Chapter 15 #3
The first kiss is slow. Testing. His tongue slides against mine, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to relearn every inch of me.
But the second kiss? Nothing about it is slow.
He deepens it, angling my head so he can take more, one hand sliding from my cheek into my hair, the other anchoring at the curve of my hip.
And I melt, fingers curling into the front of his T-shirt, dragging him closer.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur against my lips. “Every time I close my eyes," he hums, kissing the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive spot beneath my earlobe, "I see you bent over, ass in the air, soaking my cock from tip to base.”
A whimper slips out before I can catch it.
"There it is," he says softly. "The sound that’s been driving me insane."
His hand slips under the hem of my shirt, palm hot against the bare skin of my waist. He slides higher, fingers spreading over my ribs, careful but greedy.
“Your skin’s warmer these days,” he murmurs. "Different."
"I'm pregnant," I say, as if he doesn’t know.
"I noticed.” His hand glides higher still, cupping my breast over my bra. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself in that exam room?"
"Pretty sure that's illegal," I squeak out.
"That's the only reason you still had clothes on."
He flicks his thumb over my nipple and I arch, a gasp breaking free.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so responsive. I barely touch you and your whole body listens."
"Donovan—"
He captures my mouth again, swallowing whatever protest I was about to fake as his other hand drags my hips to the edge of the stool, bringing my core flush against the hard line pressing behind his fly.
I feel him instantly, the thick press of him, and my entire body answers its unspoken question.
Before I can process, his hands are on my waist, lifting me off the stool.
By the time he sets me on the island, stepping between my knees, my hands are locking around his neck.
The marble is cool against my thighs. And Donovan? He’s hot everywhere my hands can touch.
"This okay?" he asks, breath rough, eyes searching mine even as his fingers toy with the waistband of my jeans.
"Yes." My voice is shaky but sure.
"Good." He nods once. "Now spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
The way he says it—command wrapped in endearment—sends a sharp bolt of heat straight through me, and I obey, knees sliding wider, denim pulling tight.
He watches the movement like a man watching markets spike. Focused. A little feral.
"That's it," he murmurs. "God, you're irresistible when you listen."
I roll my eyes on instinct. "You have a serious praise kink."
"And you have a serious attitude problem. Fortunately, I know exactly how to handle it."
His hand cups me over my jeans, pressure right where I want it, and I gasp, hips jerking.
"Already wet for me, aren’t you?" His voice drops to a rough whisper. "You get like this every time I talk to you like I own your orgasms?"
"Donovan," I hiss, scandalized and turned on in ways that should break every obscenity law that ever existed.
"What?" His thumb pressing circles over my denim, just enough to make coherent thought difficult. "Too honest? Or do you like the idea of me knowing exactly what you sound when you come on my cock?"
A helpless moan slips out, and his gray eyes darken further.
He makes quick work of my jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down, and I lift my hips instinctively, letting him peel them off, along with my underwear, leaving me bare from the waist down on his pristine marble.
He inhales slowly, gaze locking between my thighs. "Christ, Emma."
I squirm, suddenly self-conscious. "Don’t stare."
He drags his eyes back up to mine, heat banked but intense. "I'm going to do a hell of a lot more than stare."
He drops to one knee, spreading my knees wide.
"Don—"
"Relax," he orders gently, hands sliding up my calves, over my knees, to my thighs. "Let me take care of you."
And I do.
Because at this point, resistance is not only futile, it's stupid.
He presses a kiss to the inside of my knee, then another, higher, each brush of his mouth slower than the last—more erotic and agonizing with every second that passes.
By the time his lips reach where I need them most, I’m already panting.
He pauses, breath hot against my sensitive skin. "Jesus, sweetheart."
Then his tongue is on me, and I jolt.
A strangled sound punches out of my chest as my delectable boss licks a long, slow stripe up the length of my pussy.
Stroking slowly with his mouth, he savors me like he has all night, then settles into a rhythm—firm, focused, devastating.
"Fuck," I gasp, one hand flying to his hair, fingers threading through the dark, silver strands. "Oh my God—"
"That's it," he rumbles against me, the vibrations making me shudder. "Let me hear you. I want to know exactly how good I make this pussy feel."
"You're obscene.”
"You're delicious." He seals his mouth around my clit and sucks, at the same time sliding one long finger inside me, then another, curling them just right as white static explodes behind my eyes.
"Don—oh God, I'm—" The orgasm builds fast, faster than I can brace for. "I'm going to—"
He groans into me, not easing up in the slightest. Fingers pumping at an increasing pace as his tongue works fast, soft strokes over my clit. "That's it. Come for me, baby. Let me taste it.”
The filthy encouragement shoves me over the edge.
I break, clenching around his fingers, back bowing, a sharp cry ripped from my throat, and all the while, Donovan keeps working me through it, tongue and fingers relentless but attuned, riding out every tremor until I finally sag, boneless, against the cool marble.
Only then does he ease off, pressing one last soft kiss to my inner thigh.
My breath stutters as he straightens, impossibly tall from this angle, his shirt clinging to every line of muscle, hair messed from my fingers, eyes dark with need.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, lips curving. "You taste even better when you’re happy."
"You're a menace," I exhale, still breathless.
"Maybe." He reaches for his belt, pulling the leather through the buckle. "But I'm your menace."
