I need both versions of him beneath me.
I’m not sure how long I sit in the car, but the silence doesn’t do a damn thing to quell the need growing inside me. By the time people start to spill out into the parking garage, I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin… and by the time I see Donovan heading toward me, I’m wondering if I can get away with pouncing on him as soon as he opens the car door.
“Shiloh?” He’s taken aback, even though I’m not trying to hide this time. My eyes sweep around the parking area, and I let out a frustrated grunt when I realize there are too many people around us.
People who could see.
And Donovan can’t actually be seen doing what I want to do.
“Drive,” I say, the response more clipped than I mean it to be. His eyes widen, and I can see the worry slide across his expression for a second before he nods.
“My place?”
We could go to his place… It’s not that much further.
But…
He wanted more of me. And my place is closer, which means I could see Donovan spread out on my sheets, next to the art I have drying in my room.
“No, mine.”
I can’t tell if it’s worry or curiosity that flickers through his expression before he puts his car into drive and listens as I quietly give him my address.
I have to turn my head after that, focusing on the soft snowfall outside my window. If I look too hard at Donovan, I’m going to fixate on the cut on his lips, the carefully bandaged wound on his cheek.
I’m pretty sure if he got into a wreck with my lips wrapped around his dick, that would be just as bad as getting caught kissing a man in the parking garage.
By the time we get back to my apartment, I can feel the sting of where my fingernails sliced little half-moon circles into my palms. The sight of blood on my skin doesn’t help.
I don’t know if anything is going to help.
“I thought you lived in the dorms,” Donovan says, and I shake my head slightly. I never said that… I never really told him anything about me, though.
This is the first time I’ve ever let anyone close to me.
And it’s shocking how much Iwantit.
I take his hand as way of answer and lead him into the building, pulling him down the hallway toward my apartment.
“Shiloh… listen,” he starts as I pull out my keys to unlock my door. “I know I was pushing the other day, and I’m sorry, I just want?—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. As soon as he steps through the door, I close it behind us and shove him against the wood. Just like I imagined that first night when I thought about killing him, I nearly have to climb up his body to press my mouth to his. There’s a moment where he’s still beneath my touch, but when my bloody palms take either side of his face and I yank him closer, he parts his lips and lets me lick into his mouth to taste the copper on his tongue.
I groan as soon as the flavor floods my tastebuds, a sweet reminder of our first kiss, more intense now than it was then.
“Loh,” he murmurs against my mouth when he pulls back, but I don’t want to hear it. Not now. I grab his hand and half drag him down the hallway to my bedroom. He doesn’t have time to look around at the paintings hanging or the messy scraps of sketches, because I shove him as hard as I can so his knees catch against the back of the bed and send him tumbling to the mattress.
Some part of me is aware that Donovan is letting this happen, that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower me… and something about that knowledge makes this even more appealing as I strip my shirt over my head and crawl after him.
“I guess you don’t want to talk?” he asks innocently. I roll my eyes and start working the buttons of his shirt open.
“No, Donovan. I want to get you naked, and then I want to ride you until you can’t see straight. Do you think we can manage that?”
I’m close enough to watch his pupils blow wide at my words, and the low hum of satisfaction that spills from my throat is accented by his groan when I raise up long enough to strip out of the rest of my clothes, tossing them to the ground before nudging him to follow suit.
I can see all the places on Donovan where he was hit—soft bruises that might be from practice more than his fight… but a few droplets of blood streak across his chest, and I don’t know if they’re from the cuts he got earlier or my bleeding palms.
Whatever it is, it’s enough to remind me that we’re here in this room because I couldn’t wait. Because I need him. Now.
