Time's Forbidden Flower (22 page)

Until the end of forever,

Donovan

Placing the book back on the shelf, I head for the family room, unable to bring myself to return to Christopher. Curling up on the sofa I turn on the TV where the
A Christmas Story
marathon continues. Quickly I change the channel, only to return to it, and then flee again. Finally I settle on an infomercial, staring blankly, striving to force myself into panic over the details of the New Year’s Eve party to come. The diversion proves to be a terrible idea. This will be the first New Year’s Eve Donovan and I have spent together since we split. How do I move past the impending pain of the night while finding a way to heal?

“Cannoli,” I softly mutter aloud. “I’ll switch from cream puffs to cannoli. Maybe I should stuff the cream puffs with cannoli filling…”

Within the darkness, a ray of light emits from the hotel room’s lamp. Donovan and I sit on a bed, fighting to keep our hands off of each other. This would be so much easier, and far less dangerous, if I were allowed to touch him.

I must be dreaming.

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that we have to lie and sneak off just to get a few decent hours alone together each year,” Donovan says, his fingers threading my hair, his voice tender, seductive. “Why does it seem that whenever we think we have a moment’s peace, someone interrupts us?”

“We have to find a better way,” I say, my heart racing. His proximity and the need to hold him draw me nearer. “This little bit of time isn’t enough. I need you too much and in too many ways.”

Oh no. Not this. I’m in a hotel room in Rhode Island, six years ago.

His lips call to me, and I try to resist. Mentally I retreat, yet somehow find his chest touching my breast. Our breath unites as our bodies freeze, yearning to propel forward. I want the assurance I once felt when we were pressed together, and I know that comfort is but two thin sheets of fabric away.
 

I have to wake up. I can’t let this memory continue, even in dream form.

He draws closer, then gently pulls back, his lips never quite having met mine. He stares as if awaiting a sign to proceed. Finally I dare touch a hand to his cheek and his lips join mine. How I love the taste of his skin, luscious and rich like fine chocolate, accented by kisses that flow like cream.

Tenderly we drop onto the bed, our legs entwining as we press together, each fueling the desire of the other with our own. His hand slides up my back, and I drop mine to his ass—both wanting to touch it and in granting invitation—making way for him to grab my breast. It’s all I can do not to rip my blouse off for him.

Finally his hand finds its way to my chest, his thumb stroking my nipple though the fabric that I wish would melt away. Gently I pull him toward me, encouraging his crotch to meet mine. He’s already in motion, growing at my touch. I ooze and tighten as my breath shudders.

Slowly he unbuttons my blouse while kissing his way down—his warm breath causing me to further tighten. My hand forgoes its grip on his ass, in search of something even firmer. It slides into his pants, and my wish is fulfilled as his erection finishes building in my clutches.

His mouth latches on to my nipple, gently suckling the silky skin that has puckered in excitement. Reluctantly I stop stroking him, but it’s the only way I can remove his pants. The resulting sight brings about a tremor of excitement. Donovan’s grin turns broad and wicked as his eyes capture mine. They stay held until the ransom is paid in the form of my jeans and underwear.

With gentle kisses, he brings himself on to me. Our naked bodies make me lose what little sense of reason that remains. His skin electrically charges mine, and the little pulses it brings intensify when our crotches meet. God, how I have missed this perfect touch that makes my hormones take over all sense of reason. I need more. I need him inside where he belongs—his body an extension of mine, just like our souls.

His tip brushes against me, and my legs part further to welcome him. He slides inside, then pauses as I whimper in pleasure. The heat generated by our union fuses us together as I tighten around him. Slowly he begins rolling into me at delicious pace. Immediately my body begins to teeter on the edge of the ultimate pleasure, and I long to feel him burning inside me. We’ve been denied each other for too long. How it is this man has so much power over me? Only he can make me so helpless, so willingly vulnerable. It’s more than his ample size or his open heart. Others possess those qualities, but no one other than Donovan can…

“Donovan, stop!” I screech, wrapping my arms tighter around him, clinging and unwilling to face anyone. “I can’t do this!”

His eyes rise to mine, filled with love and understanding as he caresses my cheek. “You’ll never stop, Lily. You’ll always love me. You know in your heart we belong like this.”

He never said that. We stopped! Dear God, we stopped, and we both felt remorse. Lord, how every last grain of my existence wanted more, and it’s making me ache for him all over again. He’s inside me, both in my head and in my body. I can feel him pressing against me. I’m so fired up that I need to finish what we started. For years I’ve despised myself for allowing it to start, but in my dream there is no reason to hate myself for not finishing.

I grab his ass and slam him in, his dick piercing me as I exhale a groan so deep it vibrates in my ears. As his lips claim mine, the heat of his passion radiates through me, causing me to clamp down so tightly my entire body tenses. “Deeper!” I beg, wanting him to take me higher—back under his magical spell that makes my soul melt into a puddle of honey so he can lick me up, and I can ooze deep inside the very depths of his passion, coating him with my desire.

I grip harder, appreciating the tightness of his ass. My hands cannot be tethered any longer as they slide up, pushing in as I run them upward until the delight brought on by his thrusts makes me dig my nails in, causing him to moan.

His hands hit the bed, and his head tosses back—my signal that he is close to the point of no return and trying to restrain himself without disturbing the pace of my excitement. Suddenly he pulls out, then kneels and twists my hips, straddling one of my legs while holding on to the other. He brings himself back, deeper than ever while slowing his roll, hitting me perfectly, my mind envisioning how he looks pumping inside me—stroking me, caressing me.

