Pleasure Principle: Off The Clock Part 27

She closed her eyes and could almost feel his lips on her. But all he did was map the edges of her areola, making everything hypersensitive.

"The possibilities are endless." His voice had taken on a hypnotic quality, one that was lulling her into this suspended state of being aware of every inch of her body. He walked his fingers over her collarbone. "I could stroke myself just thinking about every way I'd want to photograph you." He let his touch glide down her arm. "Maybe tied up for me. Maybe touching yourself. Maybe covered with my come because I just couldn't resist rubbing my c.o.c.k while I took pictures."

She bit her lip and a little moan escaped her at that image. It was explicit and dirty, p.o.r.nographic. But she couldn't drum up shame about that. Being tied up and having Donovan m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e over her-G.o.dd.a.m.n. Yes. Please. Could she put in an order for that?

Donovan made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, his fingers finding her hair. "You're getting all pink, baby, and I have a feeling that's not a blush. You like the idea of that, huh? Of me seeing you through a lens or doc.u.menting just how shamelessly s.e.xual you can be."

She fought to find her voice. "And give you blackmail material? No way."

He laughed and traced his hand down from her neck, over her sternum and down, down, down until he was cupping her s.e.x. She jolted at the touch. She felt hot and heavy there already, but his palm seared her. He slid his fingers over her. "Yeah, you seem really concerned."

Her knees bent and she whimpered at the need building there. How could he stoke her fire so easily after what had already happened tonight? Surely, she had a limit. Or maybe her body had some storehouse of missed o.r.g.a.s.mic opportunities from all these years and was ready to make up for lost time.

He slid two fingers inside her. "What's your safe word?"

Her teeth dragged over her bottom lip. "Blue."

"Grab hold of the headboard and keep your legs open like this. Don't move unless I tell you."

Her eyes snapped open at that. "Donovan."

He gave her one last maddening stroke. "Trust me for now. You have your word if you need it."

Anxiety rippled through her, but something in his gaze smoothed the edges of it. She found herself lifting her arms and reaching for the headboard. Donovan gave her a nod, clearly pleased if the look on his face and the obvious erection in his pants were any indication. Then, he walked over to his closet, opened the doors, and pulled something from a high shelf. She knew what it had to be, but when he turned around and pulled a fancy camera from a bag, her belly dipped.

He kept his eyes on her and set the bag aside. "This camera is not connected to the Internet. Pictures are stored on a little card inside. You can have the card when we're done or break it in two. But right now, I want to see you through my lens, naked on my bed, wearing only candlelight."

Her heart had crawled up into her throat, but her body was starting a one-woman band of pounding beats. Everything felt electrified. Her fingers curled around the rails of the headboard.

He waited for a long moment, watching her, then finally asked. "What color is the sky, Marin?"

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her head fall back against the pillow. "Green."

That was when she heard the first click.

It was like a blast in her ears in the silent room. But a wash of heat went over her like the camera had hands, touching every naked part of her. Click. Click. Click. There was nowhere she could hide, but she wasn't sure she wanted to. Knowing Donovan was there behind the lens, caressing her with his eyes, seeing her in a way no other had, making art out of her body had desire winding through her like thick smoke.

What was he photographing? The hard pebbles her nipples had become? Her goose-b.u.mped skin? The way her thighs were parted for him? Or maybe the slick, wet place at her center? Just imagining Donovan photographing her there had her c.l.i.t throbbing and her arousal creeping into the near unbearable state.

This shouldn't be doing it for her. She didn't even recognize this version of herself. But that soft click of the camera might as well have been a kiss against her skin from him.

She heard the metal sound of a zipper opening. She didn't dare look yet, afraid she'd lose her nerve if she stared into the camera's eye, but her ears were tuned to high. And the rustle of Donovan's clothing had her pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth. He was taking her picture, but he was getting naked. Maybe this was driving him just as out of his mind as it was driving her.

She swallowed hard. "Are you touching yourself?"

