Dirty Sweet Valentine: And Other Filthy Tales of Love Page 3

  “Ah. Good point.” I forced my hands to release him, and sat back to watch as he tucked himself away. “Quite an untraditional Valentine’s Day gift.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “I am not.”

  “I am glad.” His grin made me woozy. “But it wasn’t really a Valentine’s Day gift.”

  My brows tilted inward. “It wasn’t?”

  He scanned the room. “I’ve been wanting to do this for you,” he said, retrieving a glove off the floor. “And when I realized this morning that I was going to be in the doghouse if I didn’t do something today, I decided to make it happen.”

  The tension that had been released from orgasming returned to settle in my jaw. His remark wasn’t exactly off-putting, yet somehow it felt like a deliberate jab at me. I tried to keep a civil tone, but in the end I bristled. “Not a fan of February 14th?”

  He looked up at me, his expression flecked with guilt. “I’m a fan of you.”

  I pursed my lips, not sure why I was upset. He’d given me a gift, whether he said it was for the holiday or not, a gift I enjoyed very much. He was into me. He was here. Why did it matter if he wasn’t quite the romantic knight?

  I must have been easy to read because his eyes did the thing they did when he was annoyed with me—not quite an eye roll, but close.

  Then he sighed. “Look, Sabrina,” he said, his expression stern. “Valentine’s Day is a bullshit holiday. It’s about money and proving your place in a cultural structure that you and I already know we exist outside of. You think a dozen roses and a tennis bracelet will validate our relationship? You think if I take you out to a romantic dinner that it will sufficiently express the emotions I have for you?”

  He stepped closer to the desk, leaning his hands on either side of me to cage me in. “I’m in love with you. If you need to hear it, I can tell you again. But I don’t think those words can be any clearer than my actions. I’ve lived the last ten years for you. I made you move into my home. Certainly that tells you more about my feelings than a box of chocolates could.

  “So don’t fuss about the shit I didn’t do for you today—”

  I’d been melting, but at this I had to protest. “I didn’t—”

  He cut me off. “—And look at what I do for you every day. Nationally certified occasion or not.”

  My frown lingered. Donovan made me weak, and I hated to give in easily. But I had no ground to stand on. I didn’t need stupid holidays to tell me how he felt. What he’d said was perfect, and he was perfect, and I couldn’t resist loving every unconventional bone in his body.

  I reached my hand up to caress against his stubbled jaw. “Say it again.”

  He paused briefly, possibly to be sure he knew what I was asking. Then his arms came around my waist. “I love you,” he said. “I really love you, might be more accurate. I live-my-life-around-you love you is better still.”

  I stretched both arms up to wrap around his neck. “I live-my-life-around-you love you too.”

  His lips twitched. He couldn’t help himself, he had to say it. “But I’ve done it longer.”

  “It’s not a competition,” I laughed.

  “It’s not? Because I’m pretty sure I won.” He gave me a quick kiss then swatted my hip. “Come on. Get dressed. I have a change of clothes for both of us in the stairwell. I didn’t bring any panties, though.” He swiped the thong from the desk and held it up. “And I’m keeping these.”

  He tucked his prize in his pocket then helped me off of the desk.

  “Are we going somewhere?” I asked. My stomach growled loudly, as though wanting a say in our after-fucking plans.

  Donovan raised a brow at the intrusion. “Okazu. It’s not a date because it’s Valentine’s Day. It’s a date because I’m hungry, and I always like feasting on you best."

  Okazu was our favorite Japanese restaurant. The private rooms and low-to-the-ground tables made it easy to fool around in the filthiest ways. We’d taken full advantage in the past, and I had a pretty good feeling tonight would be no different.

  “Sounds awesome. I’m obviously starving.”

  “Not surprising since you didn’t eat.”

  I smiled guiltily. “You know me so well.”

