Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(79)

Love was an emotion he couldn’t trust. He understood it—in an abstract way. He got that Evan loved his son, Lyon, that Evan loved his fiancée. He got that Caroline loved to cook. He understood Alessandre loved business and had, at some point, loved each of his four ex-wives.

What Donovan didn’t understand were things like if his mother loved him, why had she left him behind? If Gertrude loved Robert, how had she let him abuse Donovan?

Where the Pates were concerned, having their love came with strings, with scars. To be loved was to be burdened. Left behind. Harmed.

The pull of Sofie’s lips reminded him she was nothing like his family. She loved purely. Loved her friends, loved bacon, loved the color brown. She loved the shower attached to the room he slept in. He knew because she’d talked about it—and what they’d done in it—over and over and over.

And he loved pleasing her. Making her cry out. Loved the way he turned her on and the way she always brought it up after.

But her love for him needed to stop there. She could love parts of the house, she could love what they were doing together, and she could even love that he was “bad.” So long as she didn’t love him. Love came first, but following closely behind: problems.

Plenty of them.

Starting with what she’d expect from him. Because of his childhood, because of his upbringing, because of who he’d become over the past seven years, there were parts of himself he simply wasn’t capable of anteing up.

Didn’t matter who he blamed. He just couldn’t, and that was that.

“Beautiful night,” she said as he continued wrestling with the elastic band on her panties. They were tangled in her high heels. Giving up, he tossed her shoes to the ground.

“Michael Kors,” she said against his mouth.

He pulled his chin back to look at her. “Who?”

“The shoes.”

“Buy you new ones.” He kissed her, allowing his hands to wander higher and higher up her thighs. “You feel like silk.” He breathed in the scent coating her neck, a blend of something feminine and soft that had the superpower of making his dick throb in sync with his heartbeat. Pushing one hand under her shirt, he cupped a breast and buried his face in her neck. She tasted like she smelled. Sweet. Incredible.

A moan echoed in her throat. “You’re sure no one is out here?”

Not that he knew of. They’d driven Trixie out beyond the stables, through the open field where he parked under a massive maple. Thanks to Connor’s mowing, the grass was no longer knee-high.

Donovan and Sofie had the field, the trees, and the stars to themselves.

“You worry too much.” He slid the dress from her shoulder and pressed a kiss there.

“I do not. I’m not worried about getting dust on the seat of my skirt,” she argued.

“That you even thought that proves me right.”

He scooted her forward on the hood and stood between her thighs. His erection shoved against his fly.

“Cashing in my Do Me rain check, Scampi.” This time when he kissed her neck, she tipped her head back to give him room. He took it.

Then his head was being pulled back, her fingers tight in his hair, her expression fierce.

“If I’m going to do you, Donny Pate, you’re going to have to let me be on top.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE




Seven minutes in heaven.

Whoever invented that game didn’t know what the f*ck they were talking about.

Seven minutes in a closet with Sofie’s lips on his would have been great, but seven minutes of her riding him, her tits swinging in his face, her breathing escalating, her hands resting against his chest while her hips slammed up and down…

Heaven. Pearly gates included.

Pressure built in his spine until he was sure his vertebrae were exploding one after the other. He came so hard, his upper half lifted off the back of his Jeep. He welded his palms into the cushion of Sofie’s ass. Every muscle in his body tightened, then loosened, his head dropping, his eyes closing. He lay there, breathing heavily.

“You swear when you come,” she panted above him. He felt her hair tickle his face a moment before her lips covered his.

He pushed the mass of waves away, keeping his eyes closed. He didn’t need to see her. He could feel her.

“What did I say?” he asked, his voice rough, his throat dry. He had no clue.

“You said, ‘Fuuuuuuck.’ ” She’d lowered her voice to sound more like him. It was too damn cute.

His eyes opened as his mouth smiled. He smiled a lot around her. It was as refreshing as everything else he did with her.

Moonlight shining bright behind her head made seeing her expression impossible. But he knew Sofie smiled—he could hear the smile in her voice. Could hear light laughter between her shallow breaths. She’d worked hard.

“That was nice,” she said.

“No.” He palmed her back and pulled her down to him. “Nice is not the word for you riding me home, Scampi.”

“Riding you home?” A loose laugh came from her lips, her breath washing over his face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, if not nice, then what would you call it?”

Heaven, he thought automatically.

Instead he said, “Fucking amazing.”