Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  The plan after she’d relinquished her car keys was for Donovan to drive her home. She thought back to something Faith said when Sofie had excused herself to get her purse in the foyer, leaving Robin, Charlie, and Donovan chatting in the ballroom.

  Her friend’s hand had closed around the key ring and she offered one parting piece of advice. “Don’t let Glo scare you.”

  “What are you—”

  “Donovan isn’t Asher. I can see how much you like him. How much he likes you.”

  Which was so not what Sofie had needed to hear.

  Had Faith’s earlier comment given her hope? Softened Sofie’s heart to room-temperature butter? She really should leave, if for no other reason than to preserve her sanity. But she was stuck here unless Donovan agreed to take her home.

  Since he hadn’t answered her yet, she tried again. “Give me a second to get my things.” She started for the library but didn’t get far.

  Before she knew what had happened, her back was flat against the front door, braced there by Donovan’s body.

  He didn’t kiss her, only trained his eyes on hers. “What happened?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I made you come on the washer,” he blurted without preamble.

  She blinked at him. Oh-kay.

  “I made you come on the table.”

  “Donovan…”

  “You avoided me for a week.”

  All true.

  “I was busy. Not avoiding you,” she responded quietly.

  “Thinking I should’ve lied and told you there were a hundred.”

  He meant girls since her.

  “No.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Would’ve been easier than zero.” His voice was low and edgy, his glare burning through her. “Getting laid a hundred times over would’ve been easier than coming in my hand with your name on my lips for the past seven years.”

  Was she supposed to be… flattered by that admission? She wasn’t. Her mouth dropped open, her blood pressure skyrocketing.

  “I never asked you to… to… do that. You’re the one who left town.”

  “You’re the one who took me out of the game,” he bit out.

  This time the fire burning within was from anger. Well, he wasn’t the only one who had a grievance. “Oh, you were so gone for me, you instructed me to, and I quote, ‘get the fuck’ out of your car?”

  His cool eyes flamed. “Scampi.”

  “Care to have a repeat of that night? You can drop me at my apartment instead of a parking lot this time. After that, feel free to get back to those hundreds of women you’d like to bang.”

  “Scampi.”

  “I never asked you to make me the last of your conquests, Donny. Were you waiting for me to forgive you? Fine. I forgive you.” She waved a hand. “Go forth! Get back in the saddle, cowboy.”

  She pushed against his chest. Which was as successful as moving a stone wall.

  He continued hovering and glaring. Giving up on getting past him and back through the house, she clutched the doorknob behind her, intending to slip outside. She didn’t make it. He caught her arm and tossed her over his shoulder while she held the waistband of his shorts. Blood rushed to her head, her hair swinging as he carried her up the stairs.

  “This is ridiculous!” she shouted, voice jarring with every step he took.

  “Tell me about it,” came his calm response.

  At the top of the stairs, he turned, opened a door, and plopped her on her feet. Her head spun as the blood drained from her face and settled elsewhere. Donovan flipped on the light. They were in a bedroom. A very big bedroom with a very big bed, covered with a gray and black comforter, and four pillows. The massive black headboard took up most of the wall behind it.

  Donny stood sentry in front of the bed, anger rolling off him in waves, yet he still managed to be the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. No one wore dark and dangerous quite the way he did.

  He jerked his chin toward the bed. “Get in. And take off your clothes.”

  “No.”

  One of his eyes twitched. “You don’t get in that bed, Scampi, I swear…”

  What. Ever.

  Huffing, she crossed her arms. “You listen to me, Donovan Pate—”

  “Bed.” He pointed. “Now.”

  Her hands went to her hips, brushing over her skirt. The prim and proper blouse she’d chosen slinked over her body, turning her on. Or maybe it was the demanding man ordering her around who was turning her on.

  Swallowing thickly, she tried to sound angry but her voice held a tremor of excitement she hoped he didn’t hear. “And if I don’t obey… What are you going to do, spank me?”

  “Never,” he growled.

  It took her a second to get why that one word was lined with disgust… then she did get it. Of course he’d never.

  His eyes went to her necklace. “Leave the jewelry on.”

  Her argument wasn’t an argument at all, instead two weakly spoken words. “Excuse me?”

  His lips twitched, the anger fizzling out of his expression. “Maybe I should get your shoes.”

  “Donny!”

  He fingered the small plastic tab of the zipper on the side of her skirt.

  “You said you would drive me home.” But she didn’t want to go home anymore. Weak. So weak.

  A thin zip! sounded as he undid her skirt in one swipe.

  “I will.”

  “I… I can’t stay,” she reiterated, in case he tried to talk her out of leaving. She was overwhelmed. Her heart… her head. So overwhelmed.

  “You want to.”

  She did. If she were being honest with herself, she wanted to stay. Her hands came up, trickled down his shirt, across his firm chest, and over the bumps of his abs. “I can’t.”

  “You’re staying.”

  “Shouldn’t we—”

  Donovan’s lips slammed over hers.

  “You can’t take it back,” he said when he tore his mouth away.

  Her fingers had tightened into fists, clasping his shirt, holding him to her. The man could kiss.

