Page 15 of Duke
Ohhhh….
Well…dammit.
His other hand was sneaking beneath the hem of my skirt and stealing upward. What I should have done was get pissed at his brazenness, walk away, knock his hand down, slap him, or at least pretend to put up a fight. Instead, like a hussy, I let my thighs loosen a little as his fingers drifted slowly up to my slit. Here, again, I should have taken steps to stop his advance but, as established, I am an idiot who can’t seem control herself around assholes who only want me for sex, especially when said asshole is a godlike creature so fucking gorgeously sexy he leaves me literally gibbering incoherently.
My legs opened for him. It was like he had some kind of goddamn key, like he knew some magic word or gesture. I really, really, really don’t normally behave like this, I swear. But Duke just…doessomething to me. All he had to do was get close to me, look at me with those piercing, intelligent blue eyes and I was done for. My legs just popped open like they were spring loaded or something.
And, oh yeah, I was wet.
Soaked.
He slid his middle finger through the lips of my pussy, making a wet sound we both heard—I cringed, while he looked like the cat who ate the canary. God, that slide of his finger was an entire moment all by itself. A slow, deliberate journey through the dampness of my pussy. His finger moved upward, just barely brushing my clit, and even at that minor, almost accidental contact, I jerked and shuddered, and my hips flexed forward. And then, damn the man, he pulled his hand out from under my skirt and lifted his middle finger up for us both to see. His finger was glistening, wet with my juices, from the tip to the middle knuckle.
“See, Fancy? You’re wet for me.” He stared me down as he slipped that finger into his mouth and slowly pulled it out. “I’m exactly your type, and we both know it. You just wanna deny it ‘cause you like playing games. Fine by me, Princess—I like a nice game of catch me if you can.”
“You’re an asshole, Duke Silver,” I said, but the insult lacked sting, since I was breathless and quaking from a single touch.
“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I’m an asshole who can give you an orgasm so fast and so hard you’ll pass out.”
“Bullshit.”
He leaned closer, whispering in my ear. “Is that a challenge, Fancy?”
Yes, god yes, that’s a challenge. Make me come, Duke. Make me come so hard I pass out.
I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I worked up all the self-control I had left, and took a step backward. “I thought we were on the run from a kingpin who wants to use you as bait?”
“You have a point,” he agreed, and took a step back from me, and I breathed a little easier once a few feet separated us.
He turned around and opened the case containing handguns, and I watched him choose several guns, and wondered what I’d do if he put the moves on me again.
Probably compromise my already questionable morals.
Actually, that wasn’t a probably or a maybe, that was a guarantee. He was too damn potent, too damn sexy, and I was too damn horny. My libido ran high as it was, then add in the fact that I’m two months into a three-month self-imposed sexual hiatus, and you have a recipe for one insanely horny Temple.
Like…bad.
Really bad.
The sexual hiatus was a dumb idea, wasn’t it?
I could break it for Duke, and then go back to no sex. Or maybe I’d have to start over, a whole new three-month break? God.
Why am I such an idiot? And why am I so weak when it comes to sexy bad boys?
3: HARD TO GET
This fuckin’ girl was going to be the actual death of me. If I don’t die trying to rescue her hot yet complicated ass, I’m going to die from blue balls. For fuckin’ real, Temple had this capacity to get my cock hard as a rock without so much as touching me. I haven’t kissed her, haven’t gotten her to come yet, haven’t even seen her naked titties, yet I’m already hung up on the woman. I NEED to fuck her. It’s instinctive, primal, a physical, mental, and emotional requirement for me to continue functioning as a man. Meaning, if I don’t get her naked and riding my dick within the next seventy-two hours, I might very well just combust. My balls will explode, my dick will fall off, and my man card will be permanently revoked. I’ll be useless.
And good goddamn, she plays a hell of a game of hard to get.
I’m good at a lot things: I can take an absolutely unreal amount of pain and keep functioning, I’m a vicious, cold-blooded killing machine on the battlefield, but keep my soul and humanity out of it, I can use nearly any weapon ever created, bladed or projectile, ancient or modern, I speak three languages fluently, and I have a master’s degree in criminal justice. Plus, I have a ten-inch cock and I’ve been known to make women come in less than three minutes—faster if I’ve got toys at my disposal.
One thing I’m not good at is playing games with women. I don’t play games. I don’t chase them—they chase me. That’s been true for as long as I’ve been sexually active, and I popped my cherry at twelve. Bitches just want my ass, and I’m sorry if that term offends you, but it’s true. It’s always been true. A nice little grin, put some promise in my eyes, and I can have any three chicks at the bar fighting over me, and that’s a proven fact.
But Temple Kennedy? She’s a cipher, man. I just don’t get her. She’s a reality star, so she should be all vapid and ridiculous, and she is in some ways, but she’s not dumb. Not at all. She’s spoiled, but she does what has to be done and doesn’t complain. She wants me, and she wants me hard, but she’s not letting herself. And that’s what I don’t get. We’re both adults, and neither of us is looking for anything serious. Shit, we don’t even know each other. But yet she’s resisting. I can get her off a dozen times in the same amount of minutes, and that’s before I start fucking…and that’s a reality most chicks tend to pick up on somehow, without me having to say it. I’m a goddamn champion when it comes to fucking, and nothing gives me more pleasure that making my sexual partner get off hard, fast, and frequent. So…why is she bugging about this? We can fuck, I’ll keep her tight, round ass safe and sound, deliver her back to Malibu, and that’ll be that. I get to sample a piece of one of the hottest women in the country—legit, she’s been in theGQlist of sexiest women of the year for like three years in a row. With me she’ll get the most and best orgasms of her life, guaranteed. If I was a gigolo, my shit would come with a customer satisfaction guarantee.
But no.