Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (26 page)

I snuggle my face into his chest and swallow his words. “You really think that? I was afraid you thought I was broken or damaged because of my background and maybe not want me.”

Donovan hooks his finger under my chin, pulling my face up, and I see veneration in his eyes. “Look at me,” he says. “You are not broken or damaged. Don’t ever think that. I think you could use a little TLC and I want to be the one who gives that to you, but you are not irreparable. Okay?”

I smile at my man. “Okay.” I plant the most sloppy, appreciative kiss on his lips. “You always know just the right thing to say and I love that about you.”

I’m packing up the last few toiletries into my overnight bag when my phone rings. I grab it off the bed and look at the screen—it’s Donovan. “Hey. I’m just finishing up here. How far off are you?”

“I’m at Venice and Walgrove,” he answers.

“Okay. I’ll meet you out front.” I can’t get enough of him. It’s like we are trying to merge into one being by melding our bodies together. We see each other practically every day even if it’s for my thirty-minute break at work.

On Donovan’s days off, I spend the night at his place, which makes it easier for us than driving back and forth to each other’s house and many nights we’re up until late anyway. He’ll drive me to school early the next morning and then on to work. On Tuesday and Wednesday, though, we spend the whole afternoon and evening having sex, and then we go out for dinner and come back for even more sex. By the time Donovan goes back to work on Wednesday evening, I think we are both ready for the break. I need to catch up on my homework, laundry, and errands anyway. I try to take care of everything I can on my work-slash-school days so we can be together uninterrupted on our days off.

Because Tyler is on the same work schedule as Donovan, Danielle’s social calendar looks pretty similar to mine. Sunny has stopped cooking dinner for us Sunday through Wednesday because neither Danielle nor I are home to eat it. I zip up my bag and grab my rain jacket out of the closet, when my phone rings. It’s Donovan. He must be out front. I throw my phone in my purse, grabbing my bag and jacket, shutting my bedroom door on my way out of the house.

I double-lock the front door and turn with a giant grin on my face when I see Donovan standing against his car patiently waiting for me with both his arms and legs crossed. He’s wearing his jeans that fit just snugly enough on his muscular thighs, and with his legs crossed like he’s doing, it’s creating a slight bulge at his crotch. Nice. He’s wearing a navy-blue T-shirt with a red, blue, and gray long-sleeve plaid shirt rolled up to just below his elbow, exposing his muscular forearm. The shirt is unbuttoned, hanging loosely over his jeans. He’s got on a pair of gray tennis shoes. Not the kind you would go for a run in, but the kind you wear when you’re enjoying a casual day off.

Our eyes meet and we smile. A surge runs through my body and makes my stomach flip. I step right up to him, straddle his crossed legs, and throw my arms up and around his neck. He unfolds his arms and encircles me in a tight embrace and we kiss. It’s just long enough. Not a peck but not too long that we want to turn around and head back to my bedroom. He releases me, turns, and opens my door.

The entire short drive to his parents’ house we hold hands on the center console and catch each other up on how our days went. Sometimes I forget Donovan worked all night and just got off this morning at 8:00 a.m. He can function on a lot less sleep than I can. If I don’t get at least eight hours a night, I am a wreck the entire next day. He takes a short nap on Sundays, while I’m at work, but if he sleeps too long it will upset his sleep pattern for the next three nights. Sunday is the hardest day for him because he’s been up for almost eighteen hours.

We are the first to arrive for Sunday dinner and Donovan’s mom is buzzing around the kitchen, mixing, chopping, and assembling. We interrupt her humming when we walk into the kitchen. “Hello, Mother. What’s on the menu for tonight’s feast?” Donovan quizzes her in a formal, joking tone at the same time he reaches over and grabs a piece of zucchini from the cutting board, popping it in his mouth.

She turns to me, smiles, and ignores Donovan’s question. “Oh, hi, Kenna, how are you?” she says sweetly.