  “Take what back?” she breathed, feeling the flush of her cheeks.

  “Your body. Mine.”

  He pushed her skirt past her hips, his hands curving over her bare thighs, then traveling beneath her silky blouse and brushing the skin at her waist.

  “I can take it back.” Her argument was as thin as her last breath.

  “Yeah. You can.” He flattened his palms against her bare back and pulled her against his hard-on. “But don’t.”

  He was asking. Asking her not to leave him. Asking her to stay with him. How could she refuse? This close to him, his hands on her, she couldn’t refuse him. And she didn’t want to.

  His hands left her skin to undo one of the buttons of her blouse, then he palmed her jaw and said, “Continue.”

  She licked her lips and slipped the next button out of the hole, her own hands shaking with excitement.

  He kissed her cheek and whispered against her temple, his voice low. “Another.”

  She continued to strip, earning a kiss after each one. When she ran out of buttons, he instructed, “Take it off.”

  The silk brushed her upper arms, coating her body in a layer of goose bumps. Shirt off, she stood in the center of the bedroom in a snow-white bra and matching high-cut panties.

  His gaze danced over her skin, taking in every inch of her while she nervously chewed her lip. He met her eyes. Something reverent crossed his face.

  “Scampi.”

  Exposed. She was so exposed. She balled her fists at her sides.

  He grinned, a wide, genuine, gorgeous grin.

  “Stay the night with me.”

  Her heart thudded. Blood rushed through her veins. She wanted to stay. So, so much. Rather than argue or try to be rational, she gave into the promise of his wicked grin.

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hallelujah. Donovan had never cons
idered himself a religious man, but hearing Sofie agree to stay made him believe in the Almighty.

  Scampi looked like an angel, reddish-brown waves whirling around soft shoulders, powder-white panties and bra making her appear pure and beautiful. Her simple answer of “okay” had granted his wish: time to explore every last inch of her. The way he’d wanted since he first saw her in her shop on Endless Avenue.

  They stood in front of the bed, but before he threw her onto it, his hands went to her round, plush bottom. “I love your ass.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” she said, her dry tone suggesting she didn’t love his attention on this part of her anatomy.

  Too bad.

  He pulled her close. “I’d like to bend you over, see these cheeks in the air in front of me. You’d better get used to the idea of me looking at it.”

  He wanted her that way. Wanted those contours and curves bouncing off his hips while he drove deep. His dick gave an insistent pulse.

  Her smile was shy. “I don’t think so, buddy.”

  He’d see about that.

  When she reached for the blankets he grasped her wrist. Her brows came down in confusion.

  “Naked,” he told her.

  “Let me cover up, then I’ll get naked.”

  From what he could see, from what he had seen of Sofie, every inch of her was as gorgeous as the next. Body issues were her own neurosis.

  “You could see what I see,” he told her, “you wouldn’t take that away from me, either.”

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  He cut her off. “Seven years, Scampi. Give a guy a break.”

  Her lips flattened. “Now you’re trying to coerce me.”

  “Is it working?” He smiled.

  She smiled back. Yeah, it was working.

  “We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Bra.”

  Biting her lip, she gave him a wary look before reaching around her back. A moment later, the cups of her bra loosened.

  “Slow,” he reminded her. “First one strap, then the other.”

  She slid one strap from her shoulder before crossing her arm over her body to slide the other strap off, too. His throat went dry. He wondered if it was possible to die of anticipation. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Sofie. She needed to reveal herself, to stop hiding, to trust him with her body. Every part of it, especially the parts she viewed as imperfect.

  He suffered no such delusions. Perfection was often found in imperfection. Like the jagged pieces of rock in the fireplaces he built, fitting together as one beautiful whole.

  Her hands cupped her bra to her breasts. But there’d be no hiding. Not anymore.

  He nodded his encouragement. She let the material fall away. Nipples yet to chill in the mansion’s cool air stood soft, begging for his tongue. He resisted.

  “Now the rest,” he said, his voice tight with lust, his hard-on straining against his fly.

  “What about you?” Her voice the only sound in the room other than his pounding pulse.

  “I’m next.”

  “Why do I have to go first?”

  He caught her hands before she could cover herself. “Scampi.”

  She gave up the fight. “Fine.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Panties.” He released her hands and crossed his arms, watching her openly. “Slowly.”

  She slipped her fingers into the waistband, which had the side effect of pushing her breasts out. Nice. Wiggling, she pushed down one side, then the other. His heart rate ratcheted as he watched her supple body shift and move. His eyes latched on to where her thighs met. He balled his hands into fists, aching to touch her.

  Not yet.

  “I feel silly,” she said.

  “You look sexy.” He stepped forward and replaced her hands with his, sliding them into the back of her panties, around and over her bottom, gripping those cheeks in his hands. “Beautiful.”

  Her fingers went to the hem of his T-shirt and raised the edge a second before her warm touch abraded his skin. “You have a rain check to cash in.”

  Like he needed reminding?

  “Trying to.”

  She hauled his shirt halfway up his chest, then ran her fingers along the words etched over his rib cage. His abs tightened as she read, “We live with the scars we choose.”

