Chapter 20 Only Yours
SOUNDTRACK: Fix You by Tommee Proffit, Stanaj, and Staarz.
~ brEN ~
I gaped at him, standing there, fully dressed, and offering himself. Utterly. I could feel him in the bond. He was surrendered. Pleading with me to connect. He meant every word.
And it made me want him more.
Really want him. A lot.
He didn’t move, and his eyes didn’t wander. He stared at me, searching my gaze, looking for any clue—”
“Take off your cloak,” I breathed.
He inhaled sharply, but nodded and reached for the button at his throat, tugging the cloak off and tossing it aside to reveal his shirtsleeves, tucked into buff trousers. His shoulders rose and fell once, then he went still again, waiting.
Swallowing hard, I pushed out of the bed, grateful for the nightgown I’d worn because it made me feel less revealed.
Even though I wanted to be revealed to him, there was still a flutter of fear in my chest. So, I thanked God for the thin, nearly sheer cotton that swathed my body to my ankles as I crawled out of the bed to stand at his toes, my head craned back to keep meeting his eyes because he’d never looked away.
Then, with only a tiny tremor in my fingers, I reached for the top button of his shirt and pressed it through the buttonhole. Then moved onto the next.
Donavyn never stopped watching me. He didn’t raise his hands, or touch me—I thought he might start undressing me as he usually would. But even though his gaze was avid, he didn’t move as I unwrapped his body like a present.
A present just for me.
Then, when I had all the buttons undone, and the sides of the shirt hanging open to bare him, I just looked at him. Drank him in—and couldn’t resist leaning forward to softly kiss the skin right at the center of his chest, where I felt the bond.
Donavyn dropped his chin to watch me and blew out a breath, but he didn’t touch me.
I had to wrestle a little to tug his shirttails free, because I hadn’t undone his belt. But I kissed his chest again as I got it loose, then stepped back to grab one cuff and pull the sleeve off his arm, instructing him quietly to pull his arm out, which he did.
He stood, the shirt hanging off his shoulder on that side, and still covering his other. I bit my lip, letting my eyes trail down his torso. Then, because I was still nervous—I placed one hand on his stomach, grabbed the sleeve in the other and began to walk around him slowly.
He lifted the arm to let me pass under, then dropped it again—by which time I ran fingers up to the scars at his shoulder, then down his spine, admiring the way his muscles rolled and flexed at the slightest movement.
When I trailed a finger straight down the divot of his spine, he shivered and a surge of something hot and powerful clenched in my belly.
Immediately followed by a flash of fear.
He felt it, because he turned his head to look at me over his shoulder, but I wasn’t ready to talk, so I stepped right up behind him, letting the shirt drop so it hung off his other shoulder, then pressed my forehead into his spine and wrapped my hands around his sides.
I felt his chest expand, then he cleared his throat. “Bren… may I touch your arms? Your hands?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
His calloused palms flattened on my forearms, then slid up, towards my wrists, slowly, his fingers playing along my skin and raising the hair on my arms. Then, he slid his fingers between mine and gripped them, holding me to him.
And I felt so warm, and safe, and wanted… I could have stayed there all night and day. But the fire in me, the part of me that held no fear, needed him.
The moment I moved my hands, he let me go. I was touched, and frustrated in the same breath.
Reaching up to where the shirt still hooked over his shoulder, I slid fingers under it, nudging it off, so it fell down his arm, tugging that sleeve free until it dropped to the carpet and bared his torso entirely.
I let my fingers trail along his side again as I circled him once more, coming to stand in front of him, between him and the bed.
He stared at me with a yearning hunger that was so sweet and so heated, I could barely hold his gaze.
“Take your hair out.”
His brows rose, but he did as I asked, his lips curling up on one side. “You like it down?” his voice was gruff, ragged.
“Sometimes. I like it when you look at me through it.”
Smile growing broader, he dropped his head forward and shook his hair out, then raised his chin to stare at me out from between the strands he’d loosed, grinning like a cat about to take the cream. “Like this?”
My heart flipped. “Yes.”
His breath was growing heavy, his chest rising and falling more quickly. I had to swallow the strange knot of nerves and excitement that crawled up my throat.
I looked down at his hands and wanted them on me so badly—but I was still afraid my body would recoil and I’d shut down.
I bit my lip and let my eyes draw to his belt, considering unbuttoning his trousers—there was already a slight bulge there—but when I dragged my gaze up to his face, he stared at me like I held the answers to heaven in my eyes.