“I’m doing great, Connie. Can I help you with anything?” I offer, but I know she’ll say no to me. Donovan’s mother loves to entertain. At first, I felt guilty not helping as much as I could, but then noticed no one else helps either. I asked Donovan once about it and he said she likes to work alone in the kitchen, and when she’s entertaining she wants her guests to sit back and enjoy their time. I still need to ask, though, out of courtesy and respect.

She answers what I expected her to say. “Oh no, dear. I’ve got it all taken care of, plus, you worked today. Go relax, you two, and enjoy your time off. We’re having baked chicken,” she says, shifting her eyes to Donovan.

“Yum. Okay, we’ll leave you to it.” Donovan guides me out of the kitchen and through the family room with his hand on the small of my back. His dad is sitting on the sectional sofa reading a paper and lowers it to his lap when we enter the family room. “Hey, Dad. Just passing through. We’ll see you in a bit,” Donovan says, pulling me by the hand through the French doors to the backyard and toward his place.

Donovan’s dad looks over his glasses at us. “Okay, kids. See you in a few.”

* * * *

Donovan pulls his face from mine, breaking our heated kiss. “I want to try something new. Do you trust me?” he asks, eyebrows elevated.

“Yeah. Of course,” I state with slight apprehension and excitement in my voice. For the past few weeks we have been exploring each other’s bodies, learning what to do and how to bring pleasure to each other. Donovan’s had me in many different ways and positions with his ultimate goal to bring me to climax. He can be romantic and passionate, soft and gentle, or rough and dominating. I like it all. He just seems to know how to read my mood and what I want and need from him. He also knows when to push me beyond my limits and I’m always rewarded with the most explosive orgasm.

He sits up and grabs the pillow from his side of the bed. He folds the pillow in half and taps on my hips. “Lift up. I’m going to put this under you.” He wedges the folded pillow under my hips so my hips are now elevated off the bed about six inches but my back and head are flat to the mattress. This is weird, but whatever. I’m game to try something new.

Making his way further down the bed and between my bent knees, Donovan positions his face close to my folds at the apex between my thighs. He is lying flat to the mattress on his stomach and curls both arms up and around the underside of my thighs, pulling them open. He trails kisses up and down my inner thigh, licking and sucking around my sweet spot. I’ve become familiar with this sensation and allow myself to relax and to be pleasured by his skillful mouth. I reach down and run my fingers through his hair and at the same time open my mouth, releasing quiet moans. My hips rear slightly when I let go of my consciousness and relish in the pleasure.

Donovan first slips one and then two fingers into my opening and begins stroking me inside. It feels more like a come hither motion that people do with their fingers rather than just sliding back and forth. He continues moving his fingers in and out. A new sensation begins to build from within my groin as he continues the licking and sucking and the finger play.
Oh my God this feels so good.
I moan louder and deeper from my chest and my hips buck faster.

Donovan pulls his mouth up while still moving his fingers inside me. “That’s the spot,” he says more to himself than to me. “Do you feel yourself getting tighter around my fingers?”

I whimper a little because he has stopped with his amazing mouth skills, but still moan in response to the internal sensations he’s creating within me from his fingers. It still feels good, but the combination of the two sensations is all-consuming.

“Tell me how it feels, Kenna. Do you want me to keep doing what I’m doing here?” he asks, putting a little more pressure on me with his fingers. “Or do you want me to stop? I need you to tell me what to do to give you pleasure.” Donovan then stills his fingers. “Should I stop, Kenna?”

How can he do that to me? I don’t want him to talk. I don’t want him to stop. I look down at his face, which is holding a got-the-cat-by-the-tail grin. He knows he has me where he wants me. “No!” I blurt out a little too quickly and louder than I intend with desperation in my voice.

Donovan smirks confidently and resumes his amazing mouth skills and finger play but doesn’t let me get off that easily. “I need you to talk to me, Kenna,” he says between licks and sucks. “Tell me what you like, what you want. I’m not a mind reader. I love you and want to show you by making you happy and giving you pleasure. Now tell me what you want me to do or I’m going to stop,” he says now with a firm, commanding tone and then he stills his fingers again.

I submit and plead with strained desperation in my voice. “No. Please don’t stop. I like it. I like it all. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It feels so…it feels so good.”

