Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHILOH
My first instinct when I wake up is to grab the knife that’s always by my bed. My hand ends up knocking into an alarm clock instead, and the death grip of the arms around me tightens enough that I let out a small groan.
My lids flutter open, and I’m suddenly swimming in a sea of warm, sleepy eyes and a sky of freckles.
What happened last night comes rolling back, drawing shivers along every place we’re pressed together… and with how tight Donovan is holding me, I feel like my entire body is dancing.
“Good morning,” he says, dipping his head down and brushing his lips back and forth slowly across mine. The movement is completely telegraphed, like he wants to make sure I’m okay with it, as much as I’m thinking about whether I should try to get out of his apartment or not.
But… he’s warm, and his arms are strong… and I can see my bite mark standing starkly against his collarbone.
I don’t want to go anywhere.
“You’re very strong.” It takes a full five seconds for him to realize that he’s still holding onto me like he’s afraid I’m going to evaporate. He doesn’t let me go, though, just loosens his grip and brings one hand up to carefully thread his fingers through my curls, pushing them back from my face.
He’s looking at me like I’m something precious… and all I can think is that I’ve fucked us both, because I’m not going to give this up now.
I really am a monster.
“I want to feed you.” Donovan doesn’t phrase it as a question, and to prove that I have no choice in the matter, he pushes himself up from the bed and drags me with him.
There’s a second where the blue robe I’m wearing slips from one shoulder, and his eyes track the movement of the fabric almost helplessly, skating along my exposed skin and the tattoos that dance into view.
I’m caught up in fascination as color rises to his cheeks, throwing his freckles into a red sea of embarrassment before he turns his gaze back to mine.
“I probably have something you can wear, if you want. I mean…” Donovan’s eyes slip back to my exposed shoulder, and I tilt my head, my lips quirking in a small smile as a sound catches in his throat. “You look good in the robe. But…”
“I’ll put something on,” I offer, taking pity on him more than anything. He nods once, twice, and then gestures to his closet.
“My clothes are in there.”
And just because I don’t want him to forget that he’s not actually in a safe situation, I tick up a brow. “I know, Donovan.”
That gives him pause, enough that I’m almost dizzy trying to track the emotions that run behind his eyes before he finally shrugs. “You’re pretty cute in my hoodies.”
My frown makes him squirm on the spot like he’s a school kid in trouble in front of the class, but I still turn long enough to grab one of his hoodies from the closet. When I look back at him, I can’t help it.
“Why are you okay with…” I gesture between us, to his closet… I don’t say it aloud, but the elephant in the room that I’ve been stalking him, that I’ve broken in here multiple times, is so heavy I can barely breathe.
“I don’t know. I just decided I don’t care.” He sounds so earnest too.
“That’s a dangerous way to think.”
“Something tells me it might be worth it.”
It’s not. I’m not. But I am just selfish enough that I shrug my shoulders, letting the robe I’m wearing slip down further, exposing my chest. My nipples perk up in the cool air of his room.
Donovan’s breath catches in his chest, and I realize I’m not going to fight him on this. I’m not going to try to save him. I already tried that and I did a miserable job of it.
“I am hungry, but I have class soon. We should hurry,” I say, stooping down to swipe my jeans from the floor as I make my way into the bathroom to get dressed.
I’m pretty sure I hear him trip over something in his scramble to follow suit.
By the time I finish getting dressed, make sure there isn’t any blood on my jeans, and rifle through his bathroom drawers, Donovan is already in the kitchen.
He has on a pair of gray sweatpants that are unfairly sculpted to his lower body and a black tank top that exposes the way his freckles run all along his skin.
He didn’t let me touch him in the shower last night, and I was so amped up on the first orgasm I’ve had with another person and coming down from a kill that I let it slide.
But now…
Now I can’t stop looking at him—at the planes of his body as he moves around the kitchen in graceful turns… and I wonder if this is what people feel like when they actually form attraction.
Desire.
My entire body is tingling as I watch him rifle through his cabinets.
