“Well, you don’t.” It was infuriating how calm he remained while both my head and my chest felt like they were going to explode.
“How do you know what I want?” My voice was louder than my neighbors would probably have preferred, but if they had a problem with it, they could take it up with the building’s owner. “You assume and assume and assume. You’ve never even bothered to ask!”
He came toward me so we were only an arm’s length apart. “What do you want, Sabrina?” he asked earnestly, his hazel eyes holding me captive. “Tell me.”
Weeks of torment and denial had built up inside me. Years of it. My skin itched on the inside, and the want of Donovan had grown so acutely sharp and specific. It didn’t even occur to me to try to lie or pretend that I didn’t know the answer. I could only think in terms of transparency and truth.
“I want you to touch me!” I cried, desperate and willing to lay it all on the line.
Donovan’s reflexes were quick. He grabbed one of my wrists in each hand and twisted one until it was pinned behind my back and bent the other until it was trapped between us.
“Touch you like this?” he asked brusquely, yanking my arms uncomfortably and pushing me until my back met the wall.
“No,” I said, meekly. Except I meant exactly like that.
It was just the way I’d been yearning for him to touch me. Like he controlled me. Like he owned me. My nipples were already tight knots.
He raised an eyebrow. “No? Because I can't touch you like Weston touches you.”
Jesus, I was so tired of hearing that name. Tired of that being the thing between us. Even now, Donovan had me against the wall but the only place we touched was where he held my hands. And everywhere around us, in the space between us, the imaginary being holding us away from each other was Weston.
“I don't want you to touch me like Weston,” I said, once and for all. “I don’t want Weston! I want you!”
Donovan let loose the smallest hint of a smile. “I know. I was waiting for you to know too.”
I had the impulse to slap him, but it was lost when his mouth crashed against mine. Then I couldn’t think about anything but him—his hands, his body, his victory over me.
It was such an easy surrender.
He took complete command. With the length of his body pressed against me, his erection pushing firmly at my pelvis, his lips molded mine. He sucked alternately on my bottom lip and then my top, leaving no part of my mouth untouched or untasted. When this wasn’t enough, he let go of one of my hands and grabbed a fistful of my hair in its place. Then he yanked my head back, opening my mouth wider. I let out a cry that he lapped up with a long swipe of his tongue.
I’d remembered this about him. I’d remembered that he’d been a kisser, and there was something validating about having the memory confirmed. Something surreal about living again a time that had only been lived through recollection for so long. Experiencing it for real with all of my senses fully engaged already had me wild.
And I needed more.
With my hand free, I urgently pushed his jacket over his shoulder and down his arm. Then I tugged at the empty sleeve until he let go of me long enough to finish taking it off. Now I had both hands free, and I stroked them up and down his torso, clawing at his chest through his shirt, frantically, wanting it gone, wanting to be able to scratch at his skin.
But Donovan was in control, and he had a free hand too, which he used to plunge inside my dress, inside my bra, and clutch my breast. It was painful, and I groaned into his mouth as he squeezed harder. Harder still.
Then he let go, and as soon as he did, pleasure vibrated straight down to my pussy.
“Oh my god,” I gasped. “Do it again.”
“No,” he said, pulling his hand from the cup of my bra and moving it lower to play with my belt sash.
He was an asshole even now.
It was such a turn-on.
Releasing his other hand from my hair, Donovan pulled the tie at my waist, and my dress fell open. He pushed it off my shoulders and took a step backward so that he could see my whole body.
I felt a blush run down my skin; his gaze was the sun and everywhere his eyes touched I got burned.
“Were you thinking of him when you put this on tonight?” His breaths were quick, his gaze feral. He was rabid and ready to bite.
I told him the truth anyway. “I was thinking of you.”
He practically groaned. Pressing in closer, he cupped my pussy. “You’re so wet, I can feel it through your panties.”
“Donovan...” I begged, bucking into his hand. This was torture. I’d wanted him to touch me, but I needed him to touch me in every way. I needed him to never stop.
Unexpectedly, he slapped my pussy. Hard. Then he slipped a finger inside the crotch of my underwear, gathered some of my wetness, and brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Just like I remember,” he said before licking his finger clean.
I couldn’t take it anymore—I lunged for him. Wrapping one hand around his neck, I brought his mouth down so I could kiss him while I rubbed my other palm along the outline of his dick. I could taste myself on him, and I wanted to devour every last drop.
He let me kiss him like this for a minute. Then abruptly he captured my hands again and drew them up against the wall above my head.
“You’re dangerous with your hands free,” he said then bit along my collarbone, marking me.
“Dangerous how?” I moaned as his teeth sunk into my skin, but if he hadn’t been biting me, I might have laughed. Me? Dangerous? He was the one who wore that warning in my book.
“Dangerous like you always are when I let you touch me.” He kissed me deeply, distracting me from the topic.
By the time he pulled away, I was dizzy and desperate for what words couldn’t provide. My eyes flicked to my room and back to him.
“I know,” he said, reading my mind. He circled one large palm around my wrists and tugged me into the bedroom where he tossed me onto my bed.
The light was off, but the blinds were drawn and the outside light spilled in across his torso. His dress shirt stretched tautly over his muscles, and though I wanted to see them in the flesh, I also loved the way it felt to be nearly naked while he was still dressed. It made the whole thing dirtier. Kinkier.
Especially when he ordered me around like he had a right to tell me what to do. Like he was still my teacher. Like he was my boss.
“Get naked for me,” he commanded, loosening his tie.
Goose bumps spread along my arms and stomach. My hands trembled as I reached behind me to undo my bra. I threw it off the bed then scrambled out of my underwear.
He watched me as I did, his eyes dark slits. “Give me your hands.”
I held them out to him, palms up, not sure what to expect. His authoritative tone along with the not knowing had my breaths coming double time, and I was pretty sure there was already a wet spot underneath me.