Page 17 of Serenity

A waitress brought another round of whatever was in his glass and another bottle of Dom for me. When the order was placed was lost on me. I hadn’t seen Duke call or motion to anyone since being seated.

His wide eyes squinted. Again, the cigar was brought to his lips before he puffed.

“She cheated.”

“Ouch.”

His pain was felt in those two words. Plain words and plaintive sentiments. A wounded man sat before me, though his level of emotional control was venerable. On the surface, one could never tell. With eyes adept at reading souls, I craved what loomed beneath.

“How’s recovery?” Genuinely concerned, I longed to know the well-being of the handsome stranger. Compassion for others was my superpower.

“I fucked her self-care team.”

Well… shit. Shifting slightly, I adjusted my hair, tossing it over my shoulder.

He was erecting a boundary. Showing his hand. Masking the villain. Keeping the mysterious man at arm’s length. Maybe he was the masked man. An hour of flirting would have never revealed such info. He’d been such a gentleman. For now, his boundaries could be respected. Saying nothing, I pushed no further and instead changed the subject.

“One day, I’m going to leave all this behind. This fake-ass society, the rat race, the capitalism…”

“What’s stopping you?” He asked, fully invested in my thoughts.

“I don’t know. Fear.”

“That’s not real.”

“Fear is very real to the soul experiencing it.”

“Touché. Where would you run off to?” Setting the cigar down in an ashtray nearby, he adjusted in his seat.

“Why do you ask?”

I smiled, sensing the swell of overbearing nerves at how intimate our conversation had dipped. Shifting slightly, he stretched an arm across the back of the sofa and leaned closer.

“So that I know where to find you. I can’t be your man and not know your whereabouts.”

Diving to my lips, his eyes lived there.

“Italy.”

“Really? Why Italy?”

“I’ve always dreamt of spending time in Italy or some small French town. Enjoying the stillness. The quietness. The present. Maybe France. Being nude on the French Riviera. Eating grapes while being eaten…”

As I mused, a thumb pressed into the corner of Duke’s mouth. His lids lowered over those intoxicating set of cinnamon-brown eyes. He was intrigued, aroused, impressed, or all of the above.

I wanted to kiss him. To taste him. To please him. But I wasn’t in control of my body. As the duke, he’d have to make the first move. He could have taken it further. Could have exploited my vulnerability. Willingly and wickedly, I’d allow it. He could have pressed for sex. I’d allow it. He could have bent me over and arched my back. I’d allow it.

But he didn’t. That self-control impressed me. A man not governed by his dick could have anything. A man not governed by his dick could have me. A man who could govern. That was Duke.

We entered a discussion of work and expansion of my spa business. Immediately, he began offering suggestions that could benefit the spa’s growth. Where it concerned business, Duke was a wealth of knowledge. His advice, while unsolicited, was both sound and selfless. It would be applied in diligence.

I loved a man who could lead, guide, and direct. I loved a man whom I could both desire and admire. That shit made my pussy wet.

Despite the age difference, he checked all my boxes. He was handsome, successful, and far from intimidated by my achievements. To that extent, Duke was in first place. The dick hadn’t even been sampled, and I was smitten.

“Serenity Miller. Sister to Supreme Miller,” he grinned.

“I am,” I smiled. “Is that a problem?”

---