Donovan's tongue flicked over me again, and he eased a finger deep inside.
"So sweet," he whispered against my thigh. "Like hot honey. "
Donovan continued his ministrations a few more moments.
That's all I could take. I wanted him inside me.
Right now.
I grabbed Donovan's shoulders, pulling him up even as I wiggled underneath him and turned him over. Now, he was lying on the seat. There wasn't a lot of room to maneuver in the car, but I was very determined. Now it was my turn to tease.
I trailed my tongue down his chest and put my mouth on him, sucking and licking his straining shaft until it pulsed and quivered with every touch of my hot, heavy tongue. He groaned, and his hands latched onto my arms, yanking me back up toward him. Our lips met again, sucking the breath and life from both of us. Somehow, Donovan maneuvered us once again until he was back on top. He covered himself with the condom. Then I opened my legs, locked them around his waist, and he thrust into me.
I watched his beautiful hazel eyes dilate as he sank into me, driving deeper and deeper. An ecstasy of gold - for both of us. Donovan rocked back. I dug my fingers into his back and pulled him down hard, so that the full length of him filled me.
Retreat, pull, retreat, pull. We clacked together like two magnets driven crazy by the vibrations the other was giving off. Over and over, Donovan pumped into me, until our hoarse cries of pleasure rang out in time to the gentle rock of the sedan and the tap of rain on the metal roof.
Chapter Twenty-One
After we finished, Donovan and I lay in the back of the sedan in a loose tangle of bare arms and legs. The imitation leather felt stiff and sticky against my skin. The windows had steamed over, and the smell of sex permeated the car. Beside me, above me, next to me, the detective's breaths came in sharp, raspy puffs. The sounds of a man who'd exerted himself to his full, glorious potential. But Donovan made no move to pull away from me or put some clothes on.
"Well, that wasn't quite what I had in mind as far as warming up goes, but I'll take it," I quipped. "Even if it's going to hurt like hell peeling myself off this seat. "
Donovan didn't say anything, but the corners of his lips lifted into a half smile. "You're not the only one. I'm sure my back will be screaming at me tomorrow. Not to mention the burns I have on my knees. "
"Worth it?"
He cocked one black eyebrow. "Do you even have to ask?"
No, I didn't. Because I'd been moaning just as loud as he had.
After we caught our breath, Donovan eased up into a sitting position. I followed suit. He reached into the front seat and handed me some clean clothes - a pair of khakis several sizes too big and a T-shirt that hung almost to my knees. The detective was a bit taller than I was. Donovan pulled on a matching set of clothes. When that was done, we turned and faced each other in the back seat.
"So here we are again," I said.
"Yeah," Donovan replied. "Here we are again. "
He didn't look happy at the thought. The detective let out a long breath and ran his hands through his black hair - lean, strong hands that had just done marvelous things to my body. I hesitated, then reached over, put my hand on top of his, and gave a gentle squeeze with my fingers. I wasn't sure what prompted the reaction, other than this warmth in my chest I felt for the detective. Or maybe it was the simple fact I didn't want things to end between us like they had the last time we'd slept together.
Which had been altogether badly.
Donovan flinched at my touch and slid his hand out from under mine. "We should get back. "
I stared at his rugged features. Black hair, bronze skin, golden eyes. But heat and desire no longer brightened his gaze. Instead, the detective looked tired, weary, heartsick.
As though all the pleasure he'd just experienced came with a weight that was just too much to bear, even for him.
"All right," I said in a quiet voice, not wanting to push him anymore tonight.
It was after ten by the time we returned to Country Daze. The traffic of the day had long since ceased, and the stop sign at the crossroads looked like a dull red ghost in the drizzling rain. Donovan didn't have an extra pair of the shoes in the trunk, so I had to stick my feet back into my muddy boots. First though, I wiped as much of the grime off them as I could with a towel.
Sometime while we'd been gone, Sophia's black convertible had been pulled off to one side of the store so that the classic car rested in the grass. So had Finn's Cadillac.
The store itself was dark, the front doors closed and locked.
"Come on," I said. "Finn said they were in the house around back. "
The detective and I walked through the gap between Sophia's convertible and the store. Warren T. Fox's house lay about five hundred feet behind the store in back of a copse of maple and oak trees. A creek ribboned around one side of the house. The rain had made it fat and swollen, like a snake that had swallowed more than it could comfortably hold. The rush of water drowned out the sound of the rain slapping against the tin roof.