Duke by Jasinda Wilder

  "Under your skin, but not in an annoying way? Like suddenly everything seems to just revolve around her?" It was weird hearing Thresh talk like that. It was like...Ellen DeGeneres's voice come out of Jerry Seinfeld's mouth. Just...fucking weird. But goddamn if he wasn't right.

  I groaned. "Exactly."

  "Can I offer some advice? I'm going through the same thing, just a little further ahead than you are, it seems like."

  "Let me have it, bro."

  "Just go with it," he said. "Don't fight it. There's no point. Once you stop resisting it and just sort of let the mushy romantic lovey-dovey bullshit suck you in...I don't know. It's not so bad."

  "Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with my best friend?"

  "Shut up, cock-knocker," Thresh said, with a laugh. "I know it's weird. You think like it'd be emasculating or some shit, but...it's not. I swear. The right girl, she'll make you feel like more of a man, not less. I've been forced to realize something, brother: we don't know shit."

  "That's second time I've been told that today," I said. "And you just used 'emasculating' in a sentence--now I know you've been brainwashed."

  "Shut up, ass-face. I can still pound your skull in."

  "Yeah, again...you wish."

  "I gotta go. Harris is giving me the wrap it up signal."

  "This shit isn't a joke, Thresh, and I'm not talking about girls anymore."

  "I'm well aware. I've been busy myself." Another pause. "Okay so I guess I really have to go. Harris wants the line free. Watch your six, brother."

  "You too."

  I hung up, left the phone on the counter, and brought the shotgun with me as I went to check on Temple. She'd been in the shower for quite a while at that point.

  The bathroom door was cracked, steam billowing out. I heard Temple's voice, but she was...moaning. Low, quiet. Erotic.

  "Duke..." she whispered.

  Shit...she was thinking about me? Moaning like that...

  Ten to one she was fingering herself.

  I pushed the door open slowly and stepped in as quietly as I could.

  And yeah, there she was in all her naked glory. Sprawled out in the tub, water up to her neck, hand between her thighs moving fast and splashing water everywhere, back arched, head thrown back. Tits breasting the surface of the water, nipples hard, her whispering voice saying my name...

  I wondered if Harris and Layla kept any rubbers around? I backed out of the bathroom as quietly as I'd snuck in, trotted to Harris and Layla's bedroom, muttering an apology for being nosy as I rifled through the bedside table drawers. Bingo. I found their stash: several vibrators of varying sizes and styles, a shitload of condoms, fur-lined handcuffs, a cock ring, anal beads...I pushed any possible mental images far, far, far away and tore off half a dozen condoms and stuffed them into my pockets, and then trotted back to the bathroom, hoping I hadn't taken too long.

  Thank god, she was still going. Her hips were flexing, now, her left hand holding her pussy open, her right splashing in circles under the water. Her eyes were closed, tits bouncing and splashing, hair wet and sticking to her face and neck. Still gasping my name--"Duke! Oh god, Duke!"

  I shucked my clothes in record time, making sure the Mossberg was readily available, just in case.

  Tiptoeing closer to the tub, I ripped open a condom wrapper and left it on the sink for when I was ready.

  Then I reached for Temple...

  8: SO MUCH MORE

  A shower had sounded like the best idea on the planet, until I saw the oversized claw foot tub, and decided a scalding bath was an even better plan. So I ran the bath and sank into it, luxuriating in the piping hot water, my exhausted, stressed muscles soaking up the heat even though it stung the cut on my chest and the nick at my hairline. Neither were anything to worry about, but they still stung.

  The thing about a bath is that it leaves a lot of time to think--which, usually, is the point, right? Take half an hour or an hour to just soak and let my mind wander, sort through the events of the day and how I felt about them? But under these circumstances, I wasn't so sure letting my mind wander was the best idea. There was a lot of nastiness I was actively working at suppressing: heads bashed in, faces shot away, sucking chest wounds, dead bodies. So many dead bodies. So much gunfire. This was all brand new to me; I'd never even seen a real gun up close or heard one shot, much less seen a dead body. I mean, I'd gone to my great-grandma's funeral, but that's different--she'd been in a casket, at peace, already dead from natural causes. Watching someone get shot? Watching Duke smash a head in like a watermelon? How was I supposed to feel about it? How do you deal with that? I didn't know how, so I was trying to just pretend it wasn't real, that I was watching a Bruce Willis movie. It wasn't real. I hadn't really seen...how many was it?...a dozen men die? Nope. Fake. Fake blood. Fake bullets. Fake deaths. This wasn't happening to me.