  Before she could ask what it meant, he leaned down and kissed her. She pressed her almost-naked body against his bared chest and moved her hands from his torso to his neck.

  He took his hands from her bottom and pushed her onto the bed and followed her in. One hand on the small of her back, he inched her up, crawling with her until her head hit the pillows.

  “There. That’s better.” His knee went between her legs, his mouth fusing with hers, before leaving her breathless and taking a nipple to his tongue.

  “I’m not naked yet,” she panted.

  He groaned, not speaking since his mouth was full.

  Her hands went to his hair, kneading the top of his head. Moving down, he slid his tongue over her ribs, over her belly button. When he attempted to sink lower, she clamped her legs shut.

  He looked up to find her giving him a shaky smile. For some reason, she didn’t want his face between her legs. He guessed this was another of her body hang-ups. She’d stopped him when he tried this in the great room, too.

  “You don’t want me to kiss you here?” he asked.

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. She shook her head no. But he didn’t believe her.

  As a test, he lowered his head again. She squirmed but her thighs relaxed the slightest bit. He lowered his lips and pressed a kiss over the top of her panties. Her hips bucked.

  Proof she didn’t know what she wanted. But her body did.

  He pressed a second kiss right over her sweet spot, opened his mouth and breathed hot, knowing she felt that breath beneath the material. Knowing, because he dragged a plea from her throat.

  A tight, high, “Donny.”

  Sounded like a yes to him.

  He moved her panties to one side, took a short, but appreciative, gander at what lay before him, then dove in. Tongue first.

  Sofie’s back arched. She had no idea how long he’d been down there—long enough to lick every protestation from her brain. At first, she’d been uncomfortable, having never been able to relax enough to enjoy… um… that.

  Now, she was clawing the sheets, eyes scrunched closed, helpless sounds eking from her throat along with each truncated, strangled breath. Donovan, as it turned out, was incredibly skilled at what he was doing. And what he was doing was drawing her to the very edge of a cliff she never would have voluntarily stood on.

  Then he pushed her over.

  “Oh, oh God!” she shouted, actually shouted. Her entire body tightened like a drawn bowstring, then released, every nerve ending pulsating, light bursting behind her eyelids. He moved up her body, pressing kisses to her thighs, her stomach, her ribs, breasts, and finally to her still-open mouth.

  “Need to know if you’re good with no condom, Scampi.”

  Lazily, she opened her eyes. He hovered over her, so close, his long hair tickled the sides of her face. His silver-blue eyes unerringly met hers and when his tongue came out to wet his lips her back arched again. Because his mouth: wow.

  “Yes.” She wasn’t about to turn him down.

  “You trust me.”

  She did. “I trust you.”

  “Open your legs and let me in,” he whispered against her mouth before capturing her lips with his.

  She parted her knees and he worked the snap on his shorts, sliding down the zipper and freeing his length. Without undressing, he slid inside her and Sofie’s eyes rolled back into her head.

  Oh-so-sensitive down there, each delicious slide echoed through her body, making her pant and plead as he stroked in and out slowly.

  “Another,” he said, sounding pleased. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  She opened he
r eyes but rather than find him grinning cockily, when he drove into her again, his mouth dropped open as his eyes squeezed closed.

  “Tight. Jesus, Scampi.”

  Every one of her limbs went rigid, froze solid. Her hands on his shoulders clutched, her fingers flinching. Pinching her eyes shut, she tried to push away the memory of a time he’d said something similar. And failed.

  You’re so tight, I nearly broke it off in there.

  She’d never forgotten how disgusted he’d sounded. How embarrassed she felt.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice as thin as the shield she raised to protect herself now.

  His palm was on her face in the space of a heartbeat. “Scampi.” He stilled. “You need me to stop?”

  She shook her head, eyes still shut.

  “No. Don’t stop. It’s… it’s not a big deal,” she said, reassuring both of them. She opened her eyes. Forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

  “Lie.” His upper lip curled.

  He flexed his hips and drove in to the hilt, then came down on his elbows and sifted his fingers into her hair. There was no escaping him. No escaping his piercing eyes. He brushed her hair from her forehead.

  “Straight through, sweetheart.”

  Dammit. Inhaling a breath she hoped was laced with courage, she spoke quickly. The truth this time.

  “In the library. That night. You… said the same thing to me. I was humiliated,” she finished on a whisper, humiliated still.

  His brows bent, pale eyes flooded with regret. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  His gaze was unwavering, his body embedded in hers.

  “Want the truth?” he asked after a lengthy silence.

  She bristled, but said, “Yeah.”

  “You’re still tight.”

  A new wave of shame covered her, but he wouldn’t let her look away this time.

  The fingers he’d sifted into her hair anchored her in place.

  “I had a lot of anger back then. So much, sometimes I shook with it.” His fingertips pressed into her scalp. “At times, I felt like I was falling apart.” His mouth closed over hers in a soft kiss. “Being inside you, Sofie, is like being held together.”

  Lost in the moment, she drank in the honesty in his face. Took in the fact there was absolutely nothing between them—no barrier between Donovan’s body and her own.