Page 34 of Duke
He looms over me, looking taller and broader than ever. Immediately my mind goes somewhere it shouldn’t. “Aw, Blue, but you just get me so excited—”
“Quit lyin’. I saw firsthand how good your aim is.”
His eyes twinkle as he looks down at me. “It’s not that often people call my bluff.”
“I’m not about to let you outsmart me. Pour.” I open my mouth.
“You got it.”
Duke’s face is a mask of concentration as he opens the little plastic valve on the bag, releasing a thin stream of dark pink wine. I have to duck to catch it with my mouth. The wine hits my chin before I capture it with my tongue.
He starts to count off. “One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—dang, girl, you ain’t wasting a drop, are you—”
I slap his leg before he can finish that thought. He laughs and so do I, nearly choking on the wine. Duke shuts off the valve and grabs my hand, helping me to my feet. Awareness zips up my arm from the place where our palms meet.
He doesn’t let go. Neither do I as I slap the bag with my other hand, the wine in my stomach sloshing pleasantly alongside the wine in the bag.
“This is such a dumb game.” I meet his eyes.
“It’s fuckin’ stupid.” Adjusting his glasses, he holds out the bag to me. “But we keep playing, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I’m smiling hard enough for my face to hurt.
Even on his knees, Duke is still a massive presence. I have to hold up the bag pretty dang high to pour it into his mouth. I’m transfixed by the way his prominent Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. At one point, he teeters forward. I catch him at the same time as he catches himself, my hand on his shoulder, his planted on my hips.
His touch sends a charge through me, heat flooding my cunt. A beat of heavy silence swells between us as I absently turn off the spigot. He’sclose. Mouth mere inches from mine. I’d just have to hinge at the waist, lean in, and then kiss—
Nope. No way. Not happening.
Even though every fiber of my being tells me Duke would be an excellent kisser. When was the last time I made out with someone who knew how to kiss?
Stay strong, sister, I mentally whisper to myself as I help Duke to his feet. He stays close—too close, not close enough—to slap the bag.
We go for another round. Another.
God, I’m buzzed. And horny.
So freaking horny. A little nervous too, because the roof keeps groaning. The windows literally rattle as a particularly vicious gust hits the house.
“Your turn.”
I blink at the husky sound of Duke’s voice. He takes the bag from my hand, our fingers brushing.
We go through a couple more rounds of the game. My phone buzzes; the manager of Aspen Leather Company texts that the block downtown where the store is located just lost power. It’s not looking good for the trunk show tomorrow.
I glance at Duke. “Do you think we’ll lose power?”
“Even if we do, I bet this place has a generator.”
“Always so confident things will work out.” I head to the kitchen to drop the bag of wine back into its box.
“Well, yeah.” He follows me, grabbing a pair of tumblers from a cabinet and filling them with water at the sink. “Like I said, you gotta have faith. Looking at the glass as half-empty is no way to go through life.” He holds up the tumblers before handing one to me. “See? Mostly full.”
“Since when are we drinking water?”
“Since I said so.”
I bring my glass to my lips. “You’re no fun.”
