Page 45 of Duke

She cups the side of my face closing her eyes before tipping up on her toes and rubbing the side of her face against my beard. “I love you—Duke.”

My nostrils flare, my heart stops beating.

I can’t believe it.

I’m not that lucky. Could she really love me? We’ve barely scratched the surface; haven’t even begun baring our souls.

“Ah, sugar. It’s too soon. What you’re feelin’ is lust, sweetheart. It makes you do and say insane shit.”

“Do you doubt me? Think I’m too young to know what the fuck is in my heart?”

“Ah, shit. I don’t wanna fight cherry. I just want the words to be real when you say them to me.”

“Whatever, leave. We’re no good together unless we’re doing this.” She gestures between my cock and her pussy.

“Ah, cherry, don’t say that. We’re fuckin’ magic together; we just don’t have the time to learn each other, yet. But we will, I’ll call you.”

Before she can step into the shower, I haul her into my arms kissing her like I’m dying.

“Look at me.”

She refuses.

I grab her chin, forcing her, “I love you.”

“Arrghhh,” she yells, throwing the soap against the wall.

I grin and smack her sweet ass before leaving.

Good. I’m glad she’s all riled up. I’d rather see fire than tears in her eyes. I whistle as I walk down the stairs, knowing she’ll be alright.

“You fuck my daughter in my house?”

“No sir,” I reply.

“Huh,” he grunts. “You better not have. I still have my shotgun.”

I spin on my heel with one hand on the doorknob, “Take care of her Colin. I mean it, or they’ll be no peace for you.”

I walk out, leaving him gaping at my back. I fire- up my truck and head south towards home, but leave everything important behind.

Miles of evergreens and the lush woods hugging the rugged coast didn’t even register, as I barreled down the highway. Pieces of my heart broke off and scattered in the wind; leaving a trail for her to follow, but I know she won’t come. She’s too stubborn to admit she needs me, despite her confession she loves me.

She’s such a spitfire. God, I love it.

I sigh, sipping the crap truck stop coffee. The bright lights of San Francisco are on the horizon. It won’t be long until I pull into my shop on the outskirts of the city.

How in the hell am I going to wait? My hands already itch to touch her hair, my lips want hers back, and my dick never did get what he wanted.

Seven months is going to feel like a lifetime. But if there’s one thing I know how to do it’s survive hell and living without her for that long, will be hell.

I pull off the PCH and maneuver the side roads to my shop. It’s one in the morning. The automatic gates are locked up; my hand reaches through my open window punching in a code that causes it to swing wide.

My finger presses the fob on my keyring to open a garage bay and swing my truck around to unload my old man's Harley. It’s the only thing I took. As much as I hated him and my past—the bike is a symbol of my roots. I carefully unload it, wheeling it down a ramp and lock it up for the rest of the night.

My eyes sweep over the inside of an old warehouse that I turned into a booming business. It's spotless. My men might work with grease and oil all day, but I'm a stickler for keeping things orderly. There's not one drop of oil staining my painted cement floors, and all the tools are put away neatly. I grunt satisfied that no one slacked off in my absence.

I flick on the fluorescent lights and groan as I enter my office seeing the stacks of paperwork waiting my authorization, orders, contracts, and bills. I'm old-fashioned, preferring to mail shit out.

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