Pleasure Principle: Off The Clock Part 13

Donovan was thinking about Marin. About almost kisses and soulful hazel eyes. About cicada songs and secrets shared in the dark. About all the things he wanted to do with her, to her. The fantasy was great. But he vaguely registered that Marin wasn't the one who was currently kissing down his neck.

He tried to fit the disjointed pieces of the current state of affairs together, tried to make sense of what was happening. Everything felt wrong. Why did it feel wrong? He concentrated. Elle. He was on Elle's couch. How the f.u.c.k had he gotten here again? Like hillbillies on moons.h.i.+ne, his thoughts were stumbling around and b.u.mping into each other, slow and sloppy. Focus. He tried to will his mind to orient itself. Memories came back in wisps. Elle had asked to talk to him back at her place since he'd canceled on her earlier in the night.

He hadn't wanted to follow her here. He'd been knotted up with all that had transpired with Marin. But Marin had walked off, and he'd known Elle was p.i.s.sed about finding the two of them together. So even though he and Elle didn't have any kind of exclusive arrangement and he hadn't touched her in a month, he'd felt like a d.i.c.k anyhow and had agreed to come over to talk.

But while they were talking and he was trying to explain how this arrangement was no longer a good idea, Elle had served sangria. Lots and lots of sangria. And now Elle had crawled over to his side of the couch and was straddling him. She was taking control this time. But his head was muzzy, and though his d.i.c.k was half-interested beneath her grinding movements, his mind was on someone else. He was getting turned on by images of a woman with short, dark hair who smelled like cotton candy and had cheeks that blushed at the slightest provocation. Had lips that wanted to be kissed . . .

f.u.c.k.

He tugged away. "Elle, we need to-"

"Go to the bedroom. I know." She pushed her long hair away from her face. "But I thought a change of scenery might be nice. You can fight to be on top."

She pulled her T-s.h.i.+rt over her head, revealing lace-encased b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and took his hand, placing it over her and squeezing for him.

He winced and moved his hand away. His equilibrium whirled. "I'm f.u.c.king drunk, Elle."

"Well, I can stay on top, then." She slid her hand between them and stroked his now softening c.o.c.k. "I don't mind doing the work tonight. Just stay hard for me and we're good."

He grabbed her wrist to stop her, his movements imprecise and delayed. "G.o.ddammit, can you slow down for a second? I said I was drunk."

She rolled her eyes and sat back on his thighs to look down at him. "Are we seriously having a consent conversation right now? It's not like you don't know what we're doing. This is nothing new. You're drunk every time we f.u.c.k, Donovan. It's your thing."

The words rolled off her lips like it was no big deal, but they hit him like a freight truck. "My thing?"

She shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

"What? Now I'm an alcoholic?"

"Don't be stupid. You know as well as I do that you're not. But you never f.u.c.k sober. You drink and get to play a role. Saves you from that real inconvenient s.h.i.+t like intimacy and relations.h.i.+ps and conversation." She gave him a brittle smile. "Which is why I know you were trying to f.u.c.k your new trainee tonight."

Donovan blinked, the accusation making it through the alcohol haze like a fiery arrow. It hit the target and sent a wave of anger rus.h.i.+ng through him, clearing his head enough to act. He took Elle by the arms, lifted her off his lap, and stood. "I'm not trying to do anything with Marin. We're friends. We knew each other in school."

"Right," Elle said from behind him, sarcasm oozing off her tone. "Just a celebratory drink and a little face stroking between friends. A few more gla.s.ses of wine, and you would've been parked between her legs giving her a big welcome to the neighborhood."

He whirled around. "We were talking about our dead parents, Elle. It was a gesture of comfort. Jesus Christ."

She tilted her head, surprise morphing her features. "Your parents are dead?"

He stared at her, realizing that they'd f.u.c.ked for all these months, and he hadn't told her a d.a.m.n thing about himself. Not that she'd asked. They'd always been . . . drinking and playing the game. He looked away and raked a hand through his hair. "I can't do this anymore."

