I felt good. Unbelievably good. So good and wanted and loved, and after the shitty way that Theo had made me feel, I was desperate to hold onto it for as long as possible.
Too soon, it was over. My vision cleared and my muscles relaxed. The dizziness was fading, and I realized I was now empty—literally empty. Donovan hadn't released and was no longer inside of me.
I bolted upright and found him standing to the side, already tucked away.
"Uh-uh," I said, trying to twist my way out of the makeshift shackles. "I know what you're doing and I'm not letting you do it."
"Really. What is it I'm doing then?"
The robe dropped to the floor and I hurriedly pulled up my pants so that I wouldn't trip on them as I walked over to him. "You’re still trying to play the martyr," I said as I drew near to him. "But it's coming off as playing the asshole." I reached for his zipper.
He shoved my hand away. "I could have gotten you killed!"
I jumped at his sudden volume, but was undeterred. His passion only made me more resolved to show him this wasn’t his fault. That I didn’t blame him.
“You’re right—I could have died.” I backed him up against the wall by the kitchen. “But I didn’t. You saved me. And we’re in this together.” I had his zipper down and his cock in my hand now. It was still stone hard and wet from being inside me.
Damn, he made my legs tremble every time I touched him.
And I needed him to feel good and release as desperately as I had needed it for myself. I pumped him with my fist and wrapped my other hand around his neck to bring his mouth down to mine.
He resisted at first, but I refused to give up. Because I couldn't have if I’d wanted to. His taste was the best drug, his lips so firm and familiar, it was like going to church. I suckled on him, savored him as I stroked him, molded his mouth until it became pliable against mine.
And then he was desperate too—lifting me up, carrying me to the kitchen table. He shoved a chair aside so he could set me down and it toppled to the floor. With my ankles wrapped around his waist, I hoisted my hips so he could pull my pants down enough to get inside me. He rocked against me, gently but eagerly, searching for my entrance, and when he slid in, we sighed in unified relief.
"I fucking love you so much," I whispered against his lips. “My dark warrior.”
He kissed me brutally, then pressed his forehead against mine. "I'm so weak when it comes to you.” He cupped his hands around my chin. “So fucking weak. You make me lose my head. I make bad decisions around you, Sabrina." Then his mouth was too busy kissing me to say anything else.
I relished everything he said, every second, every glorious sensation as he rode me harder and faster to his release. I tried to memorize all of it. Tried to take it all in, because while this was the closest to heaven I’d ever been, the knot in my stomach wouldn’t go away. Because I could see the board. I could see his next play, and I prayed to God I was being paranoid, that he wasn’t already distancing himself. That fucking me against the table wasn’t his way of saying goodbye.
When he came, he let out a long guttural groan. He looked into my eyes and clutched onto me, his fingers dug into my skin so deeply it was like he'd never let me go.
But he did.
He picked me up off the table, set me on the floor, and helped me readjust my clothing. The tenderness wasn't gone, but he was reserved, as if we’d just shared an elevator and not our hearts.
"Don't do this." I reached for him, but he stepped back.
To his credit, he didn't deny it. He looked me dead in the eye when he made his move.
"I don't deserve you," he said plainly. Matter of fact. Like the simple slide of a bishop along the diagonal spaces of a chessboard, knocking out the pawn at the end.
My throat suddenly felt tight, and I couldn't swallow past whatever was stuck there. "And that's going to be your excuse?"
"It's not an excuse. It's—"
I cut him off. "It's bullshit!" He jerked at my exclamation, but didn't defend himself. "And what? You’ll go back to hiring private detectives to follow me around everywhere? Watching from a distance? 'Loving' me from afar?" I'd have to move now. It would be bad enough working with him. Living in his building with his cameras on me knowing I’d never get to see into his life again—that would kill me.
What was I thinking? Being without him at all would kill me.
"It's better for you this way, Sabrina." There was no energy behind this breakup. That's how pathetic it was. He’d just decided that it was the right thing to do, the virtuous and noble thing, and even though he didn't want to give me up, he was going to do it because this was one thing he knew how to commit to.
Donovan Kincaid knew how to run away.
Well, fuck him.
"Fuck you." I crossed my hands over my chest, hiding myself, as if I could un-bare what I'd bared to him. As if I could cover myself up when he’d already seen all of me. "You don't deserve me? You're right. You don't. Maybe you don't know how to love someone, and it’s not your fault that you didn’t learn before. But you’re a grown up, and you’re old enough to start trying. Your parents are hard; I’ll admit that. But I don't see you even trying to love them. And now you're not trying to love me. And I deserve someone who will try."
I was crying now, tears fully streaming down my face, but despite the display, I felt a burst of strength. "Love doesn't have to be perfect or traditional, Donovan. I can put up with a lot of mistakes, and the way I'm loved doesn't have to look like the way anyone has ever loved me before. It doesn't have to look like the way anyone has ever loved anyone else in the world. And that will be enough as long as someone tries."
I wiped my cheeks with the butt of my palm. "But running away every time there's a problem isn't trying. And peering in on my life and nudging now and then like you would on the paddles of a pinball machine isn't trying either. Which is a real shame, because I really did try with you. I really did fall in love with you."
"Sabrina…" He trailed off, and I waited for him to say more but more never came.
He didn’t even know how to try to console me.
I swallowed another threatening sob. "I'm going to bed. Stay if you need to, but I'm going to be just fine if you go."
I didn't look at him again. I swept back to the sofa and picked up my robe, determined to leave as little of myself with him as possible. And then I headed straight to my bedroom, shut the door behind me, and immediately sank to the floor, my back pressed against the wood, and silently sobbed while pretending I hadn't just told the biggest lie of my life.
Chapter 22
I knew my apartment was empty when I woke up the next morning. In my mind, he'd left during the night. I was sure of it before I opened my eyes. But my heart held hope that he’d stayed, and so the first thing I did after I found my living room empty was to check the guestroom to see if the bed had been slept in. I stared at the pillows. Had they been rearranged? The comforter certainly looked unruffled.
He'd really left.