Duncan (Across the Aisle Book 2) Page 5

  It had an expansive front lawn. Stone benches were scattered throughout the lawn, and it was gated with black metal bars. I saw a couple sitting on one of the benches. She had on a coat and was eating what looked like dessert, and the man was staring at her with nothing but pure joy. It was almost cute, but the fire in my guy was hotter than a look. Wait, was that Senator James Klinger? Shaking my head, I kept following the man I was burning for. I was praying to God that I would get fucked like that woman in the pictures. There was no doubt I wanted every single thing he was offering. Now, the question was could he deliver?

  We entered the suite, which was on the third floor and took up one-quarter of the section of the hall; there were only four suites on this floor.

  “Would you like something to drink before we start?” Duncan asked me, taking my purse off my shoulder and placing it on the leather love seat.

  Looking around the room, I saw everything was brown leather, even the tops of all the tables and chairs. The floors were hardwood and there was no carpet in sight.

  “No, thank you.” I nodded at him.

  I wanted to have all my wits about me. Because I did not want to forget.

  Duncan approached me, and I wasn’t sure what would happen next. Would he tell me to go in the bedroom or ask me to get on my knees or would he just…

  His hand reached out so quickly, I flinched and almost ducked before registering what was happening. The tightness of my scalp, the pull of skin around my head and temples, and the sting of pain from my hair being grabbed had me crying out, but then Duncan was in my space with his mouth over mine, and I felt the bite.

  Holy fucking shit.

  His mouth on mine made my heart and clit throb with pure anticipation. I wanted this.

  A moan escaped me, and then his hand gripped my ass as if it was a small thing. It wasn’t. My ass alone had its own zip code, but Duncan had big hands, and their possessive grip on my backside, had my legs moving toward him until I felt that rigid pipe against my stomach.

  Something hot and wet ran across my lips, causing me to open my eyes. I saw his tongue wetting my lips before he pulled on my upper lip with his teeth, and then he grabbed my bottom lip. It wasn’t a kiss. Shit, I didn’t know what it was, but I was so fucking turned on, I moved closer, so he could get more of me.

  Duncan grunted and moved down, opening his whole mouth and pressing down, like he was trying to bite me. It was hard enough to leave an imprint, but lethal enough for my center to grow wetter. I stretched my neck longer, giving him more access.

  “Duncan,” I moaned.

  His fist tightened, and he pulled the dress up my body and slapped his hand across my naked bottom. The thong was there but pretty useless as a protective garment. Another hard slap to my ass, and I was wrapping my arms around his shoulders and digging my nails into his skin.

  His mouth disconnected from my neck and he growled, “Harder.”

  I dug more, but he still grunted, “Harder.”

  Then it was my nails that pierced him, and he wrapped his mouth back around my neck and bit down again.

  Suddenly, I was being lifted up. I wrapped my legs around his waist. His mouth left my neck, and he ordered, “Harder.”

  My mind was trying to compute what he was talking about, but with one squeeze of his hand on my ass, I knew he was referring to my legs. I used my thunder thighs to wrap him up tighter.

  “Yes,” he hissed.

  This caused me to move my center around and press against his hard as fucking steel dick.

  “Duncan.” I ground harder. “Fuck me.”

  Goddamn, what was I saying? This man was so big, hard, and rough. I fucking loved it.

  “Must please you first,” he muttered as he moved me down a hall.

  “No, you don’t have…” My sentence was cut off, because I was thrown on a bed.

  As I was about to sit up, a shadow passed over me, and I was pinned down by Duncan’s body. He went back to biting my bottom lip, then my neck, and collar bone. My fingers went to unbutton my dress, but the man was having none of that. He pulled it apart, popping off the buttons, exposing my upper body. Whatever mock anger I should have felt was no longer there when he grabbed my breasts, squeezing them like he was punishing them.

  Good God.

  I knew they would be sore tomorrow, but, oh, the fucking pleasure now had me moaning loudly. His mouth bit, licked, and traveled down to my bottom half. Without a thought, he pushed up the bottom half of my dress, hiking it up to my hips, and ripped my thong clean off, shredding the flimsy lingerie.

  Duncan did EXACTLY what those pictures displayed. He bit the inside of my thigh, pulled my clit with his lips and sucked on the little nub. Every one of his actions was hard and deliberate, causing a tingle of pain mixed with unadulterated pleasure.

  He moaned as he slurped away, pulling the juices from my body. My thighs tingled, and my stomach tightened. I thrust against his mouth, but his fingers held me down. “Don’t stop,” I moaned, and my orgasm pulsed through my pussy. I dug my fingers into the bed under me as my body shook uncontrollably.

  “Fuuuuck,” I moaned as the spasms ceased.

  Duncan was up on his feet, pulling off his tie, shirt, and pants and neatly laying them over a chair. It was too dark to make out what was happening, but I knew what was about to go down. Having seen the pictures, I knew what was coming next. I longed for him to fill me up.

  One of his hands grabbed my ankle and pulled me forward. Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me up, so I was on my feet.

  “Face the wall,” he commanded and moved me into position.

