Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(59)

He was getting really close to—oh no. Not that. With her free hand, she moved his head back up her body.

“Not there.” She was not mentally ready for that. His face between her legs was so… so… personal.

Donny didn’t argue, only continued to move his talented fingers between her legs, relocating his tongue to her breast.

After many panting, pleading moments, she clutched. He didn’t let up until she threw her head back and climaxed, mind dissolving, her every muscle tensing. Only when he moved his mouth on hers did she come back to herself and realize her hand was still in his pants. She gave him a gentle squeeze. His penis throbbed, no doubt painfully.

“You,” she said weakly, coming back down from yet another amazing orgasm. Wow. He was spoiling her.

“If you insist.” He kissed her.

Oh, she insisted. Turning on her side, she wrapped him in one hand, stroking him while he hovered over her. A few minutes later, he found his own release, both hands flat on the table on either side of her. The sheer force of his reaction blew her away—the way his entire body coiled. The way his lips froze over hers, open and letting loose a deep, reverent sigh. The way the muscles in his arms, the tendons in his neck, tightened. The way his long, black eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

Continuing to stroke him long after he’d let go, she basked in the awe of the hold she had on him.

He snagged her arm to stop her movements. His eyes opened. He licked his lips, his voice a broken whisper when he spoke.

“Damn, woman.”

She smiled.

Power. She had it.

He dropped his head on her chest, bent over her for several long seconds. She’d buckled his knees. Again. Amazing. Unable to keep from it, she stroked his hair, feeling his breath on her stomach like she did yesterday.

“We do it on appliances and furniture,” she pointed out.

“No bed.”

Her fingers stilled in his hair. “You don’t have a bed?”

Standing, he took her hands and helped her off the table. He grabbed up his T-shirt, turning his back while he cleaned himself up, then zipped his pants.

“Not staying.”

There it was.

The undeniable truth said out loud. Echoing through the great room while she clasped her bra, turned her underwear right side out and put them on.

“You’ll be here a while, though,” she mumbled.

Where was her shirt? She pulled on her pants, snapped them, then her shirt appeared in front of her face. A second later, a third voice sliced into the air.

“Good God.”

The voice from the doorway startled Sofie so much, she yipped. Actually yipped.

Connor stood in the threshold, palm over his eyes. “You need to start putting a sock on the doorknob, man.”

“My house,” Donovan answered as Sofie hid behind him and scrambled into her shirt.

She arranged her hair and stepped out from behind Donovan. “Safe.”

Connor dropped his hand from his eyes and gave Sofie a perfunctory glance. “Dog needs dinner.”

“Gertie,” Sofie corrected.

“Dog’s food is in the utility room.” Donovan’s eyes slid to hers.

“Yeah. About that. Not that I overheard much yesterday, but the hallway to the indoor greenhouse is attached to the utility room and—”

Yesterday. The utility room. No, no. This was not good. Sofie knew from the heat infusing her cheeks her complexion was a hectic mess of red and pink.

“In your defense,” Connor told her with a crooked grin, “I like s’mores.”

She hid her face in her palms.

“You’re a dick,” Donovan told him, but he sounded like he was smiling.

Damn male pride.

“I need dinner, too,” Connor said.

“Leftover lasagna in the fridge.”

Yep, carry on. Meanwhile, I’ll just stand here and die of embarrassment.

“Got it.” Connor snapped his fingers and Gertie, who’d poked her nose into the room, followed on his heels. At least from what Sofie could see from between her parted fingers.

Donovan pulled her hands away from her face and tugged her close. “Dinner?”

Like she could sit across from Connor McClain knowing he’d seen her in her bra today, and had heard her moaning yesterday.

“No, I uh, I’ve got to get back.”

“Okay.”

No argument. But what did she expect? Her tender heart ached. And that, she decided, was something she would not tolerate. The moment her “feelings” entered the equation, she needed to knock them off and move along, little doggie.

“Working here tomorrow?” His voice was calm, face placid, clearly not sharing her plight of too much thought.

“In my office,” she said through a thick layer of disappointment. She really didn’t want to come back to reality yet. But that was all there was. The reality of a very big project intermixed with the knowledge Donovan Pate hadn’t slept with a single person in seven years.

Gosh. Why not?

Frustrated because she was still overthinking, she scrubbed her forehead with one hand. “I have to call about a dozen people, finalize plans with the party decorator, give the caterer the final count, and nail down that darned DJ.” She dropped her hand and rolled her eyes. “Not to mention—”