The ocean in his eyes floods over me, reminding me that I am with my soul mate, the man who loves me endlessly for all that I am. How he colors my soul with happiness is more erotic than the tightness of his chest, the curve of his ass, or any move in the Kama Sutra. My body responds to my soul’s yearning, and I wrap my legs around him, grab his face, and draw him down. With our eyes locked together, we ride the avalanche, embraced for the crest of the thrilling climax that sends our souls colliding. At the end of the ride, our souls fuse, reunited for all of time.

Less than an hour after the designated start time of our annual New Year’s Eve bash, the house is full and swinging. With each wave of arrivals, electrical outlets grow increasingly scarce as the impromptu band adds musicians.

Each year, between Christmas and New Year’s, it takes all Donovan and I can muster to avoid depression. Donovan combats the “cognitive reasoning that tells him he’s a screw up” by overloading on volunteer work. I throw myself into making cookies for homeless shelters and futz over this party. We also avoid talking to each other; thus, we haven’t spoken since before I read his letter.

Finally feeling that my hostess duties are complete, I plop myself midway up the stairs to gaze at the crowd. The place is so densely packed that it’s hard to find anyone, that is, anyone who doesn’t tower over everyone else. In the far corner of the living room, Julian talks to Donovan. Why can I feel Donovan’s discomfort from across the room? Are those two going at it already? It might explain why Anna is suddenly cowering behind Donovan and scratching at her arm.

Donovan senses my spying, his heart tearing at mine as our eyes meet. He points me out to Julian who then sways his way through the sea of people. “There you are,” Julian says as he sits next to me. “This is quite the shindig.”

“And it will only get crazier once the alcohol kicks in.”

Julian clears his throat. “I saw Cindy and, um—Robert out there. Is anyone else from the bakery coming?”

Geez! He’s as transparent as air. “Yeah, Jenny should be here soon,” I shoot him a wink and a smile.

Julian chuckles. “That obvious, huh?” He stares at the glass in his hand while shifting the weight on his hips. “Donovan pulled me aside and apologized for his attitude years ago. He then genuinely thanked me for my help when your dad was ill. It’s amazing how much he’s changed.”

“You sound skeptical.” He also won’t stop fidgeting or face me.

“I’ve always been concerned about you,” he confesses, finally giving me spotty eye contact. “Anna seems pretty timid. She’s really an Acute Care Certified NP?”

“Don’t you mean she missed her calling as a model?” Unintentionally I sound disgruntled while eyeing her in a slinky black dress, clinging to Donovan, who is obviously discomforted.

Julian’s eyes shift around the room, his finger tapping the lip of his glass. As I begin to leave to check on Donovan, Julian interrupts my concern. “Actually, Lily...” Julian grabs my arm and leads me into the library, shutting the door behind him. “Have you… Has Donovan ever hurt you—physically?”

I’m so taken aback my face exaggerates its movements like an over-anxious lip syncer. “What? He’s never done anything of the sort. Julian, Donovan has really changed, but even before he never touched me in any way that wasn’t welcome.” Julian’s brows ascend at my choice of words, confessing his real issue is morbid curiosity over something that is none of his damn business. It leaves his mouth stuttering to catch up with his brain.

“What the hell is going on with Donovan and Anna?” he demands more than asks.

“What?”

“Jesus, Lily. There’s makeup covering grab marks on her wrists, and she won’t make eye contact, like she’ll be in trouble if she does. She’s also clinging to him like she fears being around anyone else. Every time someone comes into sudden contact with her she flinches. I’ve never trusted that man. If he’s—”

Christopher slips into the room to grab a pen out of the desk while my words are already in motion. “Julian, don’t you dare accuse Donovan of hurting anyone. He has never been that kind of person.” I turn to address Christopher, but Julian lets his words fly.

“Really? Because I remember him differently.”

I snap back at him. “And I recall you being the instigator in the only argument that came to blows.” Again I turn to Christopher. “Hi, hon—”

Julian steps on my words. “And I recall the way he treated you. He sounded like an abusive bastard while looking at you like a lost—”

“Everything all right?” Christopher imposes.

“It’s fine sweetie. Julian and Donovan have never seen eye to eye. I’ll be out in a moment.” Taking his shoulders, I direct my eyes into his. “Really, honey. We’re fine.” Christopher’s eyes shift to Julian’s in stern concern. “It’s okay,” I assure.

 
Julian resumes his tirade the second Christopher leaves. “So again you cover for Donovan. What the hell is it with you two?”

My hands toss up in bewildered surrender before my words berate the crap out of Julian. “He’s my best friend who has been through hell largely because people misjudged him, much like you’re doing now. If you knew the cause of his former actions you would be completely ashamed of yourself. Why can’t you just take two seconds and see what he has become instead of judging him on what he was, which was never his fault!”

Julian’s hand purses his lips to halt his words. His other hand dives into the pocket of his slacks, making the big, strong man look like a bullied schoolboy. “I’m sorry. I just—I’ve always worried for you. You’re right. I think there is a lot I don’t understand.”

It’s lucky for Julian that he’s backing down. I’m damn tired of Donovan not getting due respect. Suddenly the room goes dark, the music stops, and groans of disappointment fill the air. From outside, Donovan shouts, “I’ve got it.”

“Oh, no!” I fret. “The last time he did something electrical I almost called the fire department. We may need your medical skills soon.” I fumble for the door, only to smack into it. “Crap!”

“You, okay?”

“Yeah,” I moan. “Where are the damn lights?”

Fumbling my way out the door, the lights pop back on as I reach the kitchen. The brightness brings forth a new revelation. With the rest of the house so dimly lit, I thought Anna’s dress was black, but it’s actually deep purple. What the hell is she thinking? This is one of Donovan’s biggest triggers, and on New Year’s Eve of all nights.

Anna cleans the counter, as if not knowing what to do with herself. She lets out a self-conscious slip of a smile. “Sorry, I know the kitchen is your domain, but I thought you could use a hand.”