Chapter 4: Giving In
1881 Words
"We can't," Celine refused, shaking her head as she headed to the master bedroom.
"What's wrong with that?" Donovan chuckled, undoing the top buttons of his shirt so casually.
"You have to leave now," she said for what felt like the hundredth time.
"You led me here to tell me that?" He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, muscles flexing just enough to make it hard for her to keep her eyes away.
"No. You followed me here," she corrected, peeking out the window like a guilty woman expecting to be caught.
Instead of listening, he lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the lacy her white underwear. She gasped and shoved it down.
"Donovan!" she hissed.
"What? I just wanted to check if you were wearing a thong for me." He played innocent, walking to the middle of the room and looking around like he was in a museum.
"I don't wear thongs. They're uncomfortable and suggestive. And please, don't touch that," Celine chided when Donovan picked up a display from the glass shelf. "Hector has OCD. He’ll know if someone touched anything he owns."
"Clearly, he doesn't own you," he retorted, squinting at the collection in his hand but branding it cheap by the way his lips curled.
"I'm his wife," she enunciated, snatching the figure from him and placing it back in the right spot and angle.
"But he didn’t know I touched you," he said, nudging her side with his hips. "He didn’t know I got inside you more than once."
Celine paused, watching that meaningful grin on his face—something else in mind aside from rubbing it in that she’d made a huge mistake, that she was nothing but a trashy, unfaithful wife.
"You were with him last night, right? Probably slept in that same bed, back to back," he guessed, pointing at the king-sized bed. "He didn’t know I left a hickey on your skin. He didn’t know I f****d your brains out before you went home. And he didn’t even know I devoured you like a queen."
She swallowed hard. "Make it count—he’ll soon know it."
Fear shook her.
"He will choke me to death once it happens. I know he would," she muttered, her voice trembling from the thought.
"I highly doubt that," he snorted.
"I’ve lived with him for almost a decade. I think I know my husband."
Celine groaned in frustration when Donovan intentionally knocked over a frame. Luckily, the glass didn’t break.
"Seriously?"
Steam was practically shooting from her ears. She was already regretting letting him inside her husband’s house.
She bent to pick it up, and he used the moment to check out her behind.
"I love your ass," he uttered without any filter at all, like it was a decent compliment to say.
"Is that why you love yourself so much?" Her brilliant riposte made him laugh like someone was tickling the bottom of his feet, flashing his perfect white teeth.
His handsomeness brightened even more when he smile like sunlight breaking over her gloomy town.
"Maybe?" He plopped himself on the bed and bounced on it like a kid. "My bed feels more comfortable than this f*****g bed. Are you sure you can sleep on this?"
"Get out of there," she ordered, hands on her hips.
Instead of listening, Donovan removed his Armani shoes and socks, making himself at home.
He lay back, arms and knees spread.
The sight was too much. She looked away, scrambling for a way to send him off.
Something under his pants was calling her attention. She knew exactly what he kept in there—how it could ruin her. She’d felt him inside her, that sinful ticket to heaven before crashing back to hell.
He was breathtaking.
Teasing her was a bad idea, but Donovan was enjoying it.
Her natural blush was a huge turn-on. He wanted to brush her long wavy hair from her face.
He’d admitted to himself—he could stare at her all day. Her porcelain skin was to die for. How Hector couldn’t see it baffled gave him a huge question mark.
In his eyes, she's perfection.
"This bed would be a little nicer if I had you on top of me, right here." He held his hands up as if gripping her waist, making a slow, sensual gesture. "Ohh… damn, I’d like that view," he drawled.
Celine’s breath caught, her cheeks redder.
"Ahh… I know you want it too." Lifting his head, biting his lower lip, spicing up the sinful sight.
He placed a hand near his crotch and patted it lightly.
"Celine…" he sang her name, curling his fingers to beckon her closer. "Stop holding back, baby. It’s just you and me—and your upright butler, but he’s outside, minding his business, right?"
She shook her head, clutching it.
Three days. Hector wouldn’t be home for three days.
Could she steal just a little time to be touched as a woman?
"W—we can’t do it here," she muttered, but he heard her.
"So… you’re agreeing with me?"
She rolled her eyes instead of answering.
Could she refuse him? No. Her body yearned for the right touch, for heat—and Donovan, he's a blessed man, he had already given her a taste.
Taking a deep breath, she met the eyes that could drown her.
He was an invitation to every sinful desire she’d been trying to resist. Would she refuse when paradise itself was calling?
Locking the door behind her, Celine took her wedges off and stripped naked in front of him painfully slow, never breaking eye contact.