Another click. "I've got my c.o.c.k in my hand, but don't worry. I'm just teasing myself. I'm saving the real thing for you. You have no idea how f.u.c.king s.e.xy you look. I could take a whole series of pictures of just the way your teeth keep digging into your lip or how your belly's rising and falling or how slippery and flushed your c.u.n.t is getting. You look like you could come and I haven't touched you."

Her mouth was a desert, words a former ability.

"But this. This is my favorite." Click. Click. "This I can't get enough of."

Marin couldn't stop herself. She ventured a peek and something tight squeezed her chest. Donovan was on the side of the bed, naked as she'd ever seen him, c.o.c.k in one hand and camera to his eye. And the lens was focused in one very specific place. Right on her face.

He snapped another picture. And then lowered the camera, turning the screen her way. On the bright little square was a woman she didn't recognize. Hooded eyes, puffy lips, and ransacked hair, the candlelight hitting her just so, making her s.e.xy in a way she'd never have a.s.signed to herself. This was what wanting him looked like on her. This is what he saw.

"What do you think?" he asked softly.

"I think your camera is kind."

His lips curved as he set the camera aside and bent to brush his lips over hers. "I think it doesn't capture even one percent of what I see."

She inhaled deeply, trying to center herself. She'd joked earlier about s.e.x with him being like skydiving, but now that was proving true. She felt like she was falling, falling and there was no parachute cord to pull. He wasn't playing fair. She reached out for him, feeling the ground rus.h.i.+ng up toward her. "Donovan. I need you."

"I've got you." He climbed onto the bed and pressed a line a kisses along the curve of her neck. She writhed under the touch, and he put a hand on her hip to anchor her. "I need you right back."

He took his time, using his mouth on every square inch of her, teasing her nipples and pressing hot wet kisses along her ribs. Then he was stroking between her thighs with maddening precision until she thought she might cry from all the pent-up . . . everything. Fear. Desire. Emotion. It had all weaved into a glowing, knotted ball of sparking energy in her gut. She called his name, not sure what she wanted him to do. But then he was rolling on the condom and he gave her the answer. He braced himself over her, settled in between her thighs, and pushed deep inside her in a long, slow glide.

Yes. That. That was what she needed.

And when she opened her eyes, finding him watching her, his deep blue gaze capturing her and holding her there, she felt all of those swirling things settle. He was skydiving with her. They were on this ride together. They'd either float safely to the bottom or crash alongside each other.

But at least she knew one thing: He was as lost to it as she was.

She wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, and she took him deep inside her body, never breaking the eye contact.

They'd never made love face-to-face. She'd never seen him this stripped down. So naked. So human. And she couldn't get enough.

She'd asked for the boy she used to know. But she'd gotten a man who was so much more than that. He was fire. Brash and bold and dangerous. But he was also rain. She could see it there in his eyes, like he could drown if he let some of the stuff inside him come to the surface. Like he was always saying good-bye. Deep, deep waters.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

But when they both fell over the edge of the cliff together a few minutes later, all she could do was fly with him and hope they landed in one piece.

Twenty-three more days.

It would be too much.

It would never be enough.

29.

"She's a wh.o.r.e," Lawrence declared. "All women are in the end. f.u.c.king selfish wh.o.r.es."

Donovan glanced up from his notes, lips parted and poised to interject, but Marin sent him a quick look that was as effective as holding up her hand. He hid his smirk. Rush was getting confident. He'd be sure to let her know how happy he was to see her progress when she came over later tonight.

For the past few weeks, they'd made it an almost nightly occurrence. They'd work together all day, pretend that there was nothing between them, be professional, and then after her brother left for his nightly s.h.i.+ft, she'd sneak over to Donovan's place for a little nightcap.

Of course, a little nightcap often turned into the all-night kind. They were both sleep-deprived as h.e.l.l. And Marin had twice gotten home after her brother because they'd gotten carried away and lost track of time. But G.o.dd.a.m.n, he'd never been happier to be an experienced insomniac. And on the nights she couldn't make it over, he found himself missing not just her presence in his bed, but her company.