She groaned and stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Oh, come on, don't be a baby and pout. Use that anger on me. You know that's what I like. I like you when you're p.i.s.sed."

He gritted his teeth. He thought of all the times she'd invited him over, how she'd always had bottles of wine at the ready, how she'd purposely try to goad him so he'd get rougher in bed. And though his limits were pretty far outside the norm, her craving for the violent stuff surpa.s.sed some of his boundaries. So he'd hold his line, and she'd try to push him past it. It was a dance they danced. But apparently it'd gone far beyond what he'd thought.

She'd figured out why he drank and had encouraged it, had used it to get what she wanted. His stomach turned. f.u.c.k. He thought they played games of control-and they had-he'd just never realized he'd been the one getting played.

He took her hands and unwound himself from her grip. He met her gaze. "We're done here, Elle."

Her eyes narrowed. "What? Because of the new girl?"

"Because this, us"-he pointed between the two of them-"was f.u.c.ked up from the start. Just took me until now to see exactly how much."

She crossed her arms. "Oh, come off that high horse. This works because we're both screwed up. We get a fix from each other. You've known that all along."

He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. "Maybe I did. But I'm done making it worse. We can be f.u.c.ked up alone."

She stared at him for a second and then shook her head. "Go to h.e.l.l, Donovan."

Her voice was quieter and when she blinked, her eyes went s.h.i.+ny. Donovan couldn't believe what he was seeing. This woman never cried, never showed her poker hand. He didn't know what in her life had made her so hard, but seeing her about to cry made him feel like a world-cla.s.s a.s.shole. She'd used him, sure. But he'd used her right back. There were no saints here.

He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't waste tears on me, Elle. You're a smart, beautiful woman. You can do better than this."

Her jaw tightened. "I'm not f.u.c.king crying. Get over yourself. I know I can do better than you. You're a p.r.i.c.k. I don't even like you."

He sighed as he lowered his arms and then walked over to her kitchen counter to grab a sticky note and pen she'd left by the phone. He scribbled down an address, his handwriting more messy than usual with the lingering effects of the alcohol. "There's a BDSM club in the city. It's a well-run place with a good members.h.i.+p. I bet you can find what you need there." He held out the slip of paper to her. "I'm not it."

"Don't try to psychoa.n.a.lyze me, you a.s.shole," she said, not making any move to take the note from him. "You have no idea what I want or need."

"Okay. You're probably right. All the more reason for me to leave." He left the note on the counter and turned toward the door. "Good luck, Elle."

"So that's it?" Her tone was a knifepoint, poking him with sharp, stiff jabs.

He kept his back to her, this sense of calm coming over him. "Yep. That's it."

He walked out the door and didn't look back.

15.

Donovan showed up to work late and hungover. Marin tried to keep her annoyance at bay while Donovan greeted Ysabel and got his messages, but it spilled over when he strolled into her office, set a cup of coffee on her desk, and sank into the chair across from her without apology. He flipped through a file he had in his hands. "Got a busy docket today."

"You're late."

His gaze flicked up briefly. "I overslept. I didn't miss any appointments."

Nope. He hadn't. He'd just missed the show. "Ysa says you're late a lot."

His jaw flexed but he didn't look up again. "So how'd the research go last night?"

So that's how he was going to play it? Just ignore that things had gotten weird last night? Fine.

"It went okay. I made a list from the intake form. Skimmed through a few videos." A lie. She'd done those things, but it had been anything but okay. She'd already been keyed up after her talk with Donovan. Two hours of going through a list of s.e.xual acts and clicking through s.e.xy videos had not helped. But she hadn't allowed herself to relieve the tension. Not when she knew she would've been picturing Donovan during it. No way was she stooping to getting off to thoughts of someone else's boyfriend. So she'd gone to sleep frustrated. And then she'd walked into a minefield this morning alone because Donovan had been sleeping it off. f.u.c.ker.

