Page 16 of A Moth to the Flame (Utopia #1)

I refuse to believe that Duke is some kind of sexual unicorn, just as I tell myself that taking care of his body’s needs doesn’t mean anything about our relationship. He’s not even here. This is just biology.

“Please, let this work,” I mutter, his voice echoing back to my ears in this tiny, age-worn bathroom that feels a million times smaller with his huge body taking up so much space.

It might help if I could bring myself to touch…it.

This is an opportunity to experience sexual pleasure from the other side. How many women have this fantasy? My mind should be fully on board with this chance of a lifetime, but this is Duke’s body.

I’m actually starting to understand the itch that can’t be scratched allegory.

It’s disturbing how his body is aroused, even though I’m not.

It feels like a disconnect between my will and his, a ghost of his personhood still lingering inside his skin.

The longer his body rebels against my temporary ownership, the more I’m losing the only thing I have left to cling to—my mind.

I scrub Duke’s hands over his face. I can do this. He gave his consent. Hell, he suggested it.

If I think too long about why, I really won’t be able to go through with this.

Time for a little pep talk.

I’m a grown-ass woman. I’ve watched porn. I’ve seen naked men in reality. I’ve had sex.

And…fine. I can admit this in the sanctity of my own mind, but Du ke has the prettiest penis I’ve ever seen.

All the usual fictional adjectives apply—long, thick, proud, veiny.

I catch myself wondering if this beast would even fit inside me, then slowly back away from that very disturbing, misogynistic thought.

That is a Do Not Enter zone, Cordelia.

There will be no P in V between us, so I don’t have to worry about anything else.

No, you know what? This is going to be great. If my hookup experience is anything to go by, then I’m going to have the easiest orgasm of my life.

And I fucking deserve that.

The first tentative brush of his large hand along this rock-hard erection sends an explosion of sensation through my nervous system.

I gasp out a shocked breath. No wonder men are so obsessed with their cocks. Even at my most aroused, it would take me a few minutes of focused attention on my clit to build up to this kind of pleasure. Not to mention shutting my mind down to anything and everything.

When I finally give in and wrap Duke’s hand around his dick, an exquisite warmth ripples through me. His head falls back, and his eyes slide shut.

I let out a rush of breath.

Oh. God.

It feels so good.

I slide his fist up and down slowly, mapping the paths of his veins, the ridge of his crown. It’s far more sensitive at the tip. I squeeze around it and nearly choke on his tongue from the immediate zing of bliss.

An instinctual urge to thrust his hips overtakes me. I let it.

Soon, I’m pumping his fist and hips in reverse tandem like I do this every day.

I wish.

I’m not going to waste this chance while I’ve got it. I piston against the tight grip of his fist. Base to crown. Over and over again.

Until I’m soaring.

White lightning slices through Duke’s muscles. Sharp desire dances along his skin and tightens his muscles. The sensation of building momentum propels my movements, faster, tighter, deeper thrusts while sliding from base to tip.

Time freezes, and then explodes into sensation so intense that starbursts dance in my vision. Bursts of mind-stealing ecstasy seize his body over and over again. It’s over all too soon.

“I’ve never—” I whisper, his knees giving out until I collapse to the tile floor.

I lean his sweaty head against the vanity and stare at the softening dick still in my grasp.

“These absolute assholes,” I mutter to myself. “They get aroused at the drop of a hat, they don’t have to work for pleasure, and their orgasms are better.”

I feel so…cheated. Maybe there’s something to be said for penis envy after all.

There’s definitely something to be said for the excuse men always give when they receive an orgasm without returning the favor. They’re not tired. Not on the verge of passing out behind the wheel if they don’t leave right now. They’re liars, is what they are.

Before his very eyes, Duke’s dick begins to harden again. His body is insatiable. Not remotely exhausted.

I hate this man. And his unicorn dick.

An obnoxiously loud, consistent knocking on the front door pulls me out of my focus on yet another trinket that really seems like it should open somehow. I glance at the cat clock.

Ah. Swell. It’s time for me and Duke’s daily meeting of the minds.

It’s been a week since I made an unwishable wish, and in that infinite span of time, he’s insisted on inserting himself into my life instead of just my skin. At least he’s predictable with his timing.