Last night, he'd given in to the urge and had called her. They'd ended up talking on the phone for over an hour and co-watching some silly thriller movie from the eighties. They'd put it on mute and inserted their own dialogue. It'd been ridiculous.

She made him ridiculous.

And she was about to tell him good-bye.

Three days. They had three days left, and he had no doubt that she was going to stick to her word and end things. He needed to let her.

But just the thought of letting her go had sent those old demons snapping at his ankles again. He could feel them there in the shadows, breathing, waiting, reminding him that he could run but never hide. Letting her go would be best for them both. But even knowing that, he found himself considering things he shouldn't. Scary things. Selfish things. Like getting rid of the time limit. Like asking to meet her brother. Like telling her that he thought she was the most amazing woman and that maybe he'd changed his mind about that whole concept of The One.

But she still had no idea that he was a version of her worst nightmare, the thing she'd feared most all her life. There was so much he hadn't told her about his past. About his present. Things that would frighten her. Things she shouldn't have to deal with. But he was getting more and more tempted every day to come clean anyway, to lay it all out there and brace for the consequences. But even if she could get past those things, what were they supposed to do? Continue to hide and sneak around? Keep risking their jobs?

Plus, she might not even feel the same way. What if this really was all about s.e.x and experience for her? What if she was ready to walk away?

The thought punched him in the gut. f.u.c.k. He was in so much G.o.dd.a.m.ned trouble with this woman. So much trouble.

He couldn't let his mind go there right now. No time for panic attacks while trying to help clients. He forced his focus back to the session, waiting to see how Marin was going to handle Lawrence.

She stayed tall in her chair and didn't flinch away from Lawrence's tirade or harsh language. "Why don't you tell us what happened to change your mind about Rebecca?"

Lawrence's leg bounced up and down like he was barely able to keep himself sitting down. "I wrote her again and she sent me the same email about the s.e.x toy. It's a f.u.c.king form email."

To her credit, Marin didn't visibly react or do what Donovan really wanted to do-say, No s.h.i.+t, genius. Instead she nodded. "I see. So you're angry because you feel like she tricked you?"

"She just wants to make money and make people buy her s.h.i.+t. I mean, I don't care that she probably gets a pile of fan mail. Don't make it sound personalized when it's just a d.a.m.n sales pitch. I feel like . . . I dunno. Like a f.u.c.king chump. Like she's laughing at all of us dudes who watch her movies."

Marin managed a sympathetic expression. "No one likes to feel like that. But maybe it would help to think about it from her perspective. Just like any other person who performs a role, she's playing at something she's not. She's an actress. On screen, she's the girl who wants every guy and who can o.r.g.a.s.m a thousand times and is s.e.x personified. She's the fantasy girl. But no one is that in real life. She's doing that job because she has bills to pay and her own goals to meet. It's a means to an end. I doubt she's laughing at her fans, but I think she probably sees you as customers. That's what you are."

Lawrence looked ready to fight back, to disagree for the sake of disagreeing because he didn't like what Marin represented-the truth. But finally he let out a breath. "You think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

Ah, the unintentional trap so many people were good at setting in therapy. Come here, doctor. Just step right here. Confirm what I think about myself. Tell me these horrible things I think are true so I can redirect this anger at you.

Marin adeptly sidestepped the quagmire. "I think you're good at keeping yourself safe."

Donovan smiled behind the fingers he'd steepled in front of his mouth. Three points, Dr. Rush. Nailed it.

Lawrence's hackles went up. "What the f.u.c.k is that supposed to be mean?"

Marin set her notepad aside and took off her gla.s.ses. Donovan had learned she'd do that when she wanted to have a let's-just-talk-you-and-me vibe with the clients. He found it unbearably s.e.xy.

Better yet, it was effective. Lawrence sagged a bit in his chair, his fighter's pose softening.