He pulls down pancake mix, chocolate chips, and then he frowns and opens his refrigerator.
“I don’t know if you like coffee, but I can make eggs.
I… oh… shit. What?” His words stutter as I slink across the room and slide my hands over the front of his sweatpants.
Donovan turns with the eggs clutched to his chest like they’re somehow going to protect him, staring at me with wide eyes. “I thought you were hungry.”
“I am,” I answer simply, falling to my knees and dragging his sweats with me as I go.
From the way his cock is already half hard in front of me, I have a feeling he’s not going to protest. There’s a brief flash in my mind, a moment where I think that I’ve never been between a man’s legs before unless I was trying to snick a blade into his femoral artery…
but those thoughts dissolve when I lean forward and lick a hot stripe along the length of Donovan’s cock.
The sound of something wet cracking against the ground makes me look to the side. The eggs he’d been clutching so carefully are a mess on the floor… and all I can do is roll my eyes up to stare along the length of his body and smirk.
“Oh fuck, Shiloh.” His fingers streak forward, slipping through my hair and pulling, his body showing me what his words won’t demand, and I follow the pressure like it’s a guideline leading me to salvation.
Apparently heaven is Donovan Myers’s cock, heavy and thick on my tongue as I swallow around him. I don’t know what I’m doing, but his fingers in my hair are warm, nails scratching against my scalp as I roll my eyes up to look at him again.
He’s watching me with a gaze that burns straight through me, desire so clear on his face I feel like I’m drowning in it.
It gives me the drive to press forward until I feel the thick head of his cock hit the back of my throat and I gag. His fingers in my hair tighten, pull slightly—just enough to draw me back so I can catch my breath.
“Easy,” he moans softly… and I’m hit again with how sweet he is. How perfect.
I’m aching with all the ways I’m going to ruin him, as I draw my fingers up around his hips and grab his perfectly sculpted ass so I can press forward again with the fervor of someone who has no idea what they’re doing, but who wants to do good.
I approach it the same way I do a painting…
broad strokes and messy lines. I’m gagging around him, and I can feel the slick heat of drool bubble from my lips.
Above me, Donovan tugs on my hair one, two, three more times before he gives up and holds on like he’s fighting for his life as I give him the sloppiest blow job he’s probably ever had.
He isn’t complaining, though. When I glance up his body again, I can see the haze of desire through the tears that make my vision swim.
And when one hand shifts greedily and I press the hem of his tank top up, he follows the request instinctively, pulling the fabric up and catching it between his teeth so I can stare at the way his perfectly toned abs ripple every time my throat spasms around his dick.
I gag and he moans, and I realize I could get off on this—Donovan messy, with broken eggs on his kitchen floor and his shirt caught between his teeth while his eyes roll back.
His eyes are burning coals as he watches me choke and slurp and suck his cock, and my fingers are greedy when I wrap them back around his hips and start dragging him forward to meet my motions.
He finally catches on, meeting my clumsy bobbing with thrusts.
I finally find a rhythm to catch, based on the sharp panting of his breath and the clenching of his fingers.
“God… Shiloh… you don’t…” His voice is so strangled. “You don’t understand how fucking perfect you look right now.”
Donovan sounds so eager to praise, but I’m surprised that he’s managing to speak.
I can’t respond, but I take him as far as I can to the back of my throat and hold him there until my body starts to shiver and tremble.
I hold him there until I can’t breathe and everything starts to spin, until my throat spasms and my chest aches… and I have to pull back on a gasp.
It leaves me with just the tip of his cock between my lips, and I tilt my head back and loll out my tongue, dragging my fingers around to take hold of his shaft so I can pump.
And like he’s on taut strings that I finally let loose, he explodes. It’s hot and salty against my tongue, a mess that hits my lips and cheeks, mostly falling against my greedy tongue as I taste a man for the first time.
And fuck me if I don’t like it—or maybe it’s not even that it’s a man.
It’s just… Donovan. Sex meant nothing until Donovan, but something about the way he’s letting me in, the way he looks at me… the way he wants to know me…
Fuck, it makes it good.