  Together we cleaned up Ellen’s desk, putting the phone back in its place and straightening the items we’d knocked over while fucking. I hadn’t realized we’d been so destructive. It made me hot to see the remains.

  When we were finished, I wiped some of her Purell over her desk. It probably wasn’t very professional to have sex on your secretary’s desk, even if she’d never know. The least I could do was leave it sanitized.

  “I’ll grab the clothes while you’re shutting down your office. I need to stop by my office too, to erase the security recording.”

  Damn. I’d forgotten about the cameras. Thank God Donovan always thought of everything. I could just imagine one of the partners accidentally watching what we’d done.

  “Wait,” I said, stopping him before he’d left. “Can you maybe make a copy for us first?”

  He grinned. “There’s already a duplicate feed running to the apartment.”

  “Of course there is.” I wasn’t always happy about Donovan’s penchant for surveillance, but this time I had to admit I saw the benefit. “We should watch it as soon as we get home.”

  His expression was serious, but he crossed back to me in two swift steps, swooping me once again into his arms for a slow, passionate kiss. When he broke away, he whispered in my ear. “Mamoritai. Daiji ni Shitai. Aishiteru.”

  I didn’t speak Japanese, but he’d said these words to me enough times now that I knew what they meant. I want to protect you. I treasure you. I love you. There was nothing more I needed from a man than to be protected, treasured, and loved.

  I’d been foolish earlier, when I’d thought we didn’t speak the same love language. Obviously we did, because time and time again Donovan had proven all three sentiments to me. Proven that he could protect me. Proven that he treasured me. Proven that he loved me. Sometimes in the dirtiest, filthiest ways.

  But always in the richest ways too.

  Donovan and Sabrina first appear in the

  Dirty Duet.

  Start with Dirty Filthy Rich Boys which is available everywhere for FREE.

  Filthy Valentine Fix

  One

  “The financial reports you signed off on have been delivered to Ms. Anders-Sitkin. I rescheduled your Monday afternoon like you asked, and here’s the proposal from the new tech company you’re looking into. I had it bound so you can read it over the weekend.” It was Friday just after four, and I was giving my boss my report before he left for the day.

  When I first started working for Hudson Pierce, I’d always been the one to leave first. A man didn’t get as successful as he did without being a workaholic, and he definitely was one. After he got married six years ago, however, he became more balanced and started leaving at the same time I did. The birth of his twins seven months ago changed his habits once again, and now he occasionally left before me, especially since his wife began displaying signs of postpartum OCD.

  “Good, good. That’s all good.” He took the report I handed him and stuffed it into his briefcase without looking at it, seemingly preoccupied. He was in a hurry to get out of there, I could tell, his eyes darting between his watch and the elevator.

  “Just one more thing. You had a delivery from Cartier.” I unlocked the bottom drawer where I had stashed the long box when it had come in by courier, assuming whatever was inside was most likely valuable.

  Hudson perked up at this. “Oh. I’ve been waiting for this.” The stoic man appeared almost excited as he took the box from me and opened it, the lid blocking my view of the contents. “Have you looked?”

  “Of course not, Mr. Pierce.” I was appalled. As if I wasn’t an absolute professional. I took my job as his secretary with pride.

  It was in other areas of my life that I was naughty.


  He turned the box so I could see the necklace. It was simple but breathtaking, a plain opal stone enclosed between two rubies. “It’s magnificent,” I said, imagining it cost more than my monthly salary. “They’re the birthstones of your children, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. Opals are Mina’s and the rubies are the twins’.” His voice was filled with pride. I planned never to have children, but if anyone came close to convincing me that the thought wasn’t completely abhorrent, it was Hudson.

  “Mrs. Pierce will love that. A truly thoughtful gift. Any special occasion?” The man never needed a reason to give his wife gifts, but this one was above and beyond.

  Though, maybe the occasion this time was that her mental health was suffering. I regretted asking as soon as the thought occurred to me.

  He looked at me as if I’d forgotten something important. “Valentine’s Day.”