  His hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back, and he bit my upper lip. He grabbed my breast with the other hand, causing me to feel the cream from my orgasm slide down between my thighs. His one hand moved from my breast to my hip. He gripped my ass cheek and bit my shoulder.

  Duncan let my hair go, and I heard something rip. I turned to see him maneuvering the condom with an expert hand. It occurred to me that this came with experience, and a pang of jealousy hit me a little harder than I expected.

  “Are you ready?” his tight voice echoed in my ear.

  “Yes.” I nodded, and with both hands gripping my hips, he impaled me with his hard dick. I bent forward. The man completely filled me up, and there was no time for adjustment. Duncan wrapped one hand around my neck and began to piston in and out of me, like he was on autopilot and set to the fucking highest speed.

  I yelled, moaned, cried, and came, and I kept doing the same over and over, until the man came with a grunt and bit into me, breaking the skin.

  “Oh my fucking goodness.” I sighed and leaned back into him. “Oh my fucking goodness.”

  “Portia are you all right?” he asked with winded breath. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Fuck, no.” I exhaled as he removed himself from me, leaving me empty and wishing he’d do it again.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  When I turned around to view him, I could see his chest pushing in and out because the man had just run a fucking marathon, non-stop fucking without pausing for what had to be a good fifteen minutes.

  “Come.” He grabbed my wrist with his hand and pulled me toward the master bathroom.

  It was very large with a shower that could fit a small tribe. The shower heads were all over the ceramic encasing, including the ceiling.

  “I can’t get my hair wet,” I told him, before he pulled me inside.

  “Come,” he repeated with a nod.

  Duncan tugged me into the middle of the shower and tilted my head back. Sure enough, when he turned on the shower, it hit our bodies but missed my hair. I had to look silly, in the middle of the shower with my head tilted back.

  There was an extra loofah brush. He nabbed it, poured liquid soap on the tip and began to wash everything from my neck to my feet in a hard, attentive scrub, like I was a prized possession. I was wet again and wanting him some
more. He was worshipping my body with a firm, but gentle hand.

  “Duncan,” I exclaimed. “I want to fuck again.”

  “No, then we’ll have to shower again,” he replied with no thought as he placed the red loofah in a small crate. Then he pulled away from me and nabbed another loofah, which was brown and hanging from one of the sprinklers. This one he used on his body after pouring soap on it. Watching him wash was entirely too much, and I honestly didn’t give a fuck what he said. I moved in closer and slid to my knees, fuck my hair and all. I wrapped my hand around his stiff dick with both hands.

  “Portia,” he warned. “What are you doing, Portia?”

  Ignoring his pushing on my arms, I kept squeezing and moving both hands up and down. “Portia,” he finally stopped struggling. “Fuck. Harder, Portia. Harder.”

  I squeezed as hard as I could and began to suck on his dick. It throbbed in my hungry, wet mouth. My eyes were closed but I could feel the strain in his entire body as I completely threw him off course.

  Duncan’s hard cock filled my entire mouth, and he thrust one good time. The head hit the back of my throat, causing me to gag. He pulled out, and I heard a hard pound. I tilted my head up, and his arms were on the shower wall from his elbow to his fist. His hips were leaning forward, and I was backed up against the wall.

  “Portia,” Duncan’s voice came out strained. “Grab my ass, hard.”

  I let his cock go and did as he demanded. I realized what I had just signed up for. He began to fuck my mouth. I gagged and nearly swallowed his cock as he thrust into my mouth over and over again, just like he had fucked me.

  I could hear his grunts over the running water, and they were fucking feral. I squeezed his tight ass so hard I knew it would leave marks on his fair skin, but I didn’t give one fuck.

  By the fifth time I gagged on his large head attempting to go down my throat, I relaxed my mouth and let it slide as far as it could go. He groaned loudly, pumped one last time and shot down my throat. I swallowed every drop because I didn’t have a choice as the man kept his hard cock in my mouth.

  He cursed again and stepped back with sorrowful eyes on me. At first, I thought it was because my hair was wet, but then he said, “Portia, I am sorry. I am sorry.”

  Smiling, I stood and nodded and asked, “For what?”

  He blinked. His eyes avoided mine, like he was about to bolt. I waved my hand in front of him.

  “I’m fine.” I smiled again. “What’s wrong?”

  Duncan looked unsure, then he said, “I’m supposed to please you first.” He looked me over and quickly wrapped his hand around my neck, placing me firmly against the shower wall. His other hand began to rub on my clit. It wasn’t until he pressed harder and rubbed like a mad man that I erupted all over his hand. My knees grew weak. I was going nowhere with his steel hand around my neck. His eyes were on me, then he bit my bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth. This had me mewling and wanting to be closer.

  When Duncan pulled away and let me go, I missed his warmth.

  “I will get a towel for your hair,” he said and left the shower, leaving the door open. I turned off the fancy lights, which shut off the heads from dispensing water, and walked out of the shower. He met me with two towels. One he wrapped around my body. He tried to wrap the other around my head, but I stopped him. “I got it.”

  He nodded, took a step back, and watched me while I tucked it around my head the proper way. Then I nabbed the towel hanging on the rack and gave it to him.