  Denial was working okay, for the most part. It let me continue operating on something like a normal level instead of collapsing into a quivering, sobbing pile of uselessness. Some instinct deep down kept telling me that I couldn't afford to panic, yet. I couldn't afford to give in to the nervous breakdown I felt building up inside me. I had to focus, had to keep my emotions in check...which meant pretending I was fine, pretending all this was fine, cool, great, normal. No problem here. It's just me, Temple Kennedy, trapped in a Robert Ludlum novel. No big deal, happens all the time.

  Only, the longer I lay here in the tub, the more the reality of my situation started to seep through my carefully constructed game of pretend.

  I had to distract myself. I needed to relax and not think about the yucky stuff.

  Duke was the perfect distraction.

  I pictured him naked, which was a mental image hot enough to make my thighs clench together. But if I thought about his cock? His fingers? The things his tongue had done to me?

  God.

  I pictured him standing in front of me in the kitchen of that apartment of his, cock in his hand, fist sliding down his shaft...teasing me into begging him to fuck me. I've never begged for a damn thing in my life, but I had begged him. And I'd do it again, for a chance to feel that massive dick sliding into my pussy just once more. I could probably come all over him, reach the orgasm while he was inside me--shit, he'd probably make me come twice or even three times before we were done.

  But other thoughts bubbled up inside my head, unwelcome thoughts--his judgement of the way I lived my life, his accurate and brutal assessment of my sad sex life. It was sad, wasn't it? There was no joy in it, no passion. I couldn't remember most of the guys I'd fucked. They all ran together, blurred into a flickering montage of half-drunk fucking, the guy finishing before I did, getting out of the bed, dressing, and leaving while I watched, frustrated, from the bed. As soon as he was gone, I'd pull out my Lelo and finish myself off.

  And that was that.

  I'd never had anyone look at me the way Duke looked at me. I'd never had anyone touch me the way he did either, or kiss me that way. The orgasms he'd given me...? They were the most intense I'd ever felt.

  I wanted him.

  Goddammit, I wanted him.

  I wanted to be in bed with him, a string of condoms on the side table, and an entire weekend with nothing to do, nowhere to go, just Duke and me naked together, fucking until neither of us could move.

  My fingers drifted down between my thighs, almost of their own volition. I pictured his eight-pack abs, his pecs, his brawny arms and burly shoulders, the dusting of ginger pubes around his heavy balls, his enormous, cock standing flat against his belly, thick as my wrist and just begging for my fingers to wrap around it, begging for my lips, for my tongue to taste it, begging for my pussy to swallow it deep.

  I could almost feel him, smell him, and sense him. My fingers were flying, the orgasm reaching critical mass.

  "God, Duke," I whispered. "I'm gonna come..."

  And then, as the orgasm rolled through me, I felt his lips on mine, felt his hand join mine, and felt his
fingers take over. My eyes flew open, and there he was, leaning over the tub, naked and real, touching me, fingering me to orgasm and kissing me senseless. I couldn't possibly fight it, could only fly off the face of the world as his tongue scoured my mouth and tangled with my tongue, could only gasp helplessly as the climax tore through me, my hips flying, water splashing everywhere. Pleasure was a wildfire inside me, and the heat in his eyes made it even better, the feel of his fingers swirling around my clit intensifying the ecstatic rush of bliss.

  I came, and I came, and I came.

  My eyes didn't leave Duke's as I whimpered through the orgasm.

  "Say my name again," he growled.

  "Duke," I whispered.

  His expression was dark and hot and hungry. "Can you stand?"

  I shook my head, still trembling head to toe. "Not--not yet."

  He snagged the towel I'd set out on the toilet lid. Reached down, scooped me up and wrapped me in the towel in a single adroit maneuver. Carried me into the bedroom to which the bathroom was attached and tossed me onto the bed. I bounced, and the towel flew open. He lingered for a moment, staring at me.

  "So goddamn beautiful," he murmured. Then, louder: "Stay there."