He moves his fingers again. “This? Keep doing this?” he asks, emphasizing his fingers inside me again.

“Yes! Oh my God. Yes.” I throw my head back. “Just don’t stop,” I cry, the sensation building again within me. I know this feeling and soon I will ignite with my red hot flame.

“What about this?” he questions, and goes back to licking and sucking. “Should I do this, too?”

“Yes. All of it. Do it all. I love it all. Please don’t stop. Oh my God. Please don’t stop. It feels soo good.” And then without warning I ignite within my core and the red hot flame burns and burns with such an intensity fueled by the oxygen of my words. My body convulses, my thighs quiver, and my breathing stops. This is the most intense, powerful orgasm I have ever felt in my short amount of sexual experiences. It seems to go on forever, but eventually subsides, leaving me tingling from head to toe.

Donovan pulls his fingers out and kisses both of my inner thighs and my stomach as he crawls up my body. Rubbing his erection against my hip, he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Good job, baby. Now roll over. I’m not done with you, yet.”

I comply slowly, but without hesitation or words, and pull the pillow from under my hips to my chest. I lay my head and chest to the bed, steadying my breaths and clutching the pillow. I keep my hips up in the air and my knees bent on the bed. Silently, Donovan moves around to my backside, and after rolling a condom on his length, he positions himself at my opening. Slowly, he enters me, grabbing at both sides of my hips, digging his fingers in my flesh. His breathing accelerates and I match his breaths with soft moans. He moves faster, harder, deeper.

“Ow. Not so deep.” I wince at the pain.

“Sorry,” he breathes, pulling back, and continues a steady momentum of gentle thrusts. “Is that better?” he asks.

“That’s better. Right there. That’s the spot,” I moan with conviction. He has managed to find the same spot inside me from before and the steady friction from our movements is beginning to reignite that wonderful feeling. I’m learning how to position my hips to allow for the maximum friction on that spot. “Don’t stop. Oh, that’s so good. Right there, babe,” I command, braver now to express my feelings.

Donovan continues on thrusting, grabbing at my hips with his fingers and making faint grunting sounds between breaths. I don’t want this pleasure to end. It’s like he reads my mind because Donovan slows his movements, no longer the fast, steady thrusts. Now he’s moving methodically in and out. He releases one hand from my hip and pulls my back up against his chest. I’m sitting up facing away on his lap. He wraps his arms under my arms and over my chest and clamps his hands on my shoulders, driving deeper inside me. This time I’m ready for his length and relish the thickness of all of him deep inside me. “That’s it,” he says, pounding into me, causing me to ignite once again, burning me in place with Donovan quickly following. He stills in me, releasing a throaty sound from deep within in his chest. Trying to steady his breaths, Donovan lays us back to the bed and leans his forehead down on my back and continues to breathe heavily for a few seconds. He then kisses my back, pulling out of me, and lies down on his back, drawing me to his chest.

I lie there for what seems like forever, catching my breath and basking in the afterglow of the most amazing sex I have ever experienced. I’m so relaxed, so uninhibited, so free lying in the warmth, comfort, and security of Donovan’s arms, like I’ve completely bloomed with Donovan’s patience and determination. Together we have knocked down the last wall separating my ability to give myself fully to Donovan. I am at peace knowing we are where we should be. I am walking with him in the healing light.

We are both quiet in contemplation, dozing between bliss and contentment. Then deep from within a quite primal cry begins to build. My chest heaves as the cry bubbles to the surface and I start sobbing on Donovan’s chest.

“Baby, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” Donovan asks, sitting up with me in his arms, and pulling my face away from his chest to look into my eyes. He has a look of fear on his face and panic in his eyes. “Kenna, talk to me. Tell me why you’re crying?” he asks, firmer.

I shake my head and close my eyes. “I don’t know. It’s not because I’m sad or hurt. It’s just something I need to do, something I need to get out.”

Donovan leans down and kisses my left and then right eye. “It’s okay, baby. I think I understand. It’s okay. Let it out.” He then pulls me back to his chest and we lie back down together on the bed.