  A semblance of a smile threatened to break across his face, but then it was gone. At that moment, after what we just shared, the look of him caused heat to pool between my legs and the hair to prickle anywhere those teeth had touched my body, which was nearly everywhere.

  “Come,” he commanded and, like before, grabbed my wrist and led me into the bedroom.

  It was then that I noticed, since the lights were on, that he had no covers on the bed, just sheets.

  “Where are you covers?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “I have sensory issues, and covers are not on my list. The same with smells and even sounds,” he replied. He ripped the towel off his body and lay on the bed.

  “Good night, Portia,” he declared.

  Okay.

  “Uh, good night.” I lay down in the towel, assured I would get cold and tried not to think of the man lying next to me on the king-size bed, naked with his amazing fucking cock out.

  I needed to get the fuck out of here.

  My mind was officially blown.

  Chapter Seven

  Duncan

  My internal clock went off, and instead of rising, I remained lying down to mentally categorize my day. This time, it was with a warm feeling in my chest. This feeling had never been there, even when Donna was in my life. I even slept throughout the night. That almost never happened. I often had insomnia and would find myself in places throughout the house, due to sleepwalking. I found that sex often dulled my innate occurrences and allowed me to release tension, which would minimize meltdowns. Donna was instrumental with this. However, I never slept all night with her.

  Portia was more than I could have ever anticipated. She exceeded all expectations. For each of the possible hypothesis that I threw together of what would happen, there was never a thought that I would show her those pictures. One could assume this was what effectively changed her mind. This was never a part of the plan with Portia. She would not marry me. She would not even date me. Therefore, the only way to do this was by meeting her where she was.

  Even as a member of Steel in Philadelphia, I knew a woman being able to handle this type of experience was rare. I knew my tastes were not normal, but I had become accustomed to them with Donna, and it had taught me discipline. It had also taught me how not to let a disability determine my life. It is why I remained a member and would visit when time permitted.

  Portia Lane, District Manager of Brown & Red Boutique. It was a national organization, and she had been working there since she was sixteen and started as a stock girl. She attended Bishop Jessup High School in Virginia. Then she attended and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Business Marketing, and she possessed her M.B.A. Her father passed away right before she completed her master’s degree, and the woman had not visited her mother since the day of his funeral.

  She was five feet seven inches, size ten in the hips, and had a brassiere size of thirty-four C. She got her hair done every month at a salon where she spent four hours on a Saturday. She spent two hours at a nail salon twice a month for a manicure and pedicure, and she frequented an eyebrow salon for no more than twenty minutes.

  She was a consumer of her own companies’ products, which made her a best seller. Her stores were doing the best because she truly knew what was happening in them. This was according to an employee of the store I met her in. The woman identified as African American, had an accountant do her taxes for the past five years, slept with less than a handful of men in the past three years, and I was now the fifth.

  Her best friend, Bernadette McCoy Richardson, was the wife of Senator Trent Richardson, a former Republican, who was now a Democrat for the state of Louisiana. The man had made the list of people I trusted and who were not attempting to manipulate me.

  He told me that his wife’s best friend was a good woman, and one of her greatest attributes was her honesty. I liked honest people. It was often hard for me to read verbal, physical, or symbolic cues, so an honest person was a breath of fresh air for someone like me. I understood them, and they usually appreciated me.

  Portia Lane was different, and it was not because she was an African American woman who had a medium brown complexion, clear skin, and utilized bronze blush and mauve lipstick. Her breasts were like soft pillows in my hands, and her ass felt like it could stand my teeth marks.

  And her mouth.

  My heart sped up at the thought of the woman on her knees, taking my cock inside of her until I was hitting the back of her thr
oat. My cock was coming alive with just the mere memory. This wasn’t a part of the plan either. I needed to go clean myself again, get Portia home, and then go to work myself.

  As I rehearsed the plan inside my head, I turned to see that her side of the bed was empty.

  “Portia,” I called out as I stood and went to the bathroom, which was empty.

  Moving around to every room, I continued to call out her name, but she was not here. This caused that warmth that I woke up with to dissipate and panic began to grip my chest. I must have hurt her, and she realized it and left. As the thought began to make me ill, I used the calming techniques I had learned. I drew in a long breath and tried to think rationally.

  Phone.

  Call her.

  I don’t have her number.

  I do have her number, but I’m not supposed to have it, like I’m not supposed to have her file.

  It does not matter.

  I go to the file, find the number, and call. She doesn’t answer. I call nine times, before someone finally answers.

  “What?” the voice that is clearly hers snaps.

  “Portia?” I practically scream. “Did I hurt you? Will you tell me if I hurt you?”

  “Duncan?” She answers with a growl in her voice that is from sleep and not intensity.

  “Yes,” I answer. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she snaps. “Why are you calling at four-thirty in the fucking morning?”

  “That is what time I get up,” I replied. “Why did you leave if I didn’t hurt you?”

  She sighed, but I waited patiently for her to answer.

  “I needed to go, okay,” she replied. “It was nothing personal, but I did not want to throw off your routine completely.”

  She had already done that, but I did not want to say this because she might get offended and never see me again.