Her lips softly feathered over the wound, her eyes never leaving his as her tongue lightly lapped at the injury.
She hurt so deeply for him. He may have hurt her worse than anything she could have imagined, but no matter what he had done, he did not deserve such a blow.
She wanted to ask him what he would do now that he could no longer play ball, if he had other dreams and aspirations, but a husky growl rumbled up his throat, giving her only a moment’s warning before his mouth came down over hers in a demanding kiss that took her breath away.
The heat rising from his body was heady and intoxicating. A languorous warmth coursed up her arms and over her chest before sinking lower, his heat becoming part of her as a throbbing ache built at the juncture of her thighs.
He took hold of her hand and moved it up his inner thigh, her fingers brushing the hardness centered there. She ached for the feel of him inside her, to know if it was as good as her memory.
Her body thrummed as her left hand swept against his rigid length. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt satisfaction.
Sweet Mary, he was virile—a heavenly made male in the prime of his life, but with a tempered maturity that was all the more mesmerizing.
She massaged his erection through his jeans, feeling him swell. Air hissed through his teeth as she cupped his balls and scratched lightly with her nails.
When she looked up at his face, she saw passion raging almost out of control. He rolled to his back and urgently tugged her pants down, then dragged her across his lap, her nak*d thighs straddling him.
Wet heat dampened her panties. He pressed up against her, rocking his erection against her barely shielded cleft.
He cupped her br**sts and she let out a low moan as his thumbs swept across the rigid peaks, making her mindless with desire as he flicked and rubbed and rolled her ni**les between his fingers. Her inner lips clenched, a throbbing welling deep inside her.
His hands moved to the edge of her blouse, and without a word, he ripped every button from the silky material, wrenching the breath from her lungs. Her body quivered with rising anticipation.
Savannah gyrated against him, pleasure flushing her skin, her scent rising hot and musky between them.
She arched against his hands on her br**sts, wanting his mouth on her.
He pulled her forward and his tongue slid out and flicked one nipple. She jolted as he teased the peak, moistening it, circling, lapping, her body quickening with each passing second.
He moved to her other nipple to lavish it with the same attention he had shown the first, before cupping her br**sts and pushing them together, drawing one sensitive nub deep into his mouth and then moving to the other to offer it the same attention.
Savannah moaned his name, wild with desire. All she could do was hold on to his shoulders and revel in the friction her own movement created between their bodies.
“Yes,” she breathed as he continued to tug on her nipple while his free hand skimmed up her calf, pausing to stroke the tender flesh behind her knee before resuming his journey along her outer thigh.
His fingers brushed the base of her spine, leaving a path of prickling skin to tantalize her before drifting around to the front and sliding his hand down the front of her cotton panties.
The first touch of his finger against her clitoris made Savannah cry out with pleasure; the erect nub was hot and exquisitely sensitive, pouring bliss through her veins. His mouth created wet paths between her br**sts as he massaged her.
“Please,” she moaned as his finger slowed to torturous circles. She wanted him to stroke her faster, but he wanted to torment her, to tease.
Each time she felt on the brink of heaven, it was as if he knew and would purposely ease back, kiss around her nipple, lick beneath her breast, make one taunting sweep with his tongue across the aching tip. Then he would start again, building the tension, the need, until Savannah thought she would disintegrate.
She tore urgently at the buttons of his shirt, needing to lay her hands against his hard flesh, pressing against the muscles that bunched and flexed with every move he made.
“Whatever you want,” he murmured in a passionroughened voice, as his mouth latched onto her nipple and his finger resumed the torture on her throbbing core, flicking back and forth so that she was bucking and writhing, dying inside for that sweet release she knew he could give her, until her back arched, her entire body tensing, lightning gathering deep inside her and spiraling downward as her first convulsion pulsed through her, followed by a second and a third and a fourth as Donovan made light circles before his finger slid down to her opening to sweep inside her. Savannah moaned at the sensation, each contraction clutching him.
He began to pump and she closed her eyes, the intoxication stirring once more. She wriggled, yearning for him to go deeper, and heard his harsh groan.
Savannah ground her h*ps against him. He grabbed hold of her wrists, pinioning them at her sides as he stared into her eyes, looking fierce and tender.
With a growl, he leaned forward and kissed her nipple, the tip so incredibly sensitive from all the attention he had given it that her inner lips contracted one more time.
With a deep, almost desperate breath, he leaned back against the pillows and gently righted the blouse that his big hands had ripped down the middle, an expression on his face that told her that he wanted to talk, not take advantage of her vulnerability.
But talking was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t want to be reasonable or sensible or drift back to that place of pretense.
She wanted to feel his hands on her, flesh against flesh, with no barriers. She had missed him so much, longed for him to ease the ache in her heart as well as her body.
She reached out to run a finger down the deep V of his half-open shirt, smiling at the way his gaze followed her every move.
Something caught her eye then and she eased back the right side of his shirt, shocked to see a small, perfectly drawn heart positioned directly above his real heart.
She stared, not quite sure what she was seeing. The tattoo reminded her of the heart she had once etched on an old birch tree down by Sweetwater Bayou, where she and Donovan used to go to spend time alone. They had used his old pocketknife to etch the shape and then both of them had carved their initials.
“D. J….” She sucked in a breath. “And S.H.” Those were the initials forever marking his skin inside the heart tattoo. She glanced up at him, confused.
“I got it done the morning before we broke up. I was going to surprise you. It seemed a romantic thing to do at the time.”
Had she seen it then, she would have melted, cried on the spot that he had done such a thing while lecturing him on the potential dangers of tattooing—unclean tools and hepatitis. He had always laughed at the way she worried about him.
