Page 21 of Duty Became Desire

Chapter thirteen

Alec

My record in bed has only ever been twice. No, not twice that I’ve made a woman come, but twice as in the sense of rounds. Now, don’t judge me. I’m a firm believer in quality over quantity, and I thoroughly enjoy my woman being pleasantly pleased before I seek my own pleasure.

But last night, holy shit, four times. We had four rounds. After that first time, I don’t know what came over her, but thirty minutes later, she was sucking my dick, as if it wasn’t hard? Then she rode me till she fell asleep on my chest.

Mere hours later, I was up, hard, and so was she. Sixty-nine hadn’t always been my favorite position, but after sex, tasting both her and I together, yeah, I would so do that in heartbeat again.

And then just two hours ago, she woke up, poked me in the side, and said I needed to get on her and make sure I did a good job of ruining her. Which I did.

That leads us to now. Where she’s softly snoring on my chest and I can’t get my mind to stop racing.

All of this was awesome, magical, and downright perfect. But at the same point in time, this relationship isn’t real. We’re trying to end it, to divorce. We don’t get along, no matter how amazing the sex is. And I enjoyed every moment of it. But I’m also a guy looking for love, not just a great, okay, fantastic, lay.

With a sigh, I looked down at her. I believe that her and I would work, I really do. And why? Because she’s hard where I’m soft. And no, I’m not talking body.

She’s a fierce fighter, a person who will jump in to defend anyone she loves.

Where I’m more the one to sit back and take a different approach, and neither one is better than the other.

She’s also the type to do a million things and be happy. Me, I’m a take a task one at a time before I lose my mind dude.

Opposites do attract, and I believe we do, but I also know that sometimes, there are just way too many differences, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what she sees. Not that I would give her the chance. She’s a great person, but is she the one for me?

I won’t answer that.

“You’re awake.”

I peek down at her again, and smile.

“Yeah, been for a bit. You seem worn out.”

The blush on her cheeks has me beaming with pride, but that’s certainly something I refuse to show her.

She reaches over, her nail running over the gold band on my finger, one I forget is there. It’s become so natural that I haven’t taken it off yet. I also noticed hers is still on, too.

“What were you told?” she questioned, and I let out a huff.

“We drank, we danced, Demi got sick, and James took her to the room. Guess they stayed up there while we did…this.”

She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and tilted her head.

“What?” I asked, sitting as well.

“Demi said nothing about being sick.”

“Maybe it was a minor detail she didn’t want to share?” I offered, but that sounded weak to my own ears.

“No. This woman shares far too much information with me. She wouldn’t have been embarrassed to have been puking her guts out. What I did notice was the tattoo she had. Remember I texted you?”

“Yeah, though I didn’t see anything on James.”

“Which is fine. But Demi never wanted a tattoo. And she would only have done that if she was drunk off her ass. However...,”

“Artists won’t do it if you’re drunk,” I finished.

“So, she couldn’t have been drunk. She was alert and fine when she got that tattoo. Which means they knew about us getting married and they’re not sharing.”

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