Page 25 of Duke
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
He blinked slowly, erotic promise in his eyes, that wild, amused grin on his lips. “It means that wasn’t begging.” He gripped me at the waist, lifted me effortlessly; my legs went around his body instinctively, and now I felt his cock nudging my entrance, not quite hard yet, but getting there. Enough to tease.
“No?” I was utterly helpless, hands bound behind my back. I had only my legs to cling to him with and, in all honesty, I liked the way he held me, the way his hands felt on my ass, keeping me aloft without so much as a tremor of effort. “Then what was it?”
He didn’t answer me. Again. Instead, he pivoted and walked out of the room, carrying me into the kitchen. Set me on the counter beside the refrigerator, then pulled me to the edge of the counter. Then…just stood there, staring at me.
Duke should have looked dumb, standing half naked like he was, wearing a tight T-shirt, his guns still in place in that double shoulder-holster harness, and combat boots but no pants. Like for real, he should look stupid and silly, but he didn’t. He looked hot. His cock was almost erect now, and his thighs were thick and heavy with muscle and dusted with reddish hair, and his shirt was tight against his chest and showed off hints of his abs, and just…damn. So damn sexy. I’ve never really admired a man’s legs before, honestly. Like, you look at a buff dude, you don’t really look at his legs. You look at his chest, his arms, his abs….his cock. But his legs? Nah. Duke, though, half undressed as he was, I couldn’t help but admire his legs, how strong they were, how beautifully, masculine, how muscular they were.
He didn’t look stupid at all. He looked like I wanted him to put that big fat beautiful cock inside me, is what he looked like.
Which irritated me. I didn’twantto want him, as I’ve already pointed out. Wanting him as much as I did frustrated me—I was annoyed at and disgusted with myself for being so stupid, for being so powerless to fight the desires of my pussy. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be annoyed at yourself? No, probably not. But there I was, sitting completely naked on a counter, legs open, pussy throbbing, a non-stop pulse of need; the throb of my pussy was sayingfuck me, lick me, touch me. Wanting him. Staring at his huge cock, now all but fully erect within minutes of blowing his load into my mouth. I hadn’t even touched him, which was the shocking part. Was he really that virile? Or was he actually that attracted to me? Both? I hoped for both. It’d be my luck that he’d just be that virile and it had nothing to do with me, which would be a blow to my ego…which wasn’t as iron-clad as most people assumed. Far less so, TBH.
And he just looked at me.
“I thought you were going to give me an orgasm?” I asked.
He stroked his cock with his fist. “Oh, I will.”
“When? Because it seems like you’re stalling, maybe hoping I’ll just let you fuck me instead of holding you to your end of our bargain.”
“I’m waiting for you to beg, Fancy.” He said this with a leer, his fist sliding slowly up and down his impressive length.
“You agreed, Duke. I blow you, you go down on me. That was the deal. Why would I beg you for something you agreed to? Especially when you, as you said, always keep your promises?”
He sidled closer, fist gliding on his cock. “Because it’s more fun when you beg.”
“More fun for who?” I whispered, hating myself for losing my voice at his proximity.
“Both of us.”
“You already got your fun,” I said. “I swallowed your fun about two minutes ago.”
He stood between my thighs, gripping his cock at the root, and teased the lips of my pussy with the head of his dick. And damn, damn, damn…it feltamazingwhen he did that.
“Babe,” he said, “I don’t think you understand how this is going to work.”
He pushed into my pussy, splitting the labia open millimeter by millimeter, sliding into me in torturous, aching, delicious increments.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered, the expletive yanked out of me by the glorious feel of him inside me. “What don’t I understand?”
“Me.” He pushed all the way in, taking all of thirty seconds to fully penetrate me. “How I work. What I do, and how I do it.”
“Oh god.” Another gasping curse jerked out of my mouth, beyond my control as he pulled back. “Obviously not. You should—ohJesus—maybe you should explain.”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he said, beginning slow, deep, rhythmic thrusts, “but there’s two things I’m a goddamn master of.”
“And that would be what?” I even managed to sound sarcastic; go me.
“Fighting,” he murmured, pushing into me slowly. “And fucking,” he said this on the withdrawal.
“I see.”
His hands, up until this moment, had been braced on the counter on either side of me. Now, he slid them up my body to cup my breasts. With his cock inside me and his deep, powerful voice resonating in my ear, every last part of me was hypersensitive, so the brush of his rough palms over my breasts left me quivering and gasping.
The gasps turned into a sudden, surprised shriek as he pulled back in the same slow rhythm and then, without warning, slammed into me hard and fast. I was bounced backward on the counter, my tits jiggling as he drilled home hard enough to lift me off the counter.
“I don’t think you do see,” he said. “I bet you think I’m fucking you right now.”