by Roni Loren
She shivered at the trace of his fingertips over her shoulders, her nipples stiffening to tempting points. “I can work with that.”
“So can I, Rush.”
So can I.
* * *
Marin didn’t know what was showing on her face, but she hoped she didn’t look as flayed open as she felt. She hadn’t known what to expect when Donovan said he had something in the bedroom for her, but the last thing she’d expected was this. The man who didn’t believe in The One, who seemed to see romance as a silly illusion we fed ourselves, had set up the most romantic thing she could imagine. He wanted to give her the fantasy first time, the storybook one. And though she had zero regrets about how her first time had gone with him, she couldn’t deny that this nudged that secret part inside her that still got swept away by happily-ever-afters and sappy movies.
This guy was going to freaking kill her. She’d told him she wanted him to be himself, to not put on any masks, but maybe that had been a dangerous thing. She could deal with the Donovan who got her body revving, the one who’d fuck her in a closet or do naughty role-plays. But she wasn’t sure she could handle this version. This version could hurt. Slice her right open and get to the tender parts.
But before she could finish her silent panic attack, Donovan lifted her and brought her over to the bed. The sheets and flower petals were cool beneath her back as he laid her out. He straightened by the side of the bed, looming in the candlelight, shirtless with just his pair of slacks on, and this intent, almost pained, look on his face. He brushed the back of his hand over her breast, making her shiver and sending heat blooming there. “You’re beautiful, Marin. You look like art right now. I wish I had my camera out.”
She licked her lips. She’d noticed the photographs hanging on the walls of his place the first time she’d been here. Mostly black-and-white landscapes and city skylines. The same type of photos that hung in the therapy office. Things captured from a distance, never close up. Behind him was a stunning one of what looked to be San Francisco Bay.
Now she realized why they’d drawn her attention. All those photos were his. The world seen through Donovan’s eyes. “You do photography.”
“Not anymore, but you’re making me regret that now.”
Goose bumps appeared at his full-length perusal. A few seconds ago, if someone had suggested she take nude photos, she would’ve laughed them right out of the room. Incriminating pictures that showed every flaw possible? Yeah, no thanks. But the way Donovan was looking at her made her skin pull tight and everything warm. “How would you photograph me?”
His gaze slid to hers, something fiery and dangerous there. He trailed his fingertips over her breast and down her belly, circling her navel. “Just like this. All spread out and bared for me. Willing and wanting. Trusting.”
Her toes curled at the teasing touch, her back arching. “Yeah?”
He walked around the foot of the bed, leaving his hand on her but trailing it along with him. He pinched her left nipple with erotic precision, sending fire through her. “Then maybe a close-up shot of just these pretty pink nipples, straining for a touch or my tongue. Then a shot of them swollen and wet from my mouth.”
She closed her eyes and could almost feel his lips on her. But all he did was map the edges of her areola, making everything hypersensitive.
“The possibilities are endless.” His voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, one that was lulling her into this suspended state of being aware of every inch of her body. He walked his fingers over her collarbone. “I could stroke myself just thinking about every way I’d want to photograph you.” He let his touch glide down her arm. “Maybe tied up for me. Maybe touching yourself. Maybe covered with my come because I just couldn’t resist rubbing my cock while I took pictures.”
She bit her lip and a little moan escaped her at that image. It was explicit and dirty, pornographic. But she couldn’t drum up shame about that. Being tied up and having Donovan masturbate over her—goddamn. Yes. Please. Could she put in an order for that?
Donovan made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, his fingers finding her hair. “You’re getting all pink, baby, and I have a feeling that’s not a blush. You like the idea of that, huh? Of me seeing you through a lens or documenting just how shamelessly sexual you can be.”
She fought to find her voice. “And give you blackmail material? No way.”
He laughed and traced his hand down from her neck, over her sternum and down, down, down until he was cupping her sex. She jolted at the touch. She felt hot and heavy there already, but his palm seared her. He slid his fingers over her. “Yeah, you seem really concerned.”
Her knees bent and she whimpered at the need building there. How could he stoke her fire so easily after what had already happened tonight? Surely, she had a limit. Or maybe her body had some storehouse of missed orgasmic opportunities from all these years and was ready to make up for lost time.
He slid two fingers inside her. “What’s your safe word?”
Her teeth dragged over her bottom lip. “Blue.”
“Grab hold of the headboard and keep your legs open like this. Don’t move unless I tell you.”
Her eyes snapped open at that. “Donovan.”
He gave her one last maddening stroke. “Trust me for now. You have your word if you need it.”
Anxiety rippled through her, but something in his gaze smoothed the edges of it. She found herself lifting her arms and reaching for the headboard. Donovan gave her a nod, clearly pleased if the look on his face and the obvious erection in his pants were any indication. Then, he walked over to his closet, opened the doors, and pulled something from a high shelf. She knew what it had to be, but when he turned around and pulled a fancy camera from a bag, her belly dipped.
