Page 23 of At Last

“Fuck no. First time I have you, I want you in a bed, not pushed up against a wall or on the floor like we’re a couple ’a teenagers.”

“Well how about you taste me, that is… um… put your mouth on me, and I’ll return the favor?”

“I’ll give you that. But when we get home, you and I hit a bed. Peaches has friends or day care, or wherever the fuck she goes. We’ll pick her up when we’re done.”

I start to nod but—oof—my gut hits his shoulder because he throws me over it and clomps softly into the bathroom. The motion sensor light flicks on when we enter, and he sets my bottom to the sink’s vanity, intent on making me lose my panties. But I want to give him his first, and so I slide off and drop down to my knees while at the same time, go after the buckle on his belt. I undo the button, pull the zipper, and tug his jeans to just below his hips.

Thankfully, Duke is not the kind of man to bother with boxers or briefs. He stands tall and proud, thick and beautiful in front of my face. Something I’d known about him since close to my first visit to the clubhouse. Having seen the outline on several occasions over the past year, when he’d been turned on by one of the pieces, shortened from pieces of ass, because that’s exactly what they are. Women who show up to the club for sex. They aren’t anybody’s girlfriend, showing up on weekends and party nights for a good time.

The pieces shouldn’t be confused with the hot mamas who live semi-permanently at the clubhouse. They cook and clean, and take care of the brothers who live there in exchange for that place to stay. And again, they have sex with the brothers. Somehow, it always comes down to sex with the brothers.

Dammit, now all I can think about are pieces and hot mamas, and I don’t want to think about either. Because they’ve had a lot of sex, and me? I haven’t gone down on a man in so long, and I know he’s used to the professional talents those girls have to offer.

Bad time to face a bout of insecurity and nerves. But I’m here. I’m doing this. After I suck in a few deep breaths and release them slowly to try to calm the bubbling anxiety, I wrap my hand around his base and suck in something else, until my lips hit my hand. He’s huge. Bigger than he looked before I took him in my mouth. My eyes water to the point I have to squeeze them tight and try not to gag.

I will my throat muscles to relax. It’s easier to do than I thought it would be, the way Duke sifts his fingers through the back of my hair, massaging my scalp as he does. I melt into his touch and begin to suck and lick like I’m enjoying the best melty popsicle of my life. With my other hand, I gently massage his balls. Our noises, the pop from the suction, my little mewls and purrs, and Duke’s much louder grunts, not to mention his much, much louder “Oh fuck me” and “Fucking fuck me, honey” fill the small room, spurring me on.

As I chance a look up, his eyes are closed, head tipped back, ecstasy written over every feature of his face. He locks his arms straight, hands holding the edge of the vanity to keep himself standing when his knees begin to buckle. Is this something that happens every time he gets a blowjob or does he really enjoy it that much?

The muscles of his abdomen pull tight. I know what that means. Though even if I didn’t, the “Doc,honey,” he grumbles and the way his fingers go from gripping the vanity to grabbing a fist full of hair, warns me he’s close. I’ve never done what I’m considering before, but know men like it, and I don’t want Duke to miss his skanky pieces, so instead of pulling away, when he growls a second, more forceful, “Doc, honey—”

I ask, “Are you clean?”

“What the fuck?” he grunts.

“Are you clean?” I ask again.

“Fuck honey, yeah. I’m fucking clean.” On the word clean, he lets go hard and long, my mouth on a down glide. And I swallow. Some dribbles down my chin, but I keep up the swallow and don’t quit sucking until I’ve milked every drop from him. Every drop.

His chest heaves heavy and rapid as he stares down at me, eyes glistening—still hot, but full of something else. Something… beautiful? I don’t know what to do with such a look. It’s satisfaction, longing, appreciation and even peacefulness, with maybe a few others mixed in there. But from my position on my knees, on the floor, those are what I can pick out. No man that I can remember—even Aiden, especially Aiden—ever looked at me with that expression before.

Wearing an open reverence, his eyes glisten with it, lines around those glistening eyes crinkle with it. Duke pulls me up to stand in front of him, one hand he brings to rest on my hip, stroking his thumb back and forth lightly along the bare skin between my shirt and panties. For such a simple act, it’s almost too much for me to handle.

He turns to pluck a tissue from the tissue dispenser then shifts back to wipe the dribble from my chin. His mouth descends until it covers mine.

Hellyeah.

Oh, hellyeah.

He touches the tip of his tongue to the tip of mine, a move done so tenderly, I melt into him. In response, he glides his hands up to rest at the hem of my Tee and takes the kiss deeper, so much more than the tongue touch. A kiss I feel down to the tips of my toes. We support each other, my arms around his neck, his around my waist.

Duke twists and backs me up to lean against the vanity, the place he’d been only minutes before.

Not once this morning, not once did I think I’d end the day in a swanky hotel in Nashville. Especially not after I crashed my Jeep,especiallynot with this man, my ‘old man’. He hitches my leg around his hip, moving one hand from my waist to slip into the leg hole of my panties, through the folds of silky wetness, where he zeros in on the spot. Not a direct hit, because he’s not trying to hit it, circling my clit, teasing me with the light pressure. I can already begin to feel my body tense up in the best way.

Then because this is my life, there’s a tapping on the door followed by a, “Mama? I gowtta potty,” in a tired little girl voice. I tear my lips away from Duke’s, laughing not because it’s funny, but because I’m so turned on its either laugh or cry. And while I help him do up his jeans, pin him with a ‘see, I told you’ glare. The very reason I wouldn’t let him take me in that fluffy, king-size bed.

When I open the door, she has her little fist rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes, and she turns her head from Duke to me. “Why you in the bafwoom wiff my mom, Duke?”

His hands rest back on my hips, lightly biting his fingers into the flesh there. It’s claiming, even if only to a four-year-old. “Your mom and I were talking, Peaches. And we didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Okay.” She readily accepts his excuse. “But I weally gowtta potty.”

Duke and I move at the same time, he stops for me to go out first, following closely behind. Jade pushes past us and snaps the door shut.

“So you mighta been right,” he says. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to return the favor now.” His silver-gray eyes dart to the bathroom, then back to me, face showing clearly thanks to the nightlight I’d left on for Jade, for that exact reason. In case she needed to use the bathroom or a drink.

“It’s not going to happen,” I murmur, blowing strands of hair that had fallen over the bridge of my nose, away from my face.

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