I swallowed. “What’s your favorite part?” I whispered. “Your favorite thing, when we make love?”
“Watching you come,” he said hoarsely, without hesitation. “I love watching you, always. All of it. But when you reach your peak…” he cleared his throat and his gaze turned hot.
I liked it. “Unbuckle your belt… and unbutton your trousers.”
He moved so quickly, the buckle of his belt clinking as he tugged it loose, then fumbled at the buttons, I had to stifle a giggle. Then I sucked in a breath when he stopped, hands poised, but a question in his eyes.
Without breaking his gaze, I tried to speak, but had to clear my throat. “Free yourself,” I whispered.
His eyes went dark as he pulled himself free and sighed with relief. I looked down and stared at him, already hard and standing tall, curving slightly towards his belly, the dark thatch of hair behind drawing a line to his navel.
I swallowed, but smiled as well, because the sight hadn’t frightened me—I hadn’t been sure if it would. But it only made my belly simmer.
Tearing my gaze from that part of him, I scanned his beautiful torso again.
His breath was growing faster and his eyes had darkened, his pupils overtaking most of the hazel beauty of his irises. He wanted me. I could feel it. He wanted me with a bonfire of need.
And that made me brave.
“Touch yourself,” I said, then clapped hands to my mouth, half-embarrassed at my own boldness. But Donavyn smiled and gripped himself, stroking slowly as he stared into my wide eyes, squeezing harder than I thought he’d like.
Unable to look away, I watched—saw him grow fuller, and his chest heave as he began to pant, his ragged breath audible in the quiet room.
“Oh God, Bren. When you stare at me like that…”
I looked up to find his eyes hooded, his lower lip slack.
He cursed. “I don’t want to come like this unless… unless you want me to?”
I was surprised—he usually had a great deal of control. But then I realized… of course he’d be sensitive. It had been nearly a week.
“Stop,” I said quickly.
He did, immediately, but he was panting—and I breathed heavily too, I realized.
“Take off your trousers.”
Donavyn didn’t hesitate, snapping forward to untie his boots and throw them off, then shucked off the buff pants. He straightened again, more slowly, staring at me, his hair down, powerful body bare.
And he was stunning.
His hazel eyes glowed out from under his hair like a predator in the grass. The tendons on his neck were taut, his shoulders broad, and rolling with his deepening breath. His arms, so strong, biceps carved and the forearms veined and flexing as he forced himself not to touch me.
The flat planes of his chest rose and fell. I wanted to rest my head on them, but I continued to stare. My gaze slid down his abdomen, which was tight, his muscles carved from marble.
I couldn’t resist. I reached out to run a finger down the center of his stomach, watching his cock twitch when my wrist brushed it. Then I stroked that too and Donavyn groaned—then caught my hand.
“Unless you want to only touch… we can finish that way if you wish. But do not touch me now, Bren. I need keep control of myself. Please.”
It was so strange to see him plead. I smiled and bit my lip, nodding as I let him go.
He swayed towards me, yet still didn’t reach for me. His gaze burned.
Uncertain how to begin, I stepped right up to his toes, then did something I’d never done before.
I cupped his balls—surprised by how soft they were. The weight was less than I’d imagined too, and not unpleasant. His cock leaped again, and I felt his eyes on me as I held the weight of them, then bit my lip and got brave again.
I stroked fingers underneath, between his legs, and Donavyn shuddered.
He swayed again, but kept his rigid arms at his sides as I stroked up his inner thigh, then to his torso again, then flattened my palm on his chest and slid it up to cup his neck.
Donavyn stared down at me, his eyes blazing with hunger and need, searching my gaze, looking for my instruction.
I swallowed hard. “Kiss me.”
“How? What kind of—”
“Whatever you want. Whatever you feel. I just want you to kiss me.”
He stared one second longer, then took a deep breath and leaned right in, sliding both hands into the hair at my nape, urging me to raise my chin with his thumbs. We stared at each other for a single, shining moment as he searched my eyes once more, then croaked, “I love you.”
And before I could respond, he opened his mouth on mine.
I sucked in, but he was slow at first, sipping, his tongue darting, flickering, but never settling.
Then he tilted his head and opened his mouth wider, his lips soft, dragging slowly across mine.
I couldn’t help leaning into him, arching as he deepened the kiss, but he continued to cradle my head, and his kiss remained slow.
He tasted me.
He teased me with his tongue.
His breath fluttered on my cheek, his thumbs stroking.