Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(102)

She kissed him while he drove into her again and again. Her stomach coiled, something building…

“That’s it,” he said against her mouth, pushing into her again, deeper than before. The movement set off another spark—like flint to stone—and she sparked.

Throwing her head back, she gripped his shoulders with the ends of her short nails and let out a raspy, “Donny.”

“Come for me, Scampi.” He continued to move within her, winding her so tight, she thought she might lift off the sofa. Tingling. She was tingling everywhere.

“I…” She started to argue but she couldn’t. She’d never come before… well, not with a partner. Before she could make that admission, he thrust again, and she did. Her body clutched, her hands clasping tightly onto him, her mouth falling open, a ragged moan escaping her throat.

While sparks flashed behind her eyelids and her toes curled, Donny continued moving. Seconds later, he lost himself as well, his groans drowning out hers, his slick-with-sweat chest brushing her sensitive nipples. One of his hands clutched her hip, the other held on to the back of the couch.

Amazing.

Sofie could only hear her thundering heart, Donny’s breathing, the blood rushing through her veins. A dream. This was an amazing dream come true. She opened her eyes to take in the man who’d yet to give her his weight. His body barely touched hers, except for where they were still joined. He gripped the couch, lifted off her body. She wanted him to let go, to fall into her. She wanted him closer, wanted to wrap her arms around him. Wanted him to kiss her.

His heavy-lidded eyes had narrowed. Donny didn’t look like he’d be interested in cuddling or kissing. He groused down at her, eyebrows drawn together. “Forget to tell me something, Scampi?” he asked between clenched teeth.

Her blood froze. Surely he couldn’t know. Could he? There’s no way he could know.

“I…” She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t.

“Scampi,” he repeated, this time sternly.

She shook her head. Speechless.

His elbows were locked as he hovered over her, his face growing angrier. A second later, she lost his warmth when he drew out of her abruptly. The dream fell away in fragmented pieces.

As her body cooled in the chilled room, she took in the state of her clothing. The skirt of her dress had been rucked up over her hips, the top taken to her waist, and her underwire bra wedged in the cushions of the couch was poking her in the ribs. Donny stood, shadows slashing across his chest in the moonlit room, and pulled on a T-shirt.

He bent and reached for his jeans. Under his breath, he muttered, “A f*cking virgin.”

Every nerve ending in her body prickled. “How did you know?” she heard herself ask vacantly.

He tugged on his jeans and growled, “You’re so tight, I nearly broke it off in there.”

She winced, thinking things couldn’t get worse. Then they did.

“Get dressed. I’m taking you to your car.”

“Can we… can we try again?” she asked, tugging the top of her dress up to cover her breasts. She felt so… so exposed.

He didn’t look at her, instead concentrating on zipping his fly. “I don’t do virgins.”

Okay. She wasn’t going to cry, in spite of the stinging behind her eyes and the lump in her throat. He couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t let him do this. First of all, it wasn’t nice. And secondly, this wasn’t the way first times were supposed to go. He was supposed to be gentle and accommodating. She was supposed to tell him he’d made her feel like no other man ever had before. She didn’t expect perfect. Awkward was acceptable, but this?

This was awful.

She’d remember tonight always, and he was in the process of ruining those memories. She owed it to her future self to salvage this night.

Even though she was freezing, she dropped the material of her dress and showed her breasts. Donny’s eyes flickered over her skin. “Come on, baby. Let’s try again,” she purred, forcing a small smile to her lips.

He ripped his eyes away from her, snatched up his discarded sweater, and jammed his arms into it. Leaning over the sofa he’d tenderly laid her on moments ago, he growled, “I’m not anyone’s ‘baby,’ Scampi. There’s not going to be a second time.” He pulled the sweater over his head and added, “Ever. Get dressed.”

Wow. That was a solid “no.”

Dejected, embarrassed, and pissed off in a way she knew would devolve into her sobbing the moment she shut her bedroom door, Sofie finished dressing. Speechlessly, she grabbed her coat and purse while Donovan shrugged into his leather coat. A minute later, they climbed into his Jeep.

More silence as they drove back to the restaurant. The restaurant she’d entered for a work party, determined to kiss Donny Pate before night’s end. Mission accomplished, she thought miserably, unable to dredge up even a humorless smile.

He pulled into the now-empty (save for her compact car parked in the back) parking lot of the Wharf. Snow had started to fall, the light flakes covering the windshield.

She hazarded a look over at the man she’d chosen over all others. He threw the Jeep into Park and looked straight ahead, no expression on his face.

Determined to leave this night with something salvageable—though really, was any of it?—she turned to say good-bye. “Donny, before I go—”