His finger, now coated with my wetness, is a weapon he wields. Duncan alternates between pressing it to my clit and rubbing it, fast then slow.
“More.” Being tortured doesn’t stop me from begging him. This asshole. This man I love. “Don’t stop.”
That must’ve been the wrong thing to say. Duncan pulls his mouth away, gripping my hips tighter than ever before. My skin will bruise, and I relish it. Because it’s him marking me.
But once more, he leaves me hanging, painfully so.
“No, no, no.” I’m desperate to come, my body thrumming. Aching. “I need this.”
I need you. I always have.
“Your brother, the miserable fuck you’re doing all this for…” His breathing comes heavy. He’s as turned on as I am, yet he chooses to deny us both. “He’s been demanding that the nurse give up your whereabouts. Asking to see hiswhore of a sister.”
Same name he called me a few days ago.
Was he right?
It might look like it from the outside. But it isn’t. Can’t be, since this isn’t a transaction. Whatever Duncan does to me, I want it. I’ve been wanting it for years.
But he’s not in the right headspace to hear me out. So, I talk about something else.
“Stop bringing up Barclay.” I clench my teeth. “And don’t you ever repeat that. I’m not a whore.”
“You’re still not asking me to cut him off.” He cracks his hand against my ass, the sting spreading everywhere. I wait for another spanking that never comes. Duncan just grabs my ass instead, fingers digging into my flesh, his hold possessive. Like I’m really his. “A man who talks about you like that. Why?”
My legs are spread. Breasts heavy with lust. My pussy is fluttering. Clenching.Hot.
Explaining that Barclay killed someone, that he saved me while Duncan wasn’t there—I can’t do it now. I don’t want to.
Problem is, Duncan is as stubborn as I am. He won’t let this go.
Painfully aroused and heartbroken, I decide I’m done for the day. All I want is my bed, somewhere I can fall apart without an audience.
“Enough.” Unlike before, I put everything into creating distance between us, bracing my hands on the desk and forcing myself up. “Let me go.”
“Cheek on the desk,” he orders. “Hands too.”
My chin trembles as I obey. He’s stronger than I am and far more committed to stopping me.
“You’re not going anywhere before you explain yourself.” His lips brush over my pussy as he asks, “Why do you care so much about someone who never gave a fuck about you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before sucking on my clit. I moan loud enough that my throat burns. My body moves on its own, hips grinding into him, demanding, pleading for the pleasure only he can give.
“No, Duncan.” Oh my God, his tongue feels like the sweetest sin. “You tell me why you hate me.”
“You told me you were sorry just now. I thought you knew why.” He stops eating me out, rising to his full, ominous height. His hand is hot against the back of my neck. Though I can hardly see him, I sense his snarl as if he’s right here, before my eyes. “Now you’re asking me what you did wrong?”
I’m restricted by his hand. By his body that’s curving around mine.
When his dark eyes come into view, fury simmers in them.
His intensity clogs my throat.
“You’re right,” I manage to blurt out somehow. “I do know why. But only partly.”
“Explain, then.” The words sound deadly. As if I have no other choice but to answer.
“Barclay told me what you’d said.” I gather my last ounce of courage and—pride be damned—I whisper, “How kissing me was like kissing your sister. That you had to brush your teeth after. Then…you hated yourself and couldn’t stick around for another second. Touching me might not sicken you now, but it definitely did back then, according to my brother.”
