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She closed her eyes, shame clearly still fighting for a hold. “I—I did some research. A lot of women report that they’re more sensitive this way, that things . . . feel more intense. I thought I’d try it.”
She’d done research. Of course she had. Marin wouldn’t go about things any other way. He smiled to himself. He was also happy to hear she’d done it for her own enjoyment. So many women he saw in therapy got hung up on what look would please the guy they were with, never even considering how they personally felt about it. “Well, let’s see if it worked. Touch yourself, Marin.”
Marin’s hand rested on her inner thigh, her fingers twitching ever so slightly. Her anxiety was a flavor on his tongue, an aphrodisiac. Knowing she was willing to push past those fears for him did more to him than it should. He stayed at the stop sign, no one behind them to rush him, and watched as her hand traced closer to the place where she had to be aching. Then as if she were jumping off a cliff, she quickly put her hand on herself and rubbed her fingers over her clit.
The simple touch made her jolt and the sharp sound she made went straight to his cock. She was a vibrating cord of tension, so on edge that the slightest stroke was going to feel like too much. “That’s right, baby. Give yourself some relief. It’s been such a long night already.”
He made sure his voice was quiet, soothing, wanting to add to her experience instead of distract her. And it seemed to work. The tense scrunch of her shoulders eased against the seat and she rubbed herself again, pushing fingertips between her lips and exploring. Any reservations she may have had got swept up in the need for release, for stimulation. He was learning with her that she just had to get to that tipping point and then that secret side of her came out, the one who had dirty fantasies of her own.
Donovan pressed his hand around his erection, needing the pressure but also not granting himself a stroke. He wanted to enjoy the view, savor this. Marin’s nipples became visible through the fabric of her dress and her neck curved as she began to softly pant. He wished he could photograph her just like this, show her how fucking gorgeous she was when she let go, but he settled for burning the image into his mind.
“Oh, God.” Her plea was soft, breathless.
“It’s okay, take what you need,” Donovan said, reaching over and brushing his knuckles over her nipple, back and forth, back and forth.
Marin gasped at that, her back arching and her fingers working harder, more focused. The sounds of slick flesh and the scent of arousal filled the car, and Donovan couldn’t tear his gaze away as Marin brought herself to a quick, but what looked to be intense, orgasm.
Her chest rose and fell with gulping breaths and her eyes stayed squeezed shut. But after a few last cries of release, she moved her hand away, letting her arm fall to the side.
“Shit,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Donovan gave her breast one last stroke. Then he reached down and righted her dress. “Beautiful. Feel better?”
“I can’t believe I just did that.”
“You’re more daring than you think. Your desire’s there. You just need a nudge.” He finally rolled forward through the stop sig
n and tried to mentally tamp down his own level of arousal. At this rate, he was going to walk into his place with a monster hard-on leading the way.
She shifted in the seat. “You make me stop thinking. It freaks me out a little.”
He smiled and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and hitting the gas to rocket them down the dark road. “I make you stop thinking, and you wake me up.”
The statement slipped out, the private thought hijacking his vocal cords. He almost snapped it right back, said something to undo it. But her fingers simply tightened around his. “Guess we’re a pretty good match then.”
The words should’ve scared him.
But with her next to him and the night in front of them, he couldn’t access that fear. “Guess we are.”
26
Marin kept her hand linked with Donovan’s for long, quiet minutes—both of them lost in their own thoughts. She stared out the open window, hair whipping in the humid breeze. The scenery had shifted from civilization to the eerie beauty of the bayous—towering shadows of cypress with low-hanging moss that seemed to grow out of the water, the occasional crane perched on the side of the road, and the dark smell of wet earth drifting in on the air. Another world, really.
It seemed fitting. Since setting foot on the grounds at The Grove, her world had morphed, too. Her feet weren’t steady under her yet. Like running on that slippery bayou silt at full speed, she could tumble at any moment. Fall. Get dragged under.
Donovan could drag her under.
They were only playing a game tonight, acting out a fantasy, but her mind was having trouble keeping the lines straight between that and reality. She needed to remember that this was a script, that they were in roles. It felt intense because it was set up to be that way. But the words he’d said, the ones she’d sensed he hadn’t meant to let slip out, wound through her head like a drug.
You wake me up.
Four simple words. But they’d crashed into her like a semi-truck, bending and twisting everything inside her.
Why did he have to say things like that? Why do that when he knew this setup had an expiration date? Why try to make her feel something she couldn’t risk feeling? Like she was special to him in some way.
How idiotic a thought was that? Donovan was a good guy. She knew he was. But he was also a guy who’d outright told her he was skilled at getting women into his bed and then leaving it. Maybe that’s why McCray had been so pissed. He’d made her feel special, too. McCray had thought she was different, that she’d be the one he couldn’t walk away from.
But Donovan would walk. That’s what he did. That’s what he was good at.
