He did. "Most of the time I was in Tokyo, I was part of the underground BDSM scene. I never had relationships. Just sex with women who wanted to be dominated, mostly."
Now a new anxiety was building inside me. I sat up straighter. "You are a... Dominant? But we don't. I'm not." I didn't really know how to say what I was trying to say. We did some kinky stuff, but I wasn't about to be collared. "Don't you need that? I'm not a submissive. Not really, am I? Why are you laughing?"
He wasn't laughing so much as chuckling. "You are submissive enough, Sabrina. Trust me. I do need it. But it's not about the sex for me. I get what I need from you in other ways." He meant by taking care of me. By interfering and bossing and scheming to make my life the way he wanted it.
That’s how he dominated me. That was what turned him on.
It was simple, and yet I had to process it. Had to let it sink in.
“Does that bother you?” he asked when I’d stayed silent for perhaps longer than he’d expected.
I tilted my head. “I’m just taking it in.”
It was stirring something in me—something bigger, that I couldn’t quite grasp yet.
Donovan tried to grab at the strings, tried to pull the something bigger into place. “It doesn’t mean I’m not into what you need too, Sabrina.”
That wasn’t it. I wasn’t worried about our sex life. He’d been fully present there. “I think that’s been kind of obvious that you’re into that.”
“I’d hope so.”
But that was close to it, sitting right next to the bigger thing. Because all those years that we were apart, I'd held onto Donovan through this kink that I needed. This fantasy that he would do unspeakably filthy things to me. Thinking all the time that I was crazy and sick and wrong. I'd run from those thoughts, and if he'd been in my life, I would've run from him. I did run from him when I first saw him again. I ran right into Weston's arms, a place I never belonged.
All the while, he held onto me through this kink that he needed, watching me, saving me, taking care of me. He probably thought he was crazy. I knew he thought he was sick and wrong. He tried to run from me. He hoped I'd never find out. He ran across the ocean, to a place he never belonged.
It slammed through me then, like a gale force wind, taking my breath away and taking any doubt that lingered with it.
I looked up at him sitting in the chair gazing down at me. "I love you."
He was still, silent. He blinked in natural time.
"Did you hear me?"
His lips curved up ever so slightly. “I’m just taking it in.”
I abandoned my tumbler and crawled into his lap, straddling him. His arms came around my hips. “I love you,” I said again.
He searched my eyes, studied my features as though he expected to see doubt etched in my expression.
My doubts were gone, and he had to already know, had to know exactly how I felt about him. He always knew everything about me before I did. Didn't he know this too?
If he didn't, I'd tell him again. As many times as it took.
I put my hand on his cheek, stroked my thumb across the stubble, and bent down to graze my mouth against his. "I love you." A whisper this time.
I sucked his upper lip between mine then let it go. "I. Love. You."
I couldn't tell him again in words for a long time. Because the next time I brushed over him, he snapped into action, and took over. His hand clasped behind my neck and held me tightly in place as his lips ground into mine, and his tongue thoroughly fucked my mouth.
I moaned, rocking my hips along the length of his stiffening erection.
My body ached under the weight of my clothing. Every movement with them on was like wading through a river in armor. My limbs were too heavy. There were too many layers between his skin and mine.
I tugged at his sweater and whimpered; frustrated that it wasn't already off.
He broke from my mouth with a discontented grunt, letting me know he was just as eager as I was. With frantic hands, he pulled my shirt and my sweater off over my head together and tossed them to the floor. Then he leaned down and sucked along the top of my breasts, covering every square inch of flesh with his mouth, as though I were a paint-by-body-part project, and this section of my landscape had been designated to be painted with his lips.
I arched into him as I reached behind me to undo the clasp of my bra. The cups fell down, and he pushed them away so he could take a peaked nipple between his thumb and finger while he flicked the other lightly with his tongue.
"Oh my God, I love you." I was already seeing stars. What this man could do to my breasts…
I had to have more of him. I tugged with more urgency at his sweater, and he got the hint, withdrawing from me just long enough to shed the material keeping his torso from mine. Then finally, I ran the flats of my palms along the dips and planes of his bare chest. He was so hard and solid and warm. I drew his nipple into my mouth and nipped and was rewarded with the pulse of his cock underneath me.
But that wasn't where he wanted my lips.
He gathered my hair behind my neck and pulled sharply, tilting my chin up so that he could reclaim my mouth with his. I pressed into him, rubbing against him like he was a scratching post and I was a kitten with a bad itch.
Soon he stood, lifting me with him, never breaking our kiss. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on as he carried me to the bed. He laid me down and immediately worked on ridding me of my jeans and panties, then he pushed my thighs apart and buried his head in between.
He sucked me and fingered me, tormenting me to climax twice before he stood to remove his own pants. When he was fully naked, he stood above me and fisted his cock, heavy and thick.
"Say it." I was greedy. He’d told me he loved me more than I'd told him, told me before I told him, but now I decided I wanted to hear him say it again too.
I didn't know if he could guess what I wanted. Whatever he said would work. I just wanted him to talk to me. I stretched my hand out toward his hard thigh, unable to reach him. "I want you to say it."
He stroked himself. Up and down. "You are mine, Sabrina." Close enough.
He crawled between my legs, and I spread them farther to make room for him. “Because I love you,” he said, dragging the head of his cock down the split of my pussy. "Because I've always loved you."
He punctuated the last line by sliding all the way inside me.
I cried out as his tip touched the deepest part of me. “I’m yours.”
He lowered himself over me, holding me closer and tighter than he usually did when he fucked me. “You’re mine,” he repeated as he moved inside me, establishing his rhythm, steady and brisk.
“And you’re mine,” I said, breathless.
He slowed ever so slightly, caught by surprise. Then he nodded and picked up his swift pace. “I’m yours.” He kissed me. “I’m yours.”
We made love like that well into the night, holding each other, kissing, whispering words we’d never said to anyone else. We wrapped ourselves in this chrysalis; this love we’d found that would change us both. This filthy love that had reminded me what it felt like to be cared for. This rich love that taught Donovan for the first time in his life what it could feel like to belong to someone.