brother away from Cat before it was too late. It had been a desperate gamble, a desperate plan.
It had worked, all too well.
“Ana?” His breath was warm against her neck, his mouth hot and silken as it glided over her skin. “You going to run away, princess?”
She wanted to. This was a bad, bad, bad idea and she knew it. Duke wanted to fuck her, because he hadn’t been able to do it that night. That was his way of “dealing” with it. It wasn’t the way she needed to do it, though, and if she gave in, it was going to leave a scar on her.
What was one more?
Taking a deep breath, she reached up and freed the front clasp of her bra.
Behind her, Duke blew out a harsh breath, a sound that was low and rough and sexy. It had her knees weak. But then he went to draw her shirt away and she stiffened, reaching up and holding it in place.
“Ana?”
“The shirt . . . I . . . I want to leave it on.”
He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck. “Shy, princess?”
“Yes . . . no.” Geez, how did she tell him that she had enough scars on her back to rival the ones on his chest? Not exactly titillating talk. “Can I just keep the shirt on?”
He kissed her, an openmouthed, hot kiss that she felt clear down to her toes. “For now.” He toyed with the waistband of her jeans and murmured, “What about these? Because, Ana, we really need to lose these.”
“I—uh—okay.” It was about the best she could do without whimpering.
Another hot, soft kiss, this one on her shoulder, his heat scalding her even through the white cotton of her shirt. “Put your hands on the counter.”
She did, locking her knees in an attempt to keep her legs from shaking under her. Blood roared in her ears, pounded and pulsed in tandem with the ache in her sex. She was hot, embarrassingly wet already and when he stripped her jeans and panties away, she gasped as cool air kissed the hot flesh between her thighs.
“You’re wet for me,” he whispered. “I smell it. Spread your legs for me.”
She whimpered, her breath catching in her throat when he reached down between her thighs, stroking her slick folds with his fingertips.
“You’re tight.” His voice had dropped to a low growl, so rough it was almost unintelligible. He pushed one finger inside her and Ana’s knees buckled under her, her breath caught in her throat—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. He stroked deeper, his rough fingertip rasping over swollen tissues. Shaking, she sagged forward, letting the counter take more of her weight. Duke growled, stroking his other hand down her hip.
He said something, but Ana couldn’t understand his words. Nothing made sense, nothing connected—nothing even existed except for his hands on her body, the slow, easy glide of his finger in, out of her sex—nothing—
She came, harsh and sudden, sagging against the counter. She whimpered, letting the counter take all of her weight, pressing her flaming face to the cool surface. Her breasts pressed flat against it, her shirt and bra clung to her damp body, and her sweaty hair lay in a tangle over her shoulders and face, blocking the world out.
Unable to think past the roar of blood in her ears, she drifted, half caught in a daze, only dimly aware that Duke was no longer touching her. A harsh, rasping sound, oddly loud. The whisper of cloth, a dull thud. Lifting her lashes, she tried to look behind her, but her hair was in the way. She went to brush it out of the way and Duke caught her wrist. “Be still,” he muttered, pressing her wrist to the counter, holding it there.
He nudged her thighs apart and she gulped as something pressed against her buttocks. He was naked—naked, and oh . . . oh, shit—
The head of his cock, thick, full and hard, nudged against her entrance. Panicking, she tried to close her thighs but he shifted, using his knees to keep her open. She cried out as he pressed against her, forcing her to yield. Thick—burning hot, scorching—stretching.
Ana
It had worked, all too well.
“Ana?” His breath was warm against her neck, his mouth hot and silken as it glided over her skin. “You going to run away, princess?”
She wanted to. This was a bad, bad, bad idea and she knew it. Duke wanted to fuck her, because he hadn’t been able to do it that night. That was his way of “dealing” with it. It wasn’t the way she needed to do it, though, and if she gave in, it was going to leave a scar on her.
What was one more?
Taking a deep breath, she reached up and freed the front clasp of her bra.
Behind her, Duke blew out a harsh breath, a sound that was low and rough and sexy. It had her knees weak. But then he went to draw her shirt away and she stiffened, reaching up and holding it in place.
“Ana?”
“The shirt . . . I . . . I want to leave it on.”
He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck. “Shy, princess?”
“Yes . . . no.” Geez, how did she tell him that she had enough scars on her back to rival the ones on his chest? Not exactly titillating talk. “Can I just keep the shirt on?”
He kissed her, an openmouthed, hot kiss that she felt clear down to her toes. “For now.” He toyed with the waistband of her jeans and murmured, “What about these? Because, Ana, we really need to lose these.”
“I—uh—okay.” It was about the best she could do without whimpering.
Another hot, soft kiss, this one on her shoulder, his heat scalding her even through the white cotton of her shirt. “Put your hands on the counter.”
She did, locking her knees in an attempt to keep her legs from shaking under her. Blood roared in her ears, pounded and pulsed in tandem with the ache in her sex. She was hot, embarrassingly wet already and when he stripped her jeans and panties away, she gasped as cool air kissed the hot flesh between her thighs.
“You’re wet for me,” he whispered. “I smell it. Spread your legs for me.”
She whimpered, her breath catching in her throat when he reached down between her thighs, stroking her slick folds with his fingertips.
“You’re tight.” His voice had dropped to a low growl, so rough it was almost unintelligible. He pushed one finger inside her and Ana’s knees buckled under her, her breath caught in her throat—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. He stroked deeper, his rough fingertip rasping over swollen tissues. Shaking, she sagged forward, letting the counter take more of her weight. Duke growled, stroking his other hand down her hip.
He said something, but Ana couldn’t understand his words. Nothing made sense, nothing connected—nothing even existed except for his hands on her body, the slow, easy glide of his finger in, out of her sex—nothing—
She came, harsh and sudden, sagging against the counter. She whimpered, letting the counter take all of her weight, pressing her flaming face to the cool surface. Her breasts pressed flat against it, her shirt and bra clung to her damp body, and her sweaty hair lay in a tangle over her shoulders and face, blocking the world out.
Unable to think past the roar of blood in her ears, she drifted, half caught in a daze, only dimly aware that Duke was no longer touching her. A harsh, rasping sound, oddly loud. The whisper of cloth, a dull thud. Lifting her lashes, she tried to look behind her, but her hair was in the way. She went to brush it out of the way and Duke caught her wrist. “Be still,” he muttered, pressing her wrist to the counter, holding it there.
He nudged her thighs apart and she gulped as something pressed against her buttocks. He was naked—naked, and oh . . . oh, shit—
The head of his cock, thick, full and hard, nudged against her entrance. Panicking, she tried to close her thighs but he shifted, using his knees to keep her open. She cried out as he pressed against her, forcing her to yield. Thick—burning hot, scorching—stretching.
Ana
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