His eyes drank her in, drying his lips and throat at the sight of her. She was giving in to him.
Light hit her just right, making her skin glow.
Her curves, usually hidden under long dresses, were now his to feast on—the delicate slope of her shoulders he loved rubbing, the healthy roundness of her chest he wanted to palm, the small waist he could easily grab, the hips begging to be touched, the long legs he wanted wrapped around him.
Her body was screaming for his name.
Just the sight of her flawless, pinkish skin had him straining against his slacks.
"I’ll take that as a yes."
He rose, undoing the rest of his shirt until they stood face-to-face.
Naked.
"I’m still scared," she whispered, eyes dropping.
His palm warmed her cheek, thumb tracing her lower lip.
Only a fool would let this woman feel unwanted.
"Think of me and nothing else." He tilted her chin until their eyes met. "Just you and me."
With his cherishing touch, her eyes closed once again.
Never in her life had she been touched this way. Never had she been held like this.
His thumb traced an invisible line from her lips down to her throat.
"Let me see your eyes," he whispered.
As if his words were the sound of a pied piper, she obeyed.
The dirt-brown of her eyes reminded him of a beautiful mountain, the sweetest chocolate—luscious, but missing something. Happiness. Liveliness. They were the color of dead leaves in Autumn—fallen, lost.
Donovan wanted to put color in them. A little pride, a little joy—in a way only he knew he could.
He wanted to bring them back to life.
He didn’t know why he felt the urge to make an effort, but he knew he needed her.
"Just feel me."
She was a servant to his words, left with no choice but to follow.
As soon as his lips sweetly enveloped hers, all her worries faded as he invaded her system.
She felt his hands brush against her skin, sending chills she couldn’t handle.
Accepting him, Celine’s palms rested on his defined chest, crawling up to his wide shoulders and down to his veiny arms.
Every bristle of their skin started a fire, every move of their lips began a war.
Celine let out a stifled whimper when Donovan left her lips to trail kisses along her jaw.
His fingers ran through her silky hair as he deepened the kiss.
Laying her in the middle of the bed, Donovan pulled away to study her face—memorizing every detail. Her worried brows, the eyes he could read so easily, curtained by long lashes.
He loved how her cheeks turned pink whenever she was embarrassed. But out of all, it was her lips that he loved most.
"What?" she asked, catching an undefined emotion on his face.
"You’re a beauty," he said confidently, caressing her cheek.
No one had ever cherished her like this. Her life had been filled with pain that wounded her heart and mind.
For Donovan, he knew he was giving her the passion he needed as a man—but more than that, something he wasn’t supposed to give.
He’d forgotten the boundaries he set with women he wanted to bed. He'd forgotten the rules he set himseld.
But now he's in the position of appreciating her, and opening the gates of hell wider for himself.
She was married, troubled. Either way, she's a fiery imperfection.
And Celine couldn’t understand herself. In part of her heart, she liked how easily he got to her without breaking a sweat.
Seeing how gentle he wanted to be, even when the beast in him struggled to break free, moved her and it dangerously had her unintentionally falling deeper.
To put it bluntly, Celine wanted him to f**k her hard and rough like the first time.
Her throat dried when he parted her delectable legs and positioned himself between them—kneeling, but not praying. Chanting a name, not a spell.
When Donovan traced her c**t with the head of his member, she couldn’t hold back a moan.
"You’re wet for me," he whispered, voice sultry. He wanted her this way... and more.
"Touch me." She wasn’t asking, she was demanding. She guided his hand to her breast to squeeze, to pinch.
Celine’s brain stopped functioning when electricity shot down her spine as his warm hand obeyed her craving.
Drowning in desire, wet for pleasure, salivating for more.
"Is this how you want it?" he asked, dipping his head to her stomach and planting wet kisses until his face was in front of her s*x.
She shuddered from the contact, making him let out a low, sexy chuckle.
Donovan knew he could send anyone into the haze of heaven... and yet, out of all the women he’d pleasured, only Celine exceeded his highest satisfaction.
The tip of his tongue flicked at her sensitivity, making her gasp and arch her back.
He hadn’t even started, but she could already feel her release approaching.
The excitement was erratic.
Lifting his head, Donovan saw enjoyment on her face—enough penance for his simple work.
"Please... keep going. Don’t stop..." she breathlessly begged.
His twitching length showed how grateful he was to hear her fragile voice.
She was begging—and who was he to say no?
With a smile reflecting the bliss he wouldn’t admit, Donovan relished what was between her thighs. He had her consent, and he was bound to give her the best.
"You don’t have to beg for me."
- Writer