It’s a good thing I’ve never considered myself normal, because I’m pretty sure forming an attachment this fast is the last thing people usually do.
As I sit back on my heels and watch Donovan gasp, his chest rising and falling, his thick cock slowly going limp…
I’m really, really glad I don’t give a fuck what normal people do. He’s in my lungs, in the air I’m breathing. I’m obsessed, and I’d kill to make sure it’s a feeling I can keep.
I’m a little wobbly when I stand, but I manage to drag Donovan’s sweats back up his legs as I go.
He’s still trying to catch his breath when I angle my head to look at him, aware that my face is covered in cum and saliva.
I’m a little shocked when he trails his thumb across my lower lip, catching a bit of both before popping it into his mouth.
I think he is too, because the color on his cheeks rises as I grin.
Fucking filthy—it’s actually sinful how hot that was.
“I need to go.” It’s not what I want to say, and his eyes widen as if I’ve punched the air from his lungs with the statement. “I have class in twenty minutes.”
That seems to soften the blow a bit.
“I didn’t make you breakfast,” he says in a near-dazed voice as he reaches for a napkin and wets it before carefully wiping my face. I let him clean me up and wait until he’s finished before I answer.
“Oh, I feel pretty full.”
The napkin falls to land beside the broken eggs with a wet plop.
I disappear from the room with a grin on my face to finish getting cleaned up.
By the time I’m back, the mess on the floor has been cleaned and Donovan looks put together again. His eyes are warm and a little sad when he looks at me, and before I can stop myself, I speak.
“Come on.”
“What?” His curiosity is there, but he’s already moving forward.
“If you aren’t busy, I need a ride to class.”
His brows shoot up, but the look of pleasure that crosses his face is so pretty it’s kind of worth letting him in. Just a little.
I have to figure out how to do it in measured doses, because I’m pretty sure if you want to keep a person, you have to let them know you just a little.
I just need to make sure he doesn’t see all the darkest parts of me, or he’ll end up running.
“I have an hour or so before I have to be at the rink.” He’s smiling when he grabs his keys and joins me, pulling the hood of my stolen jacket up over my ears. “I can take you.”
“Good.” And then with a wince, I add. “Thanks.”
That sounds a little better.
We make it down to his car before he starts asking questions.
“What class are you in this morning?”
I frown, and then blow out a breath. Measured doses. I can do this. “Psychology.”
I don’t miss the sidelong glance he gives me as he pulls out of the parking lot. His apartment is actually only a few minutes from my school, so this is convenient.
“I thought you were doing art things.”
I’m silent, and after a few seconds of no answer, he cuts me another glance. This one is a little guarded. A little…
Wounded.
Shit.
What I’m doing… what I want to do with my life… the reasons why are mine. I don’t talk to anyone about them. I don’t have friends in class. I’m not casual with my professors. But Donovan…
Donovan wants to know.
And he’s just sweet enough that he doesn’t ask as he pulls onto campus a few minutes later, even though he looks at me again as he parks his car alongside the curb in front of the building I point to.
I’m going to fuck this up before it’s even started if I don’t give him something. I remember the arena after he kissed me—the way he asked for something real. Something honest about me. If I want him, that’s what I have to give him, isn’t it?
And fuck me… I want him.
I bite my lower lip. “Whatever this is, I like it. I still think you have no self-preservation, but I don’t want to stop.
” And then, like each word is coming up on jagged, broken edges, I do the one thing I’ve never done for another person.
I lean forward and press my lips to his as he puts the car in park. “Art therapy.”
Donovan moans against my mouth, kissing me back like he’s discovered sugar for the first time and he’s addicted to the flavor on his tongue. When he pulls back, it takes him a second to gather his thoughts. “What?”
“That’s why psychology. Art therapy degree.”
I don’t give parts of myself to people. I don’t want people to know me… but as I unbuckle and hop out of the car, half tempted to stay just for the sweet, curious look on Donovan’s face… I realize I want him to know me.
I want him to see me.
And that might make him more dangerous to me than I am to him.