He chuckled. “Sabrina, Sabrina,” he scolded. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. Then, distinctly changing the subject, he asked, “Where did you get your name?”
Casual conversation wasn’t where I thought this was going, but his attention had a way of engaging me whatever the form. I swung my knees to one side and leaned my weight on the opposite hand. “My father. When they were thinking of names, he was reading the Milton poem about the nymph who saves the virgin.”
“Can’t say I read that one. Is Sabrina the virgin?”
“Sabrina is the savior.”
There was a beat of silence. “Huh. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”
For half a second, I wondered if I should be offended, but it was kind of amusing to think of myself as anyone’s savior. “I guess in our version of the story, Sabrina was the virgin.”
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t respond at all, just kept looking at me in the same piercing way he would all those years ago in Business Ethics class.
I used to hate it when he looked at me that way. I still did. Hated it because he seemed to see things I didn’t want him to see. Seemed to see things I didn’t even know about myself. Mostly I hated it because I liked it so much.
I cocked my head, wondering if I could see him the same way he saw me, but all I saw was a fiercely attractive man with the devil’s smile and dangerous sex appeal.
I’d let a dangerous devil in my bed. A dangerous devil who’d once been my savior. Could Donovan be any more of an enigma?
I let out a sigh. “Where did you get your name?”
He didn’t answer right away. “It was my great-grandmother’s maiden name. She claims that’s why I have the name, but I think my mother just liked the sound of it.”
It occurred to me that this was one of the only things Donovan had ever told me about his family or his personal life. It was small, but in some ways it was also really big, and I held it like it was precious.
“What does it mean?” I asked, hoping not to sound too eager.
“Dark warrior.” He shook his head. “I think she was expecting an entirely different kind of son.”
“But that fits our story. Dark warriors are totally the guys who save the virgins.” It was maybe too fitting. Too easy to romanticize. And I knew even without being able to clearly see his sneer that he didn’t appreciate the analogy.
Or maybe he didn’t like that we had an our story.
Now that I’d said it out loud, I wasn’t so sure I liked it either.
I tugged at my hair and stared out the window. What was I doing with this guy? What the hell did I imagine could happen next? Coworkers with benefits? We weren’t really friends, and it wasn’t like this could lead to anything romantic.
Could it?
“You’re a beautiful woman, Sabrina,” Donovan said, pulling my focus back to him.
It was the kind of statement that was usually followed by a but. When it didn’t come, I couldn’t resist questioning. “Am I?”
“Very.” His voice was thick and rough, like heavy sandpaper.
I glanced down at where the moonlight hit his lap and saw his cock bulging, its head peeking out over the band of his underwear.
Oh. So not a but.
Wherever this was going tomorrow, it was still tonight right now. And tonight I was wet and wanting and Donovan was hard and here.
I straightened, purposefully showing off my breasts. “Do I make you think dirty thoughts?”
“Mm,” he moaned. “Very dirty thoughts.” He kept his hands braced on the armrests, his eyes pinned on me.
“When I was younger, I used to have all sorts of dirty thoughts about you.” I didn’t know why I said it. I’d told him I’d had inappropriate thoughts about him back then. The information wasn’t exactly new.
“And not now?”
“Now too.” God, it was my last secret. How much I thought about him. How much he invaded my mind. “All the time.”
His grip tightened on the armrests, and my pussy fluttered in response. I liked telling him, I realized. I liked him knowing, just like I liked knowing he had dirty thoughts about me.
“Do you get yourself off when you have these dirty thoughts?”
“Yes.” I pressed my thighs together, seeking relief. I was so turned on.
“Show me.”
“Show you?” I’d heard what he’d said. And I knew what he meant. I just needed a second to process what I thought about the idea.
“Yes.” He sat up straighter in his chair, obviously eager. “And tell me. Tell me what I do to you in your imagination. Show me and tell me. Show and tell.” He smirked at his own pun.
“Well.” I’d never played with myself in front of someone else before. I’d never wanted to. Donovan was different though. He brought out different things in me, and saying no to him never crossed my mind, much less felt like an option.
I lay down on the bed, propping my head up with pillows so I could see him when I opened my legs. Now which scenario would I share? “There’s a few different…”
“Tell me your favorite,” he interrupted.
Variations on a rape. That was my favorite and most played out. No way was I telling him that. I’d stick with one of the more generic fantasies. Maybe the one where he threw me across his desk…
I closed my eyes and prepared the scene in my mind. Then I opened my mouth to begin.
“Now, be honest, Sabrina,” he said, cutting me off before I’d started. “It’s no fun if you aren’t honest.”
My heart thumped louder against my ribcage. Could I really tell him the truth about this? It was so dirty. So wrong.
I opened my eyes just enough to peek at him. He wouldn’t know if I lied, not if I made it good enough. But he was right—what would be the point of that? Wasn’t my whole fascination with him about this filthy daydream of mine anyway? Wouldn’t it be best to tell him so I could finally get this sick perversion out of my system?
No. I should tell him because it might be my only chance to live out this deepest, darkest fantasy. And feeding that need, that craving, that endless hunger, was reason enough to be worth it, humiliation and all.
And, honestly, as humiliating as the act was to think about, it was equally as hot. Hot because it was humiliating.
I took a deep breath. This time I didn’t close my eyes—I met Donovan’s instead. “You hold me down.” My voice sounded slow and monotone, like a narrator stripped of emotion, but even just that much of my story was enough to make Donovan’s eyes flare. “I can’t get away. You’ve muffled my screams. No one can hear me. No one can help me. You manage to get my pants down—”
“But you struggled first,” he added, in a similar matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes.” His addition to my fantasy surprised me, but it added to my arousal. My nipples immediately budded. I brought my hands to my breasts, caressing them, easing them from their sudden heaviness.
“How did you struggle?”
“I kneed you, but I didn’t get you where I aimed.” I lowered my glance to his cock and saw it had grown even bigger, which made my breath catch. “Fighting just turned you on more. You punish me with a hard bite on my nipple.”