Page 23 of Duke
He flicked open a button of my shirt with one hand, and began gathering the fabric of my skirt with his other. “For real.”
I stood still, reminding myself to keep breathing. “A manwhore like you? I’m sure you’ve gotten hundreds of BJs. No way that was the best one.”
He frowned. “How do you know I’m a manwhore?”
His fingers traipse up between my thighs, tickling and teasing and touching on the way up. Brush my slit, and I jerk, thighs clenching, and then I relax myself for his touch.
“Aren’t you?”
He bobs his head side to side. “I guess, yeah. But why do you assume?”
“You’re gorgeous, you have money, you’re a badass commando…” I shrug. “Just stands to reason. Maybe it was an unfair assumption on my part, though.”
He can’t help a pleased look from crossing his features. “Gorgeous, huh?”
I roll my eyes again. “You know you are. No point in fishing for compliments.”
“Yeah, but everyone likes to hear it every now and again.”
“True,” I say, on a sigh, as he slips a finger through my folds. “Just because I’m a reality star and on magazine covers and whatever, most guys I fuck just sort of assume I know what I look like and that I don’t need to be told that they think I’m pretty. So then no one ever—oh…ohmygod—no one ever says it.”
He slipped that finger through my slit again and again, not quite going in, not quite touching my clit. But still, it felt good. The teasing made me needier than I already was, made me unsure of what he was going to do next.
“You’re not pretty,” Duke says.
I stare at him. “Excuse me?”
He steps back, using both hands to open my shirt the rest of way, letting go of my skirt. The gray fabric swirls back down around my knees, and I’m left gasping.
He circles around behind me, tugs down the zipper of the skirt, and it falls to the floor, leaving me naked from the waist down. He pulls the white button down off my shoulders, letting it fall around my wrists. And then, in a series of movements too fast and complicated for me follow, he tied the ends of the shirt around my wrists, binding my hands behind my back.
“Wait, what?” I tug, but I’m helpless. “Let me go, Duke. What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Just stalked back around in front of me, and slid one index finger underneath the elastic band of my bralette, tugging it up over my tits bit by bit until I was bared, the skimpy maroon lace rolled up across the top of my chest. My tits hung free, and my nipples hardened under his gaze.
“What—what did you mean, I’m not pretty?” Stupid, I know, but I still felt unreasoning panic at the idea that he thought I was ugly.
Of course he didn’t think that. The look in his eyes, the way he was staring at me, eyeing me head to toe, the way his cock, which I just sucked dry, twitched and hardened a little—he thought I was hot. He’d already said as much. He was playing me for a drawn out compliment, I know it. But when you hear a man say those words:you’re not pretty…it just kind of automatically hits some nerve inside you, hits your confidence and makes you doubt what you know to be true.
“You’re fucking…” he trailed off, hunting for the right word, standing a foot away from me, not touching, just staring at my tits, “—You’re…perfect.”
“Perfect?” Stupid—I’m so stupid. Why did my voice sound so breathless and eager and hopeful, and…unsure? “You’re crazy.”
“Eh, that’s debatable,” he said. “Irrelevant to the fact that you’re a perfect woman. Like, completely perfect looking.”
He was behind me again, whispering in my ear, his voice hot and low against my earlobe; his hands appeared around front of me, sliding up my ribcage to cup my breasts from beneath.
“These? Perfect.”
Then slid his hands down, one hand gripping my hipbone and the other delving between my thighs to cup my pussy. “This? Perfect. I can’twaitto get on my knees and see what your beautiful, perfect little cunt tastes like.”
Oh fuck. Oh my fuck. The things he was saying, the dirty, filthy words seared through me, sending desire dripping out of saidbeautiful, perfect little cunt.Perfect? I’ve been called a lot of things in my life—hot, sexy, lovely even, cute, beautiful, fuckable, dumb blonde, vapid airhead, no-talent reality star, bitch, slut, whore, ‘ten out of ten body, but needs a bag over her head,’—in all my life, nobody has ever called me…perfect.
He w’asnt done, though. His hands moved around behind me, clutching a double handful of my ass. “This?Morethan perfect. This ass right here, Fancy? This thing is…mmm. Goddamn. It’s fuckingincredible.”
My throat closed, tightened, went hot and thick. I swallowed hard, then, blinking. God, I’m such a dumbass, letting his words get to me. He didn’t mean them. He wanted to fuck me, and figured he was more likely to get what he wanted if he buttered me up.
“I’m already a sure thing for at least one fuck, Duke.” I endeavored to sound casual, and mostly succeeded. “You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass.”