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I’d… licked the app open?
“Did you hear any of that?” I whispered.
There was no answer. Maybe he hadn’t. I set the phone down a moment before a soft knock on the door alerted me to his return.
“What did you buy?” I breathed as Donovan put an enormous plastic bag filled with what had to be half the store inside. “Or what did you not buy?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” he grumbled, handing a sleek box to me. “I washed that one in their bathroom and used the sterilizing spray. The clerk said it should give you some relief until you can… Anyway, it’s guaranteed to work.” His cheeks flushed dark over his beard.
Horrified and intrigued, I opened the box and saw what he’d given me. “The Pussy Pounder 4.0?” I read aloud. “Guaranteed to d-deliver the best ‘orgams’ ever.” I almost smiled. “Pretty solid guarantee. I’ve never had an ‘orgam.’”
He made an annoyed sound. Annoyed at the typo, or at me? Probably me. Irritated that he had to do this kind of errand.
I focused on getting the toy out of its box. It was what my sisters called a starter vibe, a long purple wand with a tiny pair of rabbit ears on one end that were supposed to go on either side of the clit.
“I… I can’t—” My next words were strangled, but Donovan cut a sharp glance my way.
“My job is to keep you safe, Omega. To guard you from anything that could hurt you, even your own biology. This isn’t about sex. It’s about your health. Put that under the blanket. It’s got batteries.”
“It’s got a remote control.” I pulled the matching purple control out. When he lifted an eyebrow, I held it out to him.
He swallowed. “Princess? What are you doing?”
I had no idea. “I don’t want to lose it,” I murmured, then ducked my head under the blanket when he took it.
“Four more hours of hell,” I thought I heard him say, but then he repeated himself, louder, “Four more hours to go.”
Chapter 7
Donovan
Iwas in hell, and not only because my true mate was trying to oh-so-quietly work a narrow dildo into her pussy on the seat next to me.
Or at least, that’s what I assumed she was doing from the sounds. I couldn’t be sure what was going on, not without ripping the blanket away from her and seeing her, touching her, helping her… No. I wouldn’t help her plunge a plastic cock inside her.
That was my fucking job.
Except it wasn’t. My literal job was to keep her safe, not to touch her intimately. But to do that, I had to ignore the roaring in my mind, the aroma of her arousal in my nostrils, and the steel length of pipe in my damned pants.
My eyes flitted to the remote control she’d handed me. If I used that, I wouldn’t be touching her. I’d be controlling her pleasure, but not technically touching her. My fingers twitched on the wheel.
Kill that thought, Donovan Heart. Kill it, bury it, and cover the hole with cement. I’d warred with my own impulses for so long, I knew better than to give in, even a little.
My cock was harder than it had ever been in my thirty-nine years, and my balls ached like they’d been kicked by a horse. I didn’t even want to think about my knot. Mine was a grower, not a shower—it was usually a slight swelling at the base of my too-thick cock, and only inflated to its full, super fucking problematic size when I was knotted inside a woman.
Not that I’d tried that since my first failed experience with knotting twenty years before. I forced myself to remember that day, the sound of the woman crying. The feeling of my own helplessness.
Ah, there was nothing like a little PTSD to kill an erection. My cock half-deflated almost instantly, and when I heard a tiny sob emerge from the blankets next to me, I went completely soft. “Sweetheart? What’s happening?”
Her reply was muffled. “It’s what’s not happening. I can’t do it.”
“You can’t…” I stopped my words so fast, I almost bit my tongue. “Why not?”
Not that I needed to ask. When I’d heard her mumbled monologue in my ear while I shopped for her, I’d almost passed out. Knowing that she’d never been touched, had never even desired anyone until me, had me planning all the ways I wanted to show her how her body worked. How we would work together, to make her feel better. Touch each other.
Not that I was an expert either, but I knew enough.
“I’m not g-g-good at it.” Her weeping got louder. My inner alpha was growling at me to pull over and take over for her. Not with the remote control, or the vibrator, but my tongue and hands and teeth. Show her just how perfect she was, and how hard she could come, how many times.
