Page 41 of Duke
“Good.” He bends his legs, and I bend mine so we’re in anSshape, my ass settling into his lap like his dick isn’t right there.
I can feel him. He’s not hard or anything, but he is large, and my body lights up like a firecracker.
I nearly moan again when he flattens his palm over my stomach. His hand is huge, his hold on me shamelessly solid and confident. I feel his chest barreling out on an inhale against my back, his breath hot on my nape.
“This okay?” His voice is husky.
I feel myself melting into his heat. His touch. I feel safe here and yet somehow keyed up, wild.
I’m not my normal, often numb self, and I like that. A lot.
The wind gusts, throwing sleet against the windows. The howl it makes is loud enough to have me actually moaning.
“What’s goin’ on, Blue?” he asks softly. “This kinda shakin’—you’re not just cold, are you?”
My brain is short-circuiting. That has to be why I blurt, “My dad. He is—was—a screamer. He’s always had a bad temper. You’d never know when he was going to erupt, and when he did, the neighbors could hear it. Loud noises still freak me out.”
“Aw, Wheeler. No wonder you’re shaking. I wish you’d told me.”
“I don’t like talking about him. Or my parents in general. They’re going through this really nasty divorce that’s been—yeah, pretty awful.”
His arms tighten around me, cradling me against the warmth of his body. Doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
Being here—keeping me safe—is enough.
It’s more than enough, judging by the way my weight melts into his. He feels so big, so solid in his mellow silence.
My heart rate slows. At the same time, the hot liquid need between my thighs flares to renewed life. I squeeze my eyes shut.
What if I gave in? Just for tonight? What if I let myself have what I want for once and left nothing on the table? Maybe then I’d stop feeling so damn horny all the time.
Maybe then I’d finally be able to declutter my head, my emotions, and focus on my work. I feel like I’ve been distracted ever since Mom sat me down and told me she was leaving Dad.
His chest rises against my back again on a deep, unhurried inhale. Jesus Christ, is he not being burned alive by lust right now? How is he so…unbothered?
I hear him move his head on the pillow, and I nearly sigh when something smooth, then prickly, brushes over the nape of my neck.
His mouth. His stubble.
Both.
A lightning bold of need cracks down my middle.
“Sorry,” we both say at once.
His chuckle is deep, dark with sleep. “What the hell are you sorry for? I didn’t mean to get that close. Sorry.”
“Nothing. This. The fact that we’re stuck on the top of a mountain during the blizzard of the century.”
“Shit happens.”
I sigh. “Ain’t that the truth.”
My pillow smells like Duke, the juniper-scented aftershave or cologne he must wear.
The wind roars, making the house groan in protest. Everything inside me seizes. I’m shaking and I’m scared and I’m so turned on I might actually die if I don’t do something about it.
We might die anyway, judging by that wind and snow.