  "Where would I go?" I asked, not all sarcastic. "And besides, my legs are still shaking too much to walk."

  His smile was pleased, and then he pivoted, vanished into the bathroom, and returned with condoms in one hand and the shotgun in the other. The gun he leaned near the bed, and the condoms he tossed on a bedside table, keeping one square packet in his hand, which I saw he'd already ripped open. This he tossed onto my belly as he climbed onto the bed.

  "Open your legs for me, sweetheart," he ordered, his voice an irresistible snarl.

  "I--I already came," I protested. "I just want you."

  "You'll have all of me you can take," he answered, "and then some. But I need another taste of your pussy first. So open up."

  I had no idea what came over me then, but I snapped my thighs together and smirked at him. "No," I whispered.

  He stopped on all fours, and then reared back on his knees. "No?" He sounded genuinely puzzled.

  I was breathless, then. "Make me."

  He laughed, then, a predatory sound. "You sure that's how you wanna play it, Princess?"

  "I'm sure," I answered, only lying a tiny little bit.

  "I'm not a gentle man, Temple," he bit out. "I've been keeping the beast in check for your sake."

  "The beast? Is that what you call your dick?"

  His laugh was one of amusement, this time. "My cock doesn't have a name, but if that's what you wanna call it, go for it." He prowled toward me on all fours once more. "It was just a reference to how I like to fuck: rough, wild, and fierce."

  I shivered at the fire in his pale blue gaze. "That's what I want. Show me how to fuck like that, Duke."

  "You're sure?" He put a hand on one of my knees. "I don't wanna hurt you or scare you."

  "Duke?" I said, instead of answering.

  "What?"

  "Shut up and fuck me." I snagged the condom wrapper off my belly and prepared to tug the thin latex circle out.

  "Not yet," he said, taking it away and tossing it back onto my stomach. "First, you come again."

  He yanked my thighs apart, and this time he didn't do it gently or sweetly, but roughly. Brusquely. He grabbed me by the hips, laying down on his belly half on and half off the bed, and then jerked me to the edge of the mattress. He lifted my ass into the air, smashing his mouth onto my pussy. His tongue assaulted my clit with immediate ferocity, no build up or teasing, just immediate oral stimulation, sending me from still quivery to gasping in three seconds. He didn't slow, didn't vary, no fingers, no sucking or licking, just that tongue slashing in wild circles around my clit until I was heaving, whimpering, hips flexing involuntarily.

  He kept it going until I was moaning his name nonstop-- "Duke, Duke, Duke...ohmygod, Duke..."

  He seemed to know exactly when I was about to come, because that was when he stopped, slid two fingers into my channel, and started moving them in and out of me. He began slowly, giving me time to warm up to the sensation, curling his fingers just so, exploring the interior of my pussy with his fingers, scissoring them apart, curling, stroking, moving them faster and faster until I was groaning with the slick pressure of his touch inside me, and snarling with frustration because I couldn't come like this, not without clitoral stimulation...

  The bastard knew my body like he'd designed it himself. He finger-fucked me until I was a writhing mess of arousal and frustration, and then he pushed me past that point, into something like madness.

  "I need your tongue, Duke," I gasped.

  "Yeah?"

  "God, please, Duke. Please. I need to come, and I can't. Not without--" A moan ripped through me as he brushed my G-spot, cutting off my words.

  "Not without what, Temple?"

  "Lick my clit," I begged. "Or touch it. Something, anything. I just...I need...I need to come, and I can't unless you lick my clit."

  He slowed the thrusting of his fingers until I was lifting my hips off the bed, slowly grinding, rolling, bucking, begging him with the movements of my body to finish me, to give me what I need. I watched him slowly, teasingly, extend his thumb toward my clit, and I lifted my hips, trying to close the distance, to get that final touch.

  "God, Duke! Stop fucking teasing me!" I shouted.

  "No."

  He moved his thumb away and resumed the thrusting of his fingers, this time letting the heel of his palm brush my clit ever so gently, and then he increased the pace, and each time his fingers buried into my channel, his hand bumped against my clit, providing the tiniest amount of stimulation, so I was roiling, grinding, groaning, hips flexing wildly, desperately seeking the pressure and stimulation I needed.

  "Fuck, Duke. Please."