  Oh, fuck. I had forgotten something important. “Is that coming up already?”

  “It’s next Wednesday. I’m surprised it isn’t on your mind since you have a boyfriend.”

  Yeah, that was surprising. For entirely different reasons than he was suggesting.

  I straightened the tape dispenser and the Kleenex box on my desk even though they were already perfectly straight. “Nate isn’t really my boyfriend,” I said, not knowing how to explain to him—or anyone—what my relationship with Nate was. It was definitely something I didn’t like to discuss with my boss. The only reason Hudson knew I was seeing the Creative Director of the ad firm he used was because we’d bumped into each other at a wedding. “We’re, uh, neighbors. Neighbors that get along really well.”

  Actually, we were only neighbors because we got along really well. He’d rented the apartment next door just to be close to me. And by get along really well, what I meant was had lots of kinky sex.

  That wasn’t fair. Nate and I were more than just fuck-buddies. I had feelings for him that were difficult to pin down, mostly because I was a woman who never wanted to be pinned down at all. Fortunately, he understood because he was exactly the same.

  Or, at least, he said he was. In the two months since we’d become “neighbors,” we’d seemed to be on the same page. We saw each other most days, but it wasn’t a big deal when we didn’t. We enjoyed our time together without being overly clingy. We didn’t talk too much about our emotions, except when absolutely necessary. We continued to attend The Open Door, the weekly sex party that we’d first met at, and though we always came and left together, we still fooled around with a wide variety of people while we were there.

  Honestly, I was living my best life.

  But now that Valentine’s Day was here, I had my doubts. This was the holiday that brought out the romantic of even the most laid-back lovers. The holiday that incited declarations of devotion and inspired conversations about commitment. While mainly a place of debauchery and overindulgence of the sexual kind, the Open Door even had a ceremony the Saturday prior to Valentine’s Day that allowed lovers to proclaim their feelings vocally along with physically.

  If Nate was ever going to ruin our “neighbor” status with talk of love, this would be when he’d do it.

  “You never know what neighbors can turn into,” Hudson said, assuming that I wanted encouragement. “Alayna was once my employee, remember.”

  “Right. Thank you.” This conversation needed to be ended in whatever means possible. “Well, Mrs. Pierce is going to love your gift. Is there anything else you need from me on your way out?”

  “No. Thank you, Patricia. That will be all. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “You too,” I said, smiling despite the dread gathering in my stomach. Weekends were what I lived for. Specifically, Saturday nights at the Open Door. Nate and I very rarely missed a party.

  This Saturday, however, the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, I was going to have to think of a clever way to get us out of it.

  Two

  The problem with getting out of going to the Open Door was that I’d have to tell Nate why I didn’t want to go. And that in itself meant talking about feelings, which was something I tried to avoid at all costs.

  So rather than say anything, I let it fester. When he knocked on my door that evening with takeout in hand, I invited him in, but as soon as the food was gone (which was after he’d fucked me against the refrigerator), I told him I needed some alone time, and he left without any fuss.

  That didn’t seem like the behavior of a man on the verge of spilling his romantic guts. So when it was time to get ready for the party Saturday night, I almost went on with the routine as usual.

  Then, when I was in my closet trying to choose a dress, all I could think about was, which outfit did I want to be wearing when Nate ruined everything? A stupid question considering the fact that I’d likely be naked by that point. Even more stupid because if I was really worried he was going to ruin everything, then why would I let it happen?

  I was halfway out the door on my way to his when I realized that canceling was just as problematic. If I told him I was sick, he’d offer to stay home and take care of me. And if he had intentions of pouring out his heart, he’d potentially do it then. Being alone when that happened was a worse thought than being in the midst of friends.

  Alternatively, I could tell him I was too sick for company. But then he might wait until Valentine’s Day to deliver the bomb. If I got out of seeing him that night, he’d get to me eventually, unless I planned to avoid him forever, which...was that a possibility? Could I just keep giving him the slip? Ghost him and end things like that?

