ROXANNE
The second myback hits the mattress, I know I’m not in control anymore. Not because I’m powerless, but because I trust him enough to let go. Duke crawls on top of me, eyes dark and focused, hands planted on either side of my shoulders like he’s bracing himself against the weight of everything he’s been holding back.
He kisses me slowly, greedily, like he’s soaking up every moan I give him. His lips trail over my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone, each graze sparking against my skin.
His rough hands slide beneath my thighs, parting me, anchoring me as he slowly tugs my soaked panties down and tosses them to the side. I whimper under his touch and bite my lip as he’s taking me in.
“I’ve never seen anything more perfect. You’re so damn sexy, Roxanne.”
I try to speak but he silences me with another hungry kiss. He kisses along my chest, slow and deliberate, tongue brushing across one nipple, then the other, until I’m arching up and calling his name.
“Love it when my name is on your lips,” he says, teasing me with his fingers. His hands grip my hips, thumbs stroking slow, patient circles. The world tilts when he pushes his fingers inside me. Slow, gentle agonizingly good … in and out. The friction sends a warmth through me like honey in my veins.
“That feels … good,” I breathe.
“And I’m just getting started.”
I almost scream when he stops and kneels down at the edge of the bed. I let out a quick gasp when, with a swift tug, he pulls me to him and lifts my legs over his shoulders. I’m already so wet as he goes in for the first taste, his tongue gliding over the most sensitive part of me that’s now pulsating with need. Every flick, every press, every tease is deliberate.
I can’t stop watching him. The man between my legs is all carved muscle and quiet control, shoulders built like he’s wearing armor, sculpted forearms anchoring me to him. Every part of him looks like it was forged out of the mountain, like he was made to take on whatever the world throws at him and still hold steady. His power doesn’t scare me—it grounds me because I know exactly what that strength is for.
It’s for me.
I fist the sheets on either side of me and arch off the bed, making a sound I don’t recognize—something raw and wrecked and utterly undone. Like my body is trying to let go of something I’ve been gripping for years—fear, shame, grief—and his mouth is coaxing it all loose, piece by piece.
My legs tremble like every nerve is lit from the inside.
“Feels … so … good,” I say. It’s like I’m melting and flying all at once.
“You’re so ready … I want you to come.”
“Duke … God. Please…”
He slows down, cruel and tender all at once, and that’s the final straw. A sob slips out of me. Not from pain, fromthe delicious release I know is about to slam into me from being touched this way … Loved this way.
Tears sting my eyes, and he must hear the shift in my breath, because he lifts his head just enough to look at me.
“Too much?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. My voice breaks. “Don’t stop. Please. I need this. I need you.”
His mouth curves into the faintest smile and I thread my hands through his hair.
“Then let go for me, Roxanne. I want you to let go over and over.”
“Duke,” I gasp, clutching his shoulders. “I can’t… I?—”
He murmurs something I don’t hear but feel—a groan against me. My entire body thrums until I can’t hold on any longer. My breath catches, transforming into ragged, eager gasps. And then …
I shatter.
Not like glass.
Like starlight that breaks open and burns brighter.
I’m still panting, trembling, and somewhere between laughter and tears when he lifts his head, lips glistening, hair mussed in the best way.
“You taste like honey,” he purrs.