  "Take what you want," he said. So I slid my hand down my body and touched my clit with two fingertips, immediately gasping in relief--until his hand latched onto mine like a vise and prevented me from touching myself enough to matter. "Not like that."

  I wrapped my hand around the back of his head and jerked him toward my pussy, lifting my hips to push myself against him. "Eat me, Duke," I demanded. "Make me come. Now."

  His laugh was feral with desire and rife with amusement. "Thatta girl," he murmured, the words vibrating against my flesh.

  And then I was gone, screaming out loud as the long-denied, pent-up orgasm rippled through me like a shockwave, just from a mere brush of his tongue against my clit but he wasn't satisfied with that, oh no. He added a third finger inside me and fucked my channel with those thick fingers of his and his mouth suctioned around my clit and his tongue thrashed against me. The orgasm was nuclear, ripping me into a million pieces.

  He pushed me through the orgasm into paroxysms of shuddering release, gasping, shrieking.

  And then he bent over me, kissed me, and pressed the condom into my shaking hands. "Put it on me," he ordered.

  My eyes flew open. I sat up, slid the condom out of the wrapper, gripped his cock in one hand and rolled the condom down over his shaft with the other. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me, his cock straining, now sheathed in thin, studded latex. His jaw flexed, his chest heaving as if he was the one who'd just come instead of me.

  And then he moved with the speed of a striking serpent, flipping me onto my belly so fast I wasn't sure what had happened until I felt the comforter under my cheek and his hands on my hips. I wasn't afraid, exactly, but he did say he wasn't gentle and that he liked it rough, and I'd never exactly done rough before. So yeah, I was a little nervous.

  Okay, fine, I was afraid.

  I didn't like pain, and I was afraid of what I'd asked for, that he'd want to, like, choke me or spank me until I cried or something. Or that he'd start just fucking me so hard it hurt--

  Instead, he just caressed my ass.

  Slowly, gently, reverently, with both hands, massaging and kneading as I d
escended from the orgasm.

  And then he slid his hand between my thighs and found my pussy, teased it with a fingertip...god, then finally I felt him touch the tip of his dick to my entrance, but didn't put it in, just teased, rubbed, pressed.

  "Duke, what are you doing?"

  "Taking my time," he answered, "and enjoying your body."

  "I thought you liked it rough." I tried to hide the quaver of nerves and anticipation in my voice.

  "You that eager?" he asked, leaning over me to put his mouth to my ear. "Or are you nervous?"

  "Both," I answered.

  "Good." He nudged his cock between the lips of my pussy. "You should be a little nervous."

  "Why? What are you gonna do?"

  He didn't answer. His hands smoothed over my ass again, and then went to the swell of my hips, dimpling the flesh, gripping hard--

  No warning, no gentle slide in, just a sudden slap of flesh against flesh, his cock penetrating me until his hips clapped against my ass cheeks, and I couldn't help crying out from the unexpected fullness. Oh god...oh my god...he was so big, his cock stretching me apart, filling me until I was gasping breathlessly and clawing at the comforter, legs scything in an attempt to get purchase on the bed, to find a position that allowed me to adjust.

  He didn't let me.

  I was on my stomach on the bed, the edge of the mattress just at my navel. The bed frame was high enough and I was short enough that this position kept my feet off the floor, kept me off balance and at Duke's mercy. Just the way he liked it, I imagined. He held me up by my hips, keeping my feet from touching the floor. Withdrawing slowly, he paused when just the tip of his cock was left inside me, fluttered there for a moment or two, teasing us both. He adjusted his grip on my hips, lifted me so my hips were off the bed entirely.

  And then he slammed into me again, another hard, unexpected thrust, the slap of our bodies loud in the bedroom.

  This time, he didn't slow down when he reached full penetration. I cried out as he slid deep, and then he was fucking me so hard I couldn't catch my breath, his cock driving into me hard and rough and fast. I couldn't keep up, couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, could only claw at the blanket with shaking hands and take his fucking. Never in my life have I felt anything like the way Duke took me, then. I realized that all the guys I'd been with before had been nervous or drunk, usually both, and always hesitant. Because it was me they were with, and they wanted to impress and didn't want to assume too much or push things too far, or risk pissing me off; they weren't fucking me, the woman, they were fucking Temple Kennedy, the celebrity.