Savannah traced its shape with her finger, feeling the smooth, solid flesh beneath, the muscles that delineated Donovan’s rock-hard upper chest and rippled down his stomach, her gaze fixed on the initials inside that heart.
All these years and he had never tried to have it removed. She knew laser procedures could have obliterated it, leaving no more than a slight discoloration on his skin. Why had he never done it?
She leaned forward and kissed his nipple, lapping gently at it until it hardened. Then she drew the pebble into her mouth as he had with her, reveling in the way his body tensed. Raising her head, she pressed her mouth to his, her tongue slipping across the taut line of his hard-won control.
With a groan, he parted his lips, and she stroked inside, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing closer, wanting to get closer still…wanting him inside, to be one with him in a way she had only dreamed about for a long time.
Boldly, Savannah put her hand between them and discovered he was still erect. She unbuttoned his jeans. Her mouth still fused to his, she reached inside his boxers and found him silky and hot, flame hot. He moaned into her mouth as she began to stroke him.
He tore his mouth from hers and tipped his head back, his expression one of rapt ecstasy as her hands glided over him. He had taught her so much all those years ago, things she had not forgotten, desires long suppressed and aching for this moment.
Savannah pressed his erection against her moist cleft and began sliding back and forth. He stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes, passion turning them a dark, cobalt blue that burned with fire.
Jaw clenched, he coiled an arm around her waist and used his free hand to drag her blouse off her shoulders and throw it off the bed.
Her bra followed suit, then he leaned up and latched onto a nipple, sending a rush of sensation straight to the center of her.
She rode him faster, wanting him inside, yet she was too frantic, too wild, another thundering cli**x looming over the next horizon as he took possession of her mouth and toyed with her ni**les.
Savannah cried into his mouth as her release spiraled through her, her entire body tensing with that sweet saturation, the pulses deep and fast.
She fell against his chest, breathing hard, his hands kneading her flesh. Only with Donovan had she ever been this sexually explosive. And still she wanted him yet again.
Savannah opened her eyes and found him staring down at her, hovering there like some Dionysian god, all dark and beautiful. He kneed her thighs apart, and she gazed up at the dark canopy above her with passion-glazed eyes, a sigh of rapture falling from her lips as his finger slid between her cleft and found her swollen nub, rubbing in circles until she was panting his name. How did he manage to excite her again so quickly? And so many times?
The thought was obliterated as he flicked her nipple with the tip of his tongue, working his magic between her thighs, bringing Savannah to the brink of ecstasy time and again.
With only their hot breath whispering in the darkness, he slid down her body and his mouth replaced his fingers. The first touch of his tongue upon the engorged pulse point made her h*ps buck wildly.
She tossed her head back and forth. “Donovan,” she whimpered over and over.
His fingers came up and circled her ni**les, but he would not touch them. Savannah thrust her br**sts into his palms, and still he tortured her, so that she finally clamped her hands over his and made him touch her.
His forefingers flicked her ni**les once, twice, three times before her entire body tensed, holding her on the brink for a heartbeat, before she began to convulse.
In the next breath, he slid into her, her swollen tissue clenching around him as he began to pump, her body sighing into him with each thrust.
He lifted her h*ps and wrapped her legs around his flanks, which brought him deep inside her. “Savannah…” Her name on his lips was the most glorious thing she had ever heard.
He rocked her, his thrusts growing faster, his face racked with an expression that was near to anguish, sweat glistening on his brow as he forced himself to slow, easing out of her entirely in the next moment.
A protest sprang to her lips, but then he began to massage the nub between her dewy folds with his hot, silky shaft as he sucked on her nipple.
She cried out with another orgasm, her nails digging into his back as he drove into her again, his hands gripping her bu**ocks, pulling her tighter against his groin as he plunged into her.
Suddenly, he snaked his arm behind her back and turned her over so that she was on her hands and knees. He grabbed hold of her h*ps and slid into her again, her sheath clenching his shaft as he stroked in and out of her.
He reached his hand beneath her and began massaging her clitoris, her hair a silken jumble around her face, cascading over her shoulders and skimming the sheets, her ni**les peeking through the dark veil each time he pumped.
Mindless, she panted his name as he rocked inside her, until another shattering release washed over her and he finally found his own release.
He dropped down beside her and they both lay there staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch their breath while the night breeze cooled their overheated bodies.
Savannah lay in Donovan’s bed as still as a stone, wondering if she could just fade away.
Did she have no restraint? No common decency? How could she do this to Jake when he had been nothing but good and kind to her?
Well, she had no choice. She would have to go to him and tell him the truth, and whatever he decided to do, she would live with it. She doubted he would forgive her for this and she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t know if she could forgive herself.
She felt Donovan’s head turn on the pillow but she could not look at him. She wanted to blame him, but she was as much—or perhaps more—at fault than he was. He had agreed to take her home, had walked her to his car without further protest. She had been the one to kiss him. She had seen to her own downfall.
Savannah turned on her side, away from him. He laid a hand on her shoulder but said nothing, though she knew he wanted to.
Was he feeling any regret for his actions? Or only a sense of satisfaction that he had managed to destroy her life again? How she could have fallen so far, so fast, she had yet to sort out.
For a long time, she listened to the soft melody of a lark singing outside, waiting for the sound of Donovan’s steady breathing, to tell her he had drifted off to sleep.
When he finally did, Savannah slipped from the bed and stood there in the darkened room, staring down at him. Once upon a time she would have given anything to remain like this, to stay in his arms forever.