"Do you have the list? I can make suggestions if I know which areas you feel need the most attention."

"Yeah." She flipped open a folder and flicked the list his way, her irritation hard to contain. Then, she grabbed the coffee and sipped, burning her tongue. "G.o.ddammit, do they have to make it this hot?"

Donovan glanced up, wincing a bit at her raised voice. He rubbed two fingers over his brow and then took the paper in his hands to scan over it.

"Headache?" she asked, not lowering her voice.

"Uh-huh."

She lifted her ma.s.sive diagnostic manual out of her drawer and dropped it on the desk. It made a pleasingly loud sound. Smack!

Donovan jumped, almost dropping the paper from his hands. "Jesus, Rush, what the h.e.l.l?"

She pretended to be searching for a certain page. Flip. Flip. Flip. "Guess who stopped by this morning to have a chat?"

Flip. Flip.

He groaned. "Please tell me it wasn't Suri."

"Nope." She glanced toward the door to make sure it was shut and then reached back into her drawer and tossed his wallet onto the desk between them. "Your friend Dr. McCray. She said you left this at her place last night. She also told me that she now understands how a complete novice got a job here. She implied that I must've been quite generous in college, doing special favors for the graduate students."

"She what?" Donovan's voice boomed in the quiet office.

Marin's fingers curled against the desk, the rage she'd felt earlier this morning seeping back into her veins. McCray had looked so d.a.m.n smug. Like she was talking to a child. Marin had wanted to punch that expression right off her face. Beyond the accusation just being straight-up insulting, didn't women have enough trouble getting professional respect without throwing the you-slept-your-way-to-the-top allegation at each other? "I can't believe you told her-"

"I didn't!" Donovan said, lifting his palms. "I would never tell anyone that. I mentioned we were friends in school. She must've looked up what years we graduated and made a.s.sumptions."

"Did you also mention that you almost offered to mentor me in your bed last night?"

His teeth clamped together.

"No, I'm sure you didn't. She probably wouldn't appreciate that much." Marin straightened in her chair, refusing to show how much getting blindsided by McCray had affected her. "Look, I don't give a s.h.i.+t what you're doing with whom. It's not my business. But this job is important to me, and I need this position. I cannot and will not get dragged into some petty bulls.h.i.+t because your girlfriend is insecure and you play fast and loose with commitment."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Whatever. Girlfriend. s.e.x buddy. I don't care." Okay, she did. She totally did. But she couldn't let him know that. "I've got enough on my plate already with this job. I don't need rumors or marks on my reputation to add to the stress."

He sc.r.a.ped his hands through his hair and then laced his fingers behind his neck. "I don't even know what to- f.u.c.k. I can't believe she went there. I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"Yes. It is. Did you cancel on her to meet with me last night?"

Something fierce flashed in his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Like I said, she's not my girlfriend and there's no commitment. Never has been. And whatever we did have going on is done anyway. She has no right to dictate what I do with my time."

"I don't think she knows that."

"She knows."

"Right. She also told me she was just here to give me a friendly girl-to-girl warning. That I was too naive to mess around with someone like you. That you'd just break my tender little heart." Marin gritted her teeth. "I swear to G.o.d, Donovan. I was ready to throw down with her. No one gets to talk to me like I'm a toddler. And if she tries it again, I'm going to get myself in trouble. You need to fix this."

Donovan lifted a hand in surrender. "I promise. I will. She thinks me ending things with her has something to do with you because of what she walked up on last night. And she a.s.sumes you're an easier target for her wrath than I am."

"That is a seriously misguided notion on her part."

He rubbed his brow again. "I need more coffee for this kind of morning."

"You and me both. But there's no time. We've got a session in a few minutes." She pushed her chair back and stood. "And if you need aspirin, I have some in my purse."

A long breath gusted out of him, and he got to his feet, tucking her list into the inside pocket of his jacket. But when she walked past him, he grabbed her hand, halting her. "Wait."