  If he didn’t live next door, maybe.

  Besides, I didn’t want to ghost him. I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted to keep things exactly like they were, which meant I should act like I always did and go to the party as usual.

  I was still in my doorway mulling it over when the man I was mulling came walking down the hall from the direction of the elevator, recyclable grocery bag in hand.

  “Hey, babe. You looking for me?”

  I wrapped my robe tighter around me, feeling naked in a way that had nothing to do with my body. “Uh...no.”

  He quirked a brow. “Just like to stand in the hallway in your bathrobe? I can get behind that, but I gotta say I’m a little jealous I wasn’t invited to the party.”

  He was joking, but he also wasn’t. He would have zero problem with me entertaining strangers in whatever kinky way I wished, but he preferred that if I did, he’d get to watch.

  I preferred that too. It was what I loved about our arrangement. I still got to play in every dirty, filthy way I’d come to enjoy, and I got to have him be a part of it. Like I said—living my best life.

  But I wasn’t in the hallway for kink, and I needed to make a decision once and for all about the night. “I mean I was coming to tell you that I didn’t know if I was up to going tonight, then I changed my mind.”

  His green eyes narrowed in on me. “You feeling okay?”

  Ugh. Now he was concerned. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Just a bit tired, I guess.”

  “It’s not like you to want to skip out on a party for being tired.”

  “I know, right? Which is why I changed my mind.”

  “Are you sure? We could stay in. Order bone broth from that place you like down the street.”

  Just like I’d predicted, he’d want to take care of me. “I’m sure. I just needed to get up and walk around to get my pep back. Give me an hour to primp.”

  “I’ll give you two.”

  God, he knew me so well.

  Two hours later, I was dressed in a black mesh maxi, high slits that came up to my hips on both sides. (I rarely wore underwear to these parties, and I didn’t this time either—made for easier access and less items to keep track of when it was time to go home.) My hair was down in curls, my face made-up. With my fake lashes, bright red lipstick, slip-off heels, and a trench coat so that I wouldn’t be arrested for indecency, I was ready to go when Nate knocked.

  I cro
ssed to the door and paused, my stomach fluttering all of a sudden. I liked this guy so much. So much. I might even go so far as to say another L word about my feelings, if I actually took the time to name them. I didn’t want to lose what we had, and if that meant putting on my big-girl panties—or, in this case, putting on panties at all—then I needed to do that and nip any problems in the bud.

  He rapped again, just as I opened the door. “Hey, you.”

  He was dazzling in his tux and motorcycle jacket, both hardcore and opulence at once. He raised a hand to rub over his close-trimmed beard and dragged his eyes down my body. “Well, hello yourself.”

  I looked down to realize my coat was still open, giving him a peek at the goods underneath. Glowing from the heat in his gaze, I tied the belt around my waist. “That’s for later, big boy. If you’re good.”

  “I can be very, very good.”

  He could also be very, very bad, thoughts of which made my pussy clench in anticipation.

  Except, if I wanted there to be something to actually look forward to later, I needed to say some things now. I gestured to my apartment. “Can we talk a minute before we go?”

  He frowned and looked at his cell phone. “The Lyft is already downstairs. Can we talk in the car?”

  I bit my lip, fretting. Talking in the car meant there’d be no escape if the conversation went wrong. I tried never to have heavy conversations without an escape route.

  “Hey,” Nate said, stepping closer so he could put an anchoring hand on my hip. “I know what you’re worrying about.”

  “You do?” He couldn’t possibly, but I was highly curious about whatever it was he thought I was concerned about.

  “Yes. I do, and I’m telling you right now you don’t need to. I know what we are.”

  My breath hitched. Maybe he really did know what I was worried about, and if so, it sure sounded like he wasn’t going to make a big display tonight after all.

  Which was good. I was relieved.