He kept his eyes on her and set the bag aside. “This camera is not connected to the Internet. Pictures are stored on a little card inside. You can have the card when we’re done or break it in two. But right now, I want to see you through my lens, naked on my bed, wearing only candlelight.”
Her heart had crawled up into her throat, but her body was starting a one-woman band of pounding beats. Everything felt electrified. Her fingers curled around the rails of the headboard.
He waited for a long moment, watching her, then finally asked. “What color is the sky, Marin?”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her head fall back against the pillow. “Green.”
That was when she heard the first click.
It was like a blast in her ears in the silent room. But a wash of heat went over her like the camera had hands, touching every naked part of her. Click. Click. Click. There was nowhere she could hide, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Knowing Donovan was there behind the lens, caressing her with his eyes, seeing her in a way no other had, making art out of her body had desire winding through her like thick smoke.
What was he photographing? The hard pebbles her nipples had become? Her goose-bumped skin? The way her thighs were parted for him? Or maybe the slick, wet place at her center? Just imagining Donovan photographing her there had her clit throbbing and her arousal creeping into the near unbearable state.
This shouldn’t be doing it for her. She didn’t even recognize this version of herself. But that soft click of the camera might as well have been a kiss against her skin from him.
She heard the metal sound of a zipper opening. She didn’t dare look yet, afraid she’d lose her nerve if she stared into the camera’s eye, but her ears were tuned to high. And the rustle of Donovan’s clothing had her pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. He was taking her picture, but he was getting naked. Maybe this was driving him just as out of his mind as it was driving her.
She swallowed hard. “Are you touching yourself?”
Another click. “I’ve got my cock in my hand, but don’t worry. I’m just teasing myself. I’m saving the real thing for you. You have no idea how fucking sexy you look. I could take a whole series of
pictures of just the way your teeth keep digging into your lip or how your belly’s rising and falling or how slippery and flushed your cunt is getting. You look like you could come and I haven’t touched you.”
Her mouth was a desert, words a former ability.
“But this. This is my favorite.” Click. Click. “This I can’t get enough of.”
Marin couldn’t stop herself. She ventured a peek and something tight squeezed her chest. Donovan was on the side of the bed, naked as she’d ever seen him, cock in one hand and camera to his eye. And the lens was focused in one very specific place. Right on her face.
He snapped another picture. And then lowered the camera, turning the screen her way. On the bright little square was a woman she didn’t recognize. Hooded eyes, puffy lips, and ransacked hair, the candlelight hitting her just so, making her sexy in a way she’d never have assigned to herself. This was what wanting him looked like on her. This is what he saw.
“What do you think?” he asked softly.
“I think your camera is kind.”
His lips curved as he set the camera aside and bent to brush his lips over hers. “I think it doesn’t capture even one percent of what I see.”
She inhaled deeply, trying to center herself. She’d joked earlier about sex with him being like skydiving, but now that was proving true. She felt like she was falling, falling and there was no parachute cord to pull. He wasn’t playing fair. She reached out for him, feeling the ground rushing up toward her. “Donovan. I need you.”
“I’ve got you.” He climbed onto the bed and pressed a line a kisses along the curve of her neck. She writhed under the touch, and he put a hand on her hip to anchor her. “I need you right back.”
He took his time, using his mouth on every square inch of her, teasing her nipples and pressing hot wet kisses along her ribs. Then he was stroking between her thighs with maddening precision until she thought she might cry from all the pent-up . . . everything. Fear. Desire. Emotion. It had all weaved into a glowing, knotted ball of sparking energy in her gut. She called his name, not sure what she wanted him to do. But then he was rolling on the condom and he gave her the answer. He braced himself over her, settled in between her thighs, and pushed deep inside her in a long, slow glide.
Yes. That. That was what she needed.
And when she opened her eyes, finding him watching her, his deep blue gaze capturing her and holding her there, she felt all of those swirling things settle. He was skydiving with her. They were on this ride together. They’d either float safely to the bottom or crash alongside each other.
But at least she knew one thing: He was as lost to it as she was.
She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, and she took him deep inside her body, never breaking the eye contact.
They’d never made love face-to-face. She’d never seen him this stripped down. So naked. So human. And she couldn’t get enough.
She’d asked for the boy she used to know. But she’d gotten a man who was so much more than that. He was fire. Brash and bold and dangerous. But he was also rain. She could see it there in his eyes, like he could drown if he let some of the stuff inside him come to the surface. Like he was always saying good-bye. Deep, deep waters.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
But when they both fell over the edge of the cliff together a few minutes later, all she could do was fly with him and hope they landed in one piece.
Twenty-three more days.
It would be too much.
It would never be enough.
29
“She’s a whore,” Lawrence declared. “All women are in the end. Fucking selfish whores.”
Donovan glanced up from his notes, lips parted and poised to interject, but Marin sent him a quick look that was as effective as holding up her hand. He hid his smirk. Rush was getting confident. He’d be sure to let her know how happy he was to see her progress when she came over later tonight.
For the past few weeks, they’d made it an almost nightly occurrence. They’d work together all day, pretend that there was nothing between them, be professional, and then after her brother left for his nightly shift, she’d sneak over to Donovan’s place for a little nightcap.