She stiffened. Why did he have to touch her? Always with the touching. Touching was dangerous. His hand on her never failed to jolt her system, to make wires cross where they shouldn't. She tipped up her chin. "What?"

His eyes met hers, something unreadable there. "I really am sorry. Sorry that you had to deal with that this morning and that I wasn't here on time to intervene." His fingers tightened around hers. "And she was wrong to approach you like that but right to warn you away from me. I'm good at my job, and I'm going to train you with everything I have. But I'm an a.s.shole most of the time and a f.u.c.k-up at most everything else. I didn't mean for you to get hit with any of my shrapnel."

She frowned. "You're not a f.u.c.k-up, Donovan."

"Yeah, when it comes to this kind of thing, I am," he said, his voice tired. "Scary to think people trust me to give them relations.h.i.+p advice, right? The only relations.h.i.+p I managed not to screw up was with my parents and that's because they died before I had the chance."

Marin's chest constricted. "Donovan . . ."

"It's fine. Those who can't do, teach-isn't that what they say?" He gave her a tight smile. "Regardless, I'll talk to Elle and make sure she directs her anger toward the right person. I won't let my s.h.i.+t mess anything up for you. I promise."

Her shoulders sagged, any residual anger slipping away at his weary tone. "I don't understand why you'd even get involved with someone like her. She seems so harsh and . . . cold."

His expression darkened and he released her hand. "Because I'm not any better."

"Of course you are," she said without hesitation. Sure, a lot of time had pa.s.sed, but people didn't change their core personality, and the Donovan she'd known had never been cold. Lost and a little lonely, maybe, but not cold.

He glanced away, his posture rigid. "No. I'm not. I'm worse. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You haven't seen me-how I am now. You're still seeing who I used to be. When it comes to women, I'm good at two things. Getting them off. And leaving. I try to find the ones who are okay with both."

The words were delivered with sharp, slicing edges. They should've scared her. Instead, she had the urge to move closer to him. "Quite a resume tagline you got there. Is that the line you drop on a woman when you meet her in a bar?"

He looked up at her and smirked. "Not exactly. Leading in with 'I'm an a.s.shole' usually isn't the best tactic."

"You're not an a.s.shole, Donovan. You spend your days counseling people in broken relations.h.i.+ps. I'd say your aversion to having one yourself is an occupational hazard not a character failure. As long as you're not lying to women about what it is, it's your prerogative."

"You sound like a wise therapist, Dr. Rush."

She mimed brus.h.i.+ng off her shoulder, trying to lighten the mood and that stormy expression on his face. "Well, you know, I'm learning from the best. Hopefully my naive, tender heart can handle the training with that evil b.a.s.t.a.r.d Dr. West."

He squared his body with hers and leveled her with a look. Even with a hangover, he looked gorgeous in his pressed suit with his hair mussed and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. This less polished version fit him well. "Don't let Elle get to you. I know you can handle a h.e.l.luva lot. You already have."

"I have." She smiled and then, acting on instinct, grabbed his lapels to straighten and smooth them. "In fact, you probably should be the one worried. I've raised a teenage boy and lived to tell about it. You have no idea if you can handle me." She patted his shoulder and stepped around him to head to the door. "I could be the heartbreaker here. Remember who went looking for whom last time."

But before she could make her escape, a hand grasped her arm from behind and dragged her back. She gasped when she spun and almost collided with Donovan, her hands landing on his chest to stop the momentum. His eyes flared with something new and dangerous, as he peered down at her. "Don't do that, Rush. Don't flirt and sway those hips like that and expect it to roll off me. I'm trying to be good. I will be good. But I have my limits. You've got to do your part, too."

Her response got caught high up in her throat, her heartbeat jumping to join it. The teasing comment had slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She'd wanted to flirt a little, wanted to prove to him and herself that she wasn't as sweet and fragile as Dr. McCray had accused. She wasn't experienced in bed. That didn't mean she was some innocent.