He’s also going to be justifiably pissed when I admit that I haven’t found a single thing to improve our hideous situation. I’ve spent every day sorting through Granny’s collection of random objects, and then every night reading the books from her home library.

Oh, and let’s not forget the daily meat-mashing session .

Okay, fine. Twice daily.

It’s still not enough.

I finally understand the desperation that leads Duke to boning in bar bathrooms. If his dick has been riding him this hard for half his life, then it’s a miracle the man is still sane.

I flip the lock then fling open the door, wordlessly gesturing for him to enter.

All things I never imagined willingly doing for the man who stalks into my house with a hilarious version of his mannerisms in my body.

Feels a bit like inviting a vampire in. A vampire who looks exactly like me.

“How we doin’ today?”

I grit my teeth at the same stupid greeting he’s given me for the past six days.

How am I doing?

Well, let’s see…

I’ve been reduced to hoping there’s a valid reason Granny has all these toothless skulls and a sword and engraved trinkets around the house, that there might be a kernel of truth to the whispers of the Witch of the Appalachians.

I’m praying to all the gods I’ve ever read about that there might be something helpful here, like a spell for grinding sharp animal teeth into powder that can be ingested to switch back into my freaking body.

Maybe we need to sacrifice a virgin with the dull-edged sword that’s so heavy, even Duke’s considerable muscles can barely lift it.

I’m a shit swordfighter now in more ways than one.

Duke throws a pile of his clothes on the couch, and then sits beside them. We might still be living in our respective houses, but anything in our closets obviously won’t fit the other’s body. He’s a not-so-jolly giant. I’m petite and curvy.

I gesture toward the bag of clothes that he’ll take back home with him when he leaves.

The piquant stench that wafted off him for a few days has vanished, which means he must’ve showered by now.

I loathe that he’s seen my naked body, and it takes all my effort to unlock the tension in his jaw.

I hope his stolen carnal knowledge of my breasts is the last thing he thinks about when he dies.

Even after we get back into our own bodies, he’ll be cursed with the sight of me for the rest of his days.

“I’ve finished sorting through the boxes of stuff,” I finally admit, “but I’m only halfway through the first shelf of the bookcase.”

He squints at it, still leaning dangerously in the corner of the cramped sitting room. “There are ten shelves. It’s been a week. How are you only through half of one of them?”

“So sorry I’m not living up to your standards,” I mutter.

“You’re a bookworm,” he insists, knee bouncing up and down. “You speed read through books all the time.”

Not anymore, I don’t. He doesn’t need to know that I gave up books a long time ago. Or why.

“Not when I’m reading for research instead of entertainment,” I explain, walking to the corner of the room. I grab the next book in line and bring it to him. “This would go much faster if you’d help, since talking to the other grannies in town didn’t pan out.”

If he even did. Highly doubtful.

He frowns at the book in my hand like he’s really, truly offended by intellectual pursuits. He waves away my suggestion. “Reading isn’t my thing. I’m more of a puzzle guy.”

I don’t bother arguing. Instead, I reclaim my seat in Granny’s chair and promptly wince.

Of course, Duke notices. “What did you do to me?”

I can’t believe I’m about to admit this, but…it was his idea.

Maybe he genuinely doesn’t realize how abnormal his body’s sexual hunger is.

“Remember how you suggested that I jerk you off last week?” I hedge.

I’m not stupid enough to mention that whenever I go too long without following his advice, I start hallucinating glowing witch symbols as a result of his extreme horniness.

He looks me up and down, increasing suspicion taking over his expression. “Yeah?”

I wince again as I shift in my seat. “I think something’s wrong.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t freak out .

He sighs as my shoulders fall. “You wanna walk me through what you’re doing? Maybe I can help.”

I feel his lower eyelid twitch.

This is the kind of torture I’ve been dealing with for the past week.

This version of Duke might actually make me angrier than the bully from high school.

It’s not bad enough that I’m stuck in his insufferably hot body.

Now, he’s flipping the script to torment me in an entirely different way. He’s being nice .

Fine. Two can play at this game. He wants to be all soft and helpful to sever my last nerve? Game on.

“Your dick feels…chafed? Like, the skin is too sensitive now. Raw, almost?”

“You have to use lube,” he says in an irritatingly gentle tone. “Do you want me to bring the bottle I have at my house?”

“No, I don’t want your crusty, dusty lube!” I shout. “I want you to take your dick back!”