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Donovan’s hands plant on the mattress on either side of me. He bows his head so his body against mine. His voice tumbles into my ear. “I’ll show you how good it feels. I’ll hit places inside of you that you didn’t know existed.”
My neck burns. My face feels red hot. He’s grinding me against the edge of my pleasure.
He continues, his voice weaving through my lust-fogged brain. “And when I find it…that spot inside you that makes you whimper…I’m not going to stop. I’m going to make you blow so hard, it’ll turn you inside out. You’re never going to want anything else but my cock, buried to the hilt.”
My fists grab empty air at my sides, clenching then unclenching, fingers splaying.
“Donovan…” His name comes out as a warning. My voice is so hoarse, it’s almost unrecognizable. “I’m going to…uh…”
Donovan’s laugh is a warm puff of air against my collarbone. “I know.”
He doesn’t stop. He pivots his hips into mine—tight, rapid thrusts—and I know I should, but I can’t hold back anymore. The moan that escapes me is loud, and he swallows it at the last second with his own tongue, sealing his mouth against mine as I spasm with pleasure underneath him.
My lap is wet, a stain I’m going to regret in a couple of seconds. But I can’t think of anything but reaching that precipice again, and my fingers finally leap into action, gripping his hips as I hump myself through the last shuddery waves of it.
I can’t stop moaning, and I bite his shoulder to stifle the sound. When I finally pull back, breathless, he has wet, pink teeth marks on his neck.
“Fuck,” I swear.
“Yeah,” Donovan agrees. “Fuck.”
He kisses me again, and this time his tongue melts me. I’m six foot five. I can lift two hundred pounds. But underneath Donovan, my bones are weak. When his tongue slides against mine, tasting like red wine and hunger, I’m as vulnerable as a rabbit, heart kicking in my chest.
I’m so lost in his kiss, I don’t even hear familiar heels on the hardwood until it’s too late. “Honeybear?” my mom’s voice calls out, thin as reeds. “Is everything okay?”
She tries the handle—and I locked the door, Jesus-God-fuck I know I locked the door—but the panic fries every nerve in my body for that split second before the lock catches and keeps her out.
“It’s fine!” I call out quickly. “Everything’s fine. Just…had a little…uh…”
“Accident?” Donovan teases.
I slap my hand across Donovan’s mouth. His whole body trembles with silent laughter.
“Do you need a hand?” my mom offers, and I want to die.
“Nope. I’m good. I’ll be right down. Thank you.”
Her kitten heels click away. When my mom leaves, I finally release him from my grip.
“You’re right,” he says once he’s freed. “My life did turn out way better than yours, honeybear.”
“Shut up and help me clean up.”
71
Kenzi
“Kenzi.”
Nadine’s tongue catches my name, the way a magician pulls is this your card? out of thin air.
I blink. I’ve been zoning out—a bad side effect of the pot brownie I ate earlier. It makes me spacey, and it takes me a minute to reorient—that same feeling you get when you wake up in a bedroom you don’t recognize and slowly have to put the puzzle pieces back together.
Jason, Mr. King, and Donovan all went upstairs. Mrs. King is in the kitchen doing dishes. After a couple of attempts to help with the dishes (and subsequently being thwarted), I returned to my chair, sipping my wine and spacing out.
Except now Nadine’s is hovering beside me, honey-brown eyes on mine expectantly.
“Join me on the patio?”
