She dreamed of it never getting too late. Of staying.
22
Donovan picked at the gravy-soaked fries on his plate, staring at the documents in front of him, the steady flow of conversation around him in the div
e restaurant a background hum. He’d driven into Bellemeade to Parrain’s Po-Boys for a roast beef sandwich and to go over the most recent report his private investigator had sent him, but he was having trouble making sense of it.
Donovan flipped through a few more pages. Bret had outlined some discrepancies she’d found and some circumstantial stuff. But Donovan couldn’t seem to make it line up in his head. He rubbed the spot between his brows. Maybe his late night was catching up with him.
In the early hours of the morning, he’d woken Marin and had made sure she got back to her place. She’d been sleepy and quiet, and he’d been tempted to ask her to stay. But they had to be careful. Beyond risking someone seeing her leave his place, she had her brother to worry about.
But he’d wanted to keep her in bed with him, naked and curled up next to him until the sun came up. Unlike a typical night, he’d actually had to fight off sleep while he lay there with her. After that spectacular blow job and seeing Marin indulging her own pleasure in such a wanton, shameless way, he’d felt sated and sleepy. Content. His mind had been oddly quiet. So much so that he’d had to set an alarm on his phone just to make sure he didn’t let her down and sleep past time.
But when he’d rolled over this morning to empty sheets, he’d wished that he’d figured out a way to keep her there. He would’ve woken her up with his tongue between her thighs, relishing those sweet sounds she made when she got close to orgasm, and then he would’ve spread her out beneath him and fucked her deep and slow. He’d had erotic dreams all night of sinking into her body, of what she would feel like around him, of her losing herself to the moment. She was so responsive and gorgeous when she surrendered to it.
And that’s what it had been—surrender. He’d watched her slip into that in-between place he’d learned about from studying BDSM. Subspace. Marin may not be a dyed-in-the-wool submissive, but when she let go of control, she really let go—willing and pliant, like she would let him take her anywhere. She’d tackled last night like she tackled everything else in her life—all in, no half-assed measures. If she was going to do something, she was going to be the best at it. It was damn erotic.
He adjusted his position in the booth, trying to will himself not to get hard at the table thinking about it. Even though he’d just had her last night, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He needed more. Wanted to glut himself on her. They only had thirty days and he felt like they were burning daylight.
But when he’d asked her last night if she wanted to get together for lunch today, she’d said she had plans. He wasn’t sure if that was true or if she’d just needed some time and space, so he hadn’t pushed. But now he was kicking himself for not setting up another time to meet. Usually he spent Saturdays catching up on work, running errands, or volunteering therapy hours at the kink club in New Orleans—a packed schedule his drug of choice. But he hadn’t had the energy or desire to do any of it. All he’d wanted to do was track Marin down and change her mind about today.
God, he hated this shit.
He didn’t have sex brain. He had Marin brain. He shoved another fry in his mouth. What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn’t do this. He didn’t spend time worrying about a woman. He needed to get his head together, focus on this report, and get something productive done for the day instead of staring into space and fantasizing like some horny kid.
He tried again to read through Bret’s notes as he finished up his lunch, but the sound of laughter broke through his barely there concentration. He glanced toward the door, trying to locate the source and stilled, a fry halfway to his mouth, as he watched Marin step inside the restaurant. She had a parted-lip smile on her face, like she’d been the one who’d just laughed, and she was directing that grin toward the blond man she was with. A familiar man. Lane.
Lane pointed toward the line of people waiting to order at the counter and then slid his hand onto Marin’s lower back to guide her that way.
Something ugly and sharp rushed up in Donovan, the taste of it bitter on his tongue. He dropped his fry onto his plate, his appetite gone. What. The. Fuck.
Lane was a friend and a colleague. A good dude. But he was also something else, something Donovan had found out by accident one night in the city. And the way his gaze slid over Marin’s backside when she stepped in front of him in line was more than co-worker interest. Donovan’s fist curled beneath the table. He and Marin had agreed to no one else in their bed during this arrangement, but she hadn’t specified not going out with anyone. He thought it’d been implied, but maybe not. Maybe he’d read everything wrong.
Donovan watched as Marin stepped up for her turn. Lane leaned around her, one hand braced on the counter and pointed to the menu board, telling the cashier something. Ordering for Marin? Marin put her hand on his arm and seemed to thank him for whatever it was he’d done. Possessiveness flashed through Donovan—like a whip snapping loud and sharp in his ears.
He watched as they waited for their food, chatting animatedly. He should probably leave. He was done with his food and not having any luck with this report. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up. When they grabbed their trays and turned his way, Lane was the first to notice Donovan sitting there. Lane broke into an easy smile and leaned over to Marin to tell her something.
Marin looked up, those big hazel eyes widening when she saw Donovan. He schooled his expression into impassivity. Lane put his hand to Marin’s back again and guided her toward Donovan’s table.
“Hey, Dr. West. Looks like we weren’t the only ones with this idea today,” Lane said amicably.
“Seems so.” Donovan peered over at Marin. “What are you two up to today?”
Before Marin could answer, Lane jumped in. “I figured I’d show Marin some of the local haunts, introduce her to the best shrimp po-boy, and help her get the lay of the land.”
Or the lay of something. Donovan tamped down the thought before it could slip out.
“I also thought it’d be a good chance for me to get to know more about Lane’s role,” Marin said. “I’m admittedly ignorant about the ins and outs of it.”
Despite Donovan’s annoyance, he couldn’t let that one go.
“The ins and outs?” He lifted his brows and Lane coughed over his laugh.
Marin groaned. “Ugh, you know what I mean. God, the double entendre traps are everywhere in this freaking job.”
Donovan smirked. “You get used to it. You two want to join me?”
Lane glanced down at Donovan’s mostly empty plate. “Nah, looks like you’re wrapping up. We won’t bother you with shoptalk on the weekend.”