I try to pull my mind out of that awkward place it keeps going to—remembering everything he’s done with other women, and thinking about how it compares to what he’s doing with me. I’m such a mess, I’m starting to wonder if getting off is even worth all the trouble this shit is causing me. I mean, I told myself I wouldn’t fucking do this with him for a reason. I’m way too attached. And when everything little memory and all of the worry gets too much to take, I decide to mentally check out and be goddamn done with all of the “what if” crap that I’m usually so good at pushing out of my head.
Sitting up, he scoots back to avoid getting knocked in the face with my elbow. Quickly, I pull my bra tank over my head and toss it across the room then reposition my legs beneath me and pull him up to me. Propped up on my legs, I use his heavy torso as leverage to keep myself steady. Running my hands up and down his leather cut, I try to ignore that little voice in the back of my head that reminds me how very much I am like the woman I hate so much: my mother. She always had a thing for bikers, and much less a thing for motherhood as evidenced by her departure all those years ago.
“If you’re not into this, I’ll get someone else,” he says. My head snaps up, eyes finding his, and I give him my best mean face. He gives me a serious look and says, “But I want you.”
“I was trying not to puke on the leather. You don’t have to be a dick,” I say. A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my belly at that comment. The hint of a smile forms and he grips my sides, then in a surprise move, drops backwards and pulls me on top of him. I was buying time when I told him I was trying not to puke, but now I’m not lying anymore. The world spins around me as I hold onto him tight. His body shakes beneath mine and when I can see steady once again I notice that he’s on his back and I’m straddling his lap. Totally naked and bared to him, I remind myself that I’ve done this more times than I can count. He’s Forsaken, and I’m a Lost Girl. It’s who we are and this is what we do. I have zero reason to be weird about this. Except that he’s not just some random guy. He’s charming, and he’s funny. And he’s Duke.
Taking the front of his cut and gently pulling it off his shoulders, a disturbingly loud cell phone rings, startling me. Duke’s eyes narrow as he grumbles something about his dick and then manages to yank the offensive object out of his pocket. Flipping open the phone, he brings it to his ear.
“Yeah? Now? Fuck. Yeah, just gimme five?” he says into the phone, flips it shut, and tosses it beside us on the bed. Throwing one of his muscles arms down on the bed he curses and then bucks his hips. I grip the leather of his vest tightly and go to move off of him but his hands find their way to my hips, keeping me in place.
“We just have to be quick, baby,” he says. Reaching over, he pulls a condom off the side table and sets it down beside him. Leaning back, I pop open the button of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Just as I’m freeing him from his constraints, one of his hands finds its way to my center. His thumb parts my folds and rubs me in small circles until my thighs clench tightly into his hips. The room feels so cool, every slight gust of wind that moves past me sends chills up my spine. Gooseflesh covers me from head to toe.
“I could watch this shit for days,” he says in a husky voice. As much as I want to see looks of wanton desire in his eyes, I don’t risk losing the building euphoria I have going on. My mind, shoulders, and soul feel a little lighter the longer he attends to me for. Breaking from the rhythm he’s created, Duke speeds up his ministrations, applying more pressure and sending me to the edge. I toss my head back, my body locks up, and for a brief moment, nothing—not even me—exists. And I’m floating. When I come back down to earth, I pry my eyes open to see Duke ripping the wrapper open with his teeth and then rolling the condom down his shaft.
Not giving myself a chance to change my mind, not that with the way my body responded to just the pad of his thumb I’m doubting much, I pull myself up his body and sink down onto him. Moving at first slow and steady, then fast and relentlessly, I slide myself up and down his length. Keeping my eyes trained on his face, I watch as he locks his jaw up and his breath catches. Bringing his hips up to meet mine, he drives himself into my core, making me gasp for air. It isn’t long before we’re a sweaty mess. His thumb starts with the circles again and the combination of everything he’s doing to my body is too much to take. I clamp down around him as tight as I can while bringing one hand behind me and cupping his balls. His movements still as his eyes fly to the back of his head and his body goes still, and his muscles turn to stone beneath me.