"Hear me out," Marin said. "It's smart to want to be safe. It's a natural instinct. If we protect ourselves-our bodies, our minds, our hearts-we can avoid all these messy things. Being embarra.s.sed. Making mistakes. Looking dumb. Getting our hearts broken. But there's a huge price to pay for that safety. And usually that price is being alone or being stuck. Whether that's stuck in a job or a relations.h.i.+p or in a place you don't want to be. Everything has a price. For whatever reason, something in you wants to be safe. Girls in movies are safe."

Lawrence's expression didn't change, but he was obviously listening.

"We've met for a number of weeks now, Lawrence. I know you're smart. I know you know that Rebecca Bling was not a real possibility, that it was a fantasy. That email may have brought that home, but it didn't tell you something you didn't already know on some level. So what we really need to focus on is figuring out why you have this need to feel that safe, what price you're paying for it, and if that price is worth it."

Donovan leaned back in his chair, impressed with Marin's approach. She'd managed to call out Lawrence's flaws and get past his hair-trigger defenses by framing it in a compliment and focusing on the positives-you're smart, you're good at staying safe.

Lawrence chewed on a thumbnail, considering her. "It sucks being alone all the time. I mean, who wants that? But women don't . . . get me."

Triumph flared in Marin's eyes, and Donovan wanted to stand up and cheer for all three of them. They were finally getting somewhere with Lawrence.

But Marin kept her expression as smooth as water on a windless day. "Okay, let's talk about that. What do you think women don't get about you?"

The rest of the session went quickly, and both of them were able to get some things out of Lawrence-one being that the guy had been humiliated during an early s.e.xual experience and had anxiety about that. It was a victory all around. The guy was talking, actually getting to the heart of things, and Marin had been the one to do it. Not a blus.h.i.+ng cheek in sight.

When they finally wrapped up the session and walked Lawrence out, it took everything Donovan had not to sweep Marin up in his arms and twirl her around. Tell her everything, let it all spill out. Instead, he shut the door and leaned against it, smiling wide. "Is it bad that you rocking the h.e.l.l out of that session kind of turned me on?"

She laughed and let out a little squeal, which was uncharacteristically girly for her. "Oh my G.o.d, that was such a rush. I feel like I actually got somewhere. Like I may be able to help him after all."

He stepped closer to her, a moth to flame, and put his hands on her shoulders. "Of course you'll be able to help him. You're a brilliant therapist. I never doubted you for a second."

She narrowed her eyes. "Bulls.h.i.+t, West. After that first session with him, you were expecting I was going to be the next victim of the X-wing gauntlet. You were probably already chiseling my proverbial headstone."

"Never. I'm too good of a trainer to let that happen."

She smirked. "So this is all you, then? You're taking credit."

"Totally."

She shoved him playfully. "Egomaniac."

He grabbed her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth, brus.h.i.+ng his lips over her knuckles. "Seriously. I'm so d.a.m.n proud of you. This is all you. You're a natural."

He gathered her closer, and she let her head fall to his shoulder with a sigh. "G.o.d. It feels really, really good."

He could smell her hair, the sweet scent that lingered on his pillows, in his head. "What does?"

She took a second to respond but when she did, her voice had gone soft. "Figuring out where you're meant to be."

He ran his hand along the back of her head, a spike of something potent going through him. He knew her words were about finding her place at work, but they weaved through him, too, holding a whole other kind of meaning. He held her tighter.

Let her go.

The command whispered through his head, but he couldn't heed it. The words were surging up in his throat. He wasn't strong enough to let her walk without at least saying it. He needed to tell her how he felt. Tell her about his past. He couldn't keep pretending.

He lifted her face to him. "Marin . . . there's something I need to talk-"

But before he could get out the rest, the door swung open behind him, and voices. .h.i.t him like a two-by-four to the back. He and Marin both leapt back from each other, unable to play it off, and spun toward the intruders. So much of him was hoping it was just Ysa or even a client, but no. Of course the universe couldn't be so kind. Elle McCray had walked in . . . with Dr. Suri.