen, letting his hand on my waist guide me until I’m in front of my workbench. He pushes me forward, stretches my arms in front of me until my fingers curl around the far edge.
His hands move to my hips and he tugs, pulling me until my behind is lined up perfectly with his erection. He rocks against me and I drop my head.
God. So hot.
“Are you wet for me?”
Drenched. I can feel myself grow wetter with every word he speaks, every slow second that ticks by as his hands run down my sweatshirt until they reach the waistband of my yoga pants.
I nod my answer, my words caught in my throat.
A slow, delicious shiver rolls down my spine as I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the pop of a button, the tinny metal sound of his zipper.
Then his hands are back on my hips, my pants and underwear pulled down to my knees.
“Spread those legs for me as wide as you can, baby.”
I almost orgasm on the spot, but do what he says, shuffling my feet wider, my movements constricted by the fabric that somehow tickles my skin at the back of my knees.
“Donovan,” I breathe out his name. It’s a request. A need. A plea for mercy.
“Yes?” he asks, and his hands are on my rear end, massaging it, before he slides one hand around to my front. “Holy shit, T.”
Our groans are the same as he finds my slick, swollen flesh. My thighs shake from the pleasure when he brushes his fingers through me, around my clit, down my slit and then inside of me.
“Yes,” I beg. A whispered plea ripped from my throat.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs. “Hold on, honey.”
My fingers tighten around the wood and I mewl when his fingers leave my sex, but then he’s there, the tip of him sliding through my wetness.
Everything inside me clenches as I feel him at my entrance.
And then he slides in. His hips thrust against my backside, his hand on my hip preventing me from moving forward.
I throw my head back and moan.
“God, you’re so tight like this.”
I know. I can feel him everywhere inside of me. Stretching me and hitting the end of me.
So amazing.
He doesn’t wait to move. Just slides out, my body clamping around his cock to hold him inside. And then he pushes back. His hips, his cock, his hands on me…everything tightens and pushes. Pulls and thrusts.
The movement shakes my unhindered breasts inside my sweatshirt. The fabric scrapes my already sensitive nipples. It’s deliciously torturous.
Everything inside me coils as he continues his thrusting, plunging in and out of me with abandon.
His aroused groans filling the garage, escaping into the air.
It’s too much, and it takes minutes before my climax comes powerfully and quickly.
The wood scrapes the flesh of my fingers and my palms and I arch my back, loudly groaning Donovan’s name.
“Yes!” he hisses. His hips slap against my flesh, his balls hit my clit, and then he pushes himself fully inside me. “Talia.”
I feel him orgasm, the pulsing of his cock against my inside walls.
Everything explodes as we orgasm together. Stars burst behind my closed lids and I let my head fall forward until it rests against the harsh wood.
His hands slide under my sweatshirt, soothing me. He rolls his hips, that delicious tingle as he prolongs my orgasm, pulling out every little wave until it’s too much.
Way too much.
“That was amazing,” I say when I can find my voice.
He leans forward, brushes his lips against the back of my neck. “You’re amazing. I don’t want to separate from you.”
I don’t either. Ever. I want him in me, and next to me, and simply near me for the rest of my life.
“We should probably get cleaned up,” I tell him.
He slides out, turns me around, and bends down, starting to pull up my pants and underwear as he does it. He leans forward, gently pressing a kiss with a quick flick of his tongue at the apex of my thighs as he stands.
Reaching into the back pocket of his trousers, he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes me clean before he stands up.
My knees shake…from the orgasm and his tender touch.
He fixes himself up. My eyes stay fixed while he re-zips and buttons his pants and closes his belt.
And then he leans forward, brushes his lips against mine. “How was your day?”
He pulls back and smiles—that boyish one that makes me throw my head back and laugh.
“I’ve had better,” I tease him through my laugh, and watch him pout.
He reaches out, and one of his fingers taps me on the nose. “I’ll do better later.”
It’s a threat and a promise. One that—as he takes my hand and pulls me inside, and then sits me on a stool in the kitchen, declaring I stay wi
th him while he cooks dinner—I can’t wait to see fulfilled.
It’s Monday, and I’ve spent the entire weekend with Donovan and Jeremiah. We went and saw an Iron Man movie at the theater—one that I hated, but that the guys loved, so it wasn’t a completely horrible experience for me.
Then we went to dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, where we gorged ourselves on chips and salsa and enchiladas.
I’m entering my last week where I’m supposed to stay at Donovan’s, and as the week begins, my stomach is filled with a heavy, unnamed weight. He hasn’t mentioned anything about me staying, like he did last week the morning his mother showed up.
I don’t know if he still wants me here after this coming weekend.
I don’t know if I’m ready to have him ask me again.
Everything has moved so quickly, yet we are far from strangers.
He’s my one and only.
I woke up to an empty bed this morning, Donovan’s space next to me cold, telling me he he’d been awake for a while. I found him in the kitchen, heading out the door to work as I made my way downstairs. He simply brushed his lips over mine, telling me he had an early morning but he wanted to take me out to dinner when he gets home tonight, hopefully to celebrate the close of a new deal he’s been working on.
But he was distracted and distant, and it left me unsettled as I made my way to Rolling Oaks to see my father.
Here in my father’s room, with the bright sun filtering through the windows, making everything seem bright and cheerful, I have been able to sit for the last hour, holding his hand and dispelling every insecurity and fear I have.
I don’t know if he can hear me, but just being with him helps.
In the last three weeks, I have fallen madly in love with Donovan all over again.
I want to be in Jeremiah’s life.
I want all of us to be together…forever. A family.
And it terrifies me that as my original thirty-day agreement comes to a close, I have no idea what Donovan is thinking other than that he loves me.
I just don’t know if I’m enough.
Wiping away a tear from my cheek, unaware that I had started crying, I am shocked when my father’s cool hand tightens around my grip.