I almost melted into the floor right there.
And hallelujah, the door finally opened.
I burst through the entry, not bothering to turn on the lights, dropping my keys and my purse and my coat as quickly as I got into the room. Stripped of my accessories, I spun around into Donovan who shut the door behind him with his foot. He tossed his coat on the floor.
And then we were there, in each other's arms, ravishing each other.
I moaned against his lips. His tongue was driven and aggressive, plunging inside my mouth, scraping against my teeth. I grabbed the edges of my sweater and pulled up, breaking from him only long enough to pull it over my head and toss it aside.
He took the moment our mouths were apart to push his hand under the waistband of my leggings, inside my panties to stroke along the length of my slit. When I met his eyes again, they gleamed with satisfaction, and I knew it was because of how wet I was. How drenched.
"Please," I begged, pushing into him. I got my hands under his pullover, plucking his shirt from his pants, desperate to feel his skin. "Please."
I was too frantic.
Donovan liked control.
With his free hand, he grabbed my wrists, and in one quick motion whirled me around so that I was pressed against the wall. He held my arms stretched above my head, and I let out a groan of frustration. I needed to touch him. I needed to feel him.
"Donovan, I need—"
"I know what you need." Proving his words were true, his hand, which was still inside my pants, rubbed ruthlessly against my clit. My knees buckled at the intensity.
Jesus, I was going to come quickly at this rate.
"I've thought of so many ways I want to fuck you." He whispered in my ear. "So many ways I want to make you come. Every way I can imagine. That’s how many ways I’m going to make you come. Every way I can imagine.”
He maneuvered his hands so that his thumb was still pressing against my nub and his fingers could reach down lower, inside my hole. Two long fingers stroked inside me, massaging exactly the right spot. He didn't warm me up. He didn't need to. He didn't take his time. He went right for the kill, intent on making me come hard and fast.
And I did. Fast and hard, so hard I couldn't stand.
He let go of my hands so he could anchor his arm around my waist to hold me up while sonic waves of pleasure rippled through my body.
I hadn’t even recovered when he turned me around again, turned us both around, so that he could walk me backward, his arm still around my waist, the other now snug in my hair. His mouth again claimed mine. Devoured mine.
And I was dizzy, dizzy, dizzy, and wanting more.
When I hit the back of the couch, Donovan lifted me up and set me on top. He broke away from me and pulled off my boots. Then I lifted my hips so he could pull off my leggings and panties. As soon as I was bare, I reached for the fly of his slacks, assuming the command before he gave it.
"Take out my cock,” he demanded, his voice warm like scotch.
I was already halfway there, tugging first his pants down, then his boxer briefs, just far enough to get to the prize. Out he fell, heavy and thick, his angry pink tip dripping with pre-cum.
I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him toward me, pulling his cock toward the ache between my thighs.
He took his dick in his hand and dragged it down the length of my pussy, and for one terrible torturous second I feared he was going to torment me, tease me, make me beg before he filled me. But then his crown was notched at my hole, and, with his hands gripping my hips, he rammed inside me. Then again. And again. Over and over, pounding into me with a frenzy that matched the agitation within me.
"Fuck. There. Right there. Oh, shit."
I was an unneeded director. Even if he didn't know how to touch me, how to make me feel good, he wouldn't listen to me telling him what to do if he didn't want to. My commentary might even have provoked him to change tactics, because a moment later he was pushing my knees back so that my feet rested on the back of the couch. And now when he drove into me it was so far, so deep, it was as though he reached the very center of me.
He did reach the very center of me, I realized. Not just with sex, not just with his cock, but with everything he did. He was the only man I knew, the only man I'd ever met who could reach so far into me that he could see my darkest secrets and understand my most intimate self. Even before he'd manipulated my life and put cameras on me, even before he stalked me, even before he violated every bit of my privacy, he'd known me. He'd seen me. He’d noticed me.
Now he noticed me with his fingers tangled in my hair. He pulled my head back, exposing my throat, then with his free hand, he plucked down the cup of my bra and twisted my erect nipple between his thumb and finger until I squealed at the pain. Immediately he brought his mouth down to suck on it and soothe it, alternating licking with biting, sending jolts of shock and pleasure straight into my pussy, which throbbed and screamed, at the brink of coming again.
"No, I can't," I said, when he moved his hand down to brush against my clit. It wouldn't take much before I was erupting.
"You can," he insisted.
"No. No. I can't. It's too much.” Too much.
"Keep saying no. That only makes me more determined." I could feel him grinning, even as he went back to nursing on my tit.
I clamped my jaw shut, intent on keeping silent, but my protests seeped out in high-pitched one syllable no-no-no’s.
Donovan angled his hips and rubbed his thumb and pulled at my nipple with his teeth in just the right, right way—that right way that only he knew. And then I was coming again, exploding. Trembling. Convulsing.
"Fuck, baby, that's it," Donovan urged. "Come all over my cock. Just like that." He shoved against me as I tried to push him out, his pace slowing as my pussy vice-gripped around him. He rode out my climax, a satisfied smile on his lips.
When he pulled out, his eyes moved down to stare at his cock, dripping with my cum.
"You look so pretty on my dick," he said. He stroked his finger along the length of himself and rubbed my wetness along my lips. Hovering just above my mouth he whispered, "I bet you taste so pretty, too."
He kissed me, licking my cum into my mouth. I could taste myself. Sabrina-flavored lip gloss.
"Don't you think you taste pretty?" But he didn't let me answer, instead kissing the breath right out of me.
He didn't let it go on long, though. Soon he cut off sharply and pulled me down to the ground. When I was steady on my own, he let go of me and wrapped his fingers in the hem of his pullover. “Go to your bedroom. Take off your bra and your socks. Bend over the bed, your ass up, and wait for me." He didn't wait for me to leave before pulling both layers of shirts over his head.
I stalled, my eyes drinking in the sight of his naked chest. It had been so long since I'd seen it. So long since I’d touched it freely. I felt like an inmate who’d been newly paroled, drunk on the absence of bars between me and my man.
But that man didn't appreciate my delay.
"Go." He smacked my ass, and I dashed toward my bedroom.
Once there, I stripped the rest of my clothes off and situated myself on the bed like he’d asked—ordered, more like—tilting my head so I could peer in the direction of my door under my arm. I wanted to watch him walk in. Wanted to watch him see me. Wanted to watch as much as he’d let me see.