His gaze dips briefly to my still-bare lower body, then back to my face. "You still good, gorgeous?”
"I'm…" I swallow, surprised by the sudden prick of emotion. "I'm good. Really good."
Something softens in his expression. "Good."
Then the softness shifts back into hunger.
"Because I'm just getting started with you."
He cages me in with his body, one hand pressed to the marble beside my hip, the other already pulling his hard length out of his briefs with slow certainty.
“You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”
His voice is low—lethal enough to make my knees shake even though I’m sitting.
“I—Don—”
“No.” He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”
I swallow hard, as his hand slides off the marble and into my hair, tugging just enough to make my breath catch.
“I almost lost you once, beautiful,” he murmurs. “I'm not going to let that happen again.”
I shiver as he drags the pad of his thumb down my throat, following its path with his mouth—unhurried and hot.
His hand tightens in my hair. “Now. Lay back and show me how you play with that little pussy.”
I go still. Very still. Then do exactly what I’m told.
Because his control is erotic in a way that short-circuits my entire nervous system.
He steps back half an inch—not enough to free me, just enough to look.
At me. Between my legs. At what he wants. At how my fingers slide through my arousal and start a steady rhythm over my swollen clit.
His pupils swallow the whole of his gray irises, turning his gaze black.
“Fuck. Just look at you.”
He gives a quiet, satisfied smile as his other hand comes up, thumb sliding through my slickness, and joins his moments with mine—slow and tormenting.
“You're so goddamn beautiful when you’re obedient.”
My hips jerk, and he immediately clamps a hand on my stomach to hold me down.
“No, sweetheart.” His voice is a command wrapped in velvet. “You take what I give you.”
“Donovan, please—”
He looks up at me with that wicked smirk. “That’s the right tone. Keep using it.”
His thumb slides down my folds and presses inside me, pumping slowly in and out as I continue to circle my clit lightly—making me lose my breath.
I gasp as his control, the precision of it, and turns everything into liquid fire.
“Please,” I whisper.
He exhales. “Fuck. Say it again.”
“Please.”
Without warning, he removes his hand from between my thighs, sliding it under my body, and pulls me flush to the counter’s edge.
“You want it fast or deep?” He growls, stepping between my spread thighs.
I choke on air. “Both.”
He groans. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re going to kill me.”
He lines up—steady, purposeful—letting the head of his cock drag through my wetness.
“You ready?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He presses in an inch—just enough to make me cry out.
But he doesn’t move.
He holds me there.
Half-filled. Dripping and trembling.
“Eyes on me,” he says so softly I feel the words slide between my ribs. “I want to watch your face when I bury myself inside you.”
I meet his eyes—that maelstrom, perfect stare, as he thrusts into me with one swift, perfect stroke.
Instantly, I cry out, and he groans deep, voice wrecked.
“Fuck, Emma—”
His hands clamp onto my hips like he’s anchoring himself, and then he starts to move inside me.
And everything about it is raw, steady, deep enough to make me see stars.
I’m swimming in constellations, my body breaking open as Donovan—my boss, the father of my child and the sexiest man I’ve ever known—pounds into me with a controlled rhythm, every thrust sharp, desperate.
His calloused hand slides up to my throat—not choking. Claiming.
His thumb finds the rapid beat of my pulse, his broad body caging mine, punctuating his words with deep thrusts.
“You feel—so goddamn—perfect.”
I’m shaking, unraveling, pulse loud in my ears.
“Donovan, I’m—I need—”
He pins my hips harder as my thighs open wider. “You wait for me.”
I'm laid out on the marble counter, breath shattered, heat throbbing through me so fast I can’t keep up.
And all the while, Donovan owns me—mind, body and soul, each hard pump of his hips claiming me more than the one before.
“You’re close. I can feel it. You’re squeezing me—fuck—you’re going to make a pretty mess all over this cock, aren’t you, gorgeous?”
He’s right. I’m a mess—a trembling, stuttering, heart-hammering mess that’s been at his mercy since the moment I laid eyes on him in Miami.
And when his thumb finds my clit again—rubbing the tender nub fast, rough, ruthless—that’s all it takes.
“That’s right. Come for me.” he orders, voice feral. “Let me feel this pussy break.”
I shatter. My orgasm hits like an explosion—violent, unexpected—my entire body clenching around him so hard I shout his name.
The second I do, he groans—deep, ruined—and thrusts twice more before he spills into me with a sound so raw it sears itself into my bones.
For several seconds, he doesn’t move. He just breathes deep.
Each exhale is sharp, ragged as his forehead presses to my collarbone, his large chest moving in tandem with mine.
I try to speak. Try to say anything. But only a whimper comes out.
Donovan pulls out slowly, still breathing hard.
After a second, he drags me upright into his arms, pressing a kiss to my jaw, and I feel like I’ve been dragged over a cliff I didn’t even know I was standing on.
“You good?” he murmurs.
“I…think so…?”
“Good.” He laughs once, dark and breathy. “Because we’re not done.”
I blink up at him, dazed, as he lifts me off the counter in one smooth, practiced motion.
“Donovan, where—”
“Bed,” he growls, carrying me down the hall like I weigh nothing. “Because that—” he kisses my throat, hard “—was round one.”
I tremble, as his mouth drags down my neck, slow and filthy.
“And I plan to fuck you through the mattress for rounds two and three.”