Of course, a little nightcap often turned into the all-night kind. They were both sleep-deprived as hell. And Marin had twice gotten home after her brother because they’d gotten carried away and lost track of time. But goddamn, he’d never been happier to be an experienced insomniac. And on the nights she couldn’t make it over, he found himself missing not just her presence in his bed, but her company.
Last night, he’d given in to the urge and had called her. They’d ended up talking on the phone for over an hour and co-watching some silly thriller movie from the eighties. They’d put it on mute and inserted their own dialogue. It’d been ridiculous.
She made him ridiculous.
And she was about to tell him good-bye.
Three days. They had three days left, and he had no doubt that she was going to stick to her word and end things. He needed to let her.
But just the thought of letting her go had sent those old demons snapping at his ankles again. He could feel them there in the shadows, breathing, waiting, reminding him that he could run but never hide. Letting her go would be best for them both. But even knowing that, he found himself considering things he shouldn’t. Scary things. Selfish things. Like getting rid of the time limit. Like asking to meet her brother. Like telling her that he thought she was the most amazing woman and that maybe he’d changed his mind about that whole concept of The One.
But she still had no idea that he was a version of her worst nightmare, the thing she’d feared most all her life. There was so much he hadn’t told her about his past. About his present. Things that would frighten her. Things she shouldn’t have to deal with. But he was getting more and more tempted every day to come clean anyway, to lay it all out there and brace for the consequences. But even if she could get past those things, what were they supposed to do? Continue to hide and sneak around? Keep risking their jobs?
Plus, she might not even feel the same way. What if this really was all about sex and experience for her? What if she was ready to walk away?
The thought punched him in the gut. Fuck. He was in so much goddamned trouble with this woman. So much trouble.
He couldn’t let his mind go there right now. No time for panic attacks while trying to help clients. He forced his focus back to the session, waiting to see how Marin was going to handle Lawrence.
She stayed tall in her chair and didn’t flinch away from Lawrence’s tirade or harsh language. “Why don’t you tell us what happened to change your mind about Rebecca?”
Lawrence’s leg bounced up and down like he was barely able to keep himself sitting down. “I wrote her again and she sent me the same email about the sex toy. It’s a fucking form email.”
To her credit, Marin didn’t visibly react or do what Donovan really wanted to do—say, No shit, genius. Instead she nodded. “I see. So you’re angry because you feel like she tricked you?”
“She just wants to make money and make people buy her shit. I mean, I don’t care that she probably gets a pile of fan mail. Don’t make it sound personalized when it’s just a damn sales pitch. I feel like . . . I dunno. Like a fucking chump. Like she’s laughing at all of us dudes who watch her movies.”
Marin managed a sympathetic expression. “No one likes to feel like that. But maybe it would help to think about it from her perspective. Just like any other person who performs a role, she’s playing at something she’s not. She’s an actress. On screen, she’s the girl who wants every guy and who can orgasm a thousand times and is sex personified. She’s the fantasy girl. But no one is that in real life. She’s doing that job because she has bills to pay and her own goals to meet. It’s a means to an end. I doubt she’s laughing at her fans, but I think she probably sees you as customers. That
’s what you are.”
Lawrence looked ready to fight back, to disagree for the sake of disagreeing because he didn’t like what Marin represented—the truth. But finally he let out a breath. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
Ah, the unintentional trap so many people were good at setting in therapy. Come here, doctor. Just step right here. Confirm what I think about myself. Tell me these horrible things I think are true so I can redirect this anger at you.
Marin adeptly sidestepped the quagmire. “I think you’re good at keeping yourself safe.”
Donovan smiled behind the fingers he’d steepled in front of his mouth. Three points, Dr. Rush. Nailed it.
Lawrence’s hackles went up. “What the fuck is that supposed to be mean?”
Marin set her notepad aside and took off her glasses. Donovan had learned she’d do that when she wanted to have a let’s-just-talk-you-and-me vibe with the clients. He found it unbearably sexy.
Better yet, it was effective. Lawrence sagged a bit in his chair, his fighter’s pose softening.
“Hear me out,” Marin said. “It’s smart to want to be safe. It’s a natural instinct. If we protect ourselves—our bodies, our minds, our hearts—we can avoid all these messy things. Being embarrassed. Making mistakes. Looking dumb. Getting our hearts broken. But there’s a huge price to pay for that safety. And usually that price is being alone or being stuck. Whether that’s stuck in a job or a relationship or in a place you don’t want to be. Everything has a price. For whatever reason, something in you wants to be safe. Girls in movies are safe.”
Lawrence’s expression didn’t change, but he was obviously listening.
“We’ve met for a number of weeks now, Lawrence. I know you’re smart. I know you know that Rebecca Bling was not a real possibility, that it was a fantasy. That email may have brought that home, but it didn’t tell you something you didn’t already know on some level. So what we really need to focus on is figuring out why you have this need to feel that safe, what price you’re paying for it, and if that price is worth it.”