Page 59 of Duke
“It scares me,” I murmured.
“Me too.” Duke’s voice was almost inaudible as he whispered this admission. “I’ve been through a dozen different kinds of hell, so there ain’t much that scares me anymore. But babe, this shit between us scares me.”
“God, Duke—what’s it mean?”
“It means start touching your pussy.”
I pressed my cheek into the mattress, letting my head, shoulders, and chest take my weight, and slipped my fingers between my thighs. Found my clit and gave it a hesitant touch; I’ve never touched myselfduringsex before, only after. That single touch made me flinch hard as searing pleasure shot through me.
“Oh…fuck,” I grunted.
“You never touch your pussy during sex?” I shook my head, and Duke laughed. “Babe, you’ve seriously been doing sex all wrong.”
“I think I’m starting to agree with you.”
“I ain’t a facts and trivia sort of dude,” Duke said, “but I happen to know that at least eighty percent of women find it difficult if not impossible to reach orgasm without direct clitoral stimulation.”
I couldn’t help a laugh at hearing Duke—big, muscular, über-macho, all testosterone and guns and protein shakes Duke Silver—spouting a factoid about female orgasm like some kind of sex nerd.
“It’s true,” he insisted.
“I’m not laughing because I think you’re wrong, I just—it’s funny, hearing you say that.”
“Why?”
“Because like you said, you’re not a random facts kind of guy.” I laughed again, but it was breathless, because Duke was thrusting rythmically, slowly and gently, and my fingers were finding the rhythm I needed to reach climax.
“Maybe not, but I am a sex kind of guy, and that’s a handy fact to know,” he murmured. “Maybe I’m weird about this, but I get off harder when my partner is losing her damn mind. The harder I can make you come, the harder I’ll come. So if you’re not getting all the pleasure possible when we’re fucking, then I’m doing it wrong. Porn’s got it all wrong, is what I’ve learned. That shit is stupid. Women ain’t gonna get off just by pounding into ‘em like a damn jackhammer.”
I realized something else that was weird about having sex with Duke: all the talking. I’m the first to admit that most of the time, I’m a stereotypical motor-mouth blonde, but get me naked and put a dick in me, and I clam up. I just don’t know what to say, and don’t see the point of all the talking; just fuck me and go away, already.
But, as Duke said, I’ve been doing sex all wrong, I was realizing.
The problem is, I’m relatively certain at this point that I’ll never find anyone equal to Duke in terms of doing it right.
Because HOLY SHIT, this was intense.
I don’t have the word to capture what Duke was making me feel, what he was doing to me.
He was fucking me, his cock sliding slowly into my pussy and withdrawing, each wet inch driving raw ecstasy through me filling me, stretching me apart, pushing the ecstasy into something so virulently, violently potent there wasn’t really a word for it. Add in the touch of my own fingers on my clit, circling with the precision and rhythm you can only give yourself, and the orgasm slammed through me hard and fast, an abrupt, unstoppable tsunami of spastic bliss.
“Oh fuck, Duke—Jesus, Jesus, I’m coming so hard—” I lost my voice, then, had it stolen by the violence of the climax.
I dissolved into screaming, thrashing madness, slamming back into Duke, and then as I called out my impending orgasm, he started fucking me hard and fast, my fingers a blur on my clit the whole time.
“Duke, I—fuck, ohmyfuckingod—I want you to come with me.”
In another of his lightning fast snake-strike moves, he pulled out of me and flipped me to my back. I was left gaping, gasping, curled into a quivering, thigh-trembling mess, mouth open as I fought for breath, pussy clenching at the sudden loss of Duke inside me
“Duke, please, god…please—” I whimpered, reaching for him, not caring how pathetic and desperate and breathy and porn-star whimpery I sounded—that was exactly how I felt.
Duke planted a hand into the mattress beside me, his massive bulk levered over me. His chest blocked out everything, his abs were rippling ridges of iron-hard muscle, his cock was a long, thick, jutting monster, his arms bulging, his hips trim and narrow. His eyes blazed, intense and virile and fiery.
And that was when I realized something that left me shaking: everything up to that point, up until he flipped me to my back, had been the build up.
What was about to happen now…this was the main event.
He was breathing hard, but not just from exertion. His brows were furrowed, his jaw clenched, his expression fierce and primal and possessive and promising dark and dirty and beautiful things I couldn’t begin to fathom.