Page 88 of His Pretty Little Duet

“I want to fuck you, little deer.” His hot breath blankets my face as he groans into our kiss. “But you’re too sore. Your pussy won’t be able to take me after what you have been through.” Not stopping his repetitive motion between my thighs, he threads his other hand down to release his cock from his pants. “Would my sweet girl like to see me come?” He hisses into our kiss, his mouth becoming clumsy for a moment as he jerks himself off.

“Yes. Yes.”

Then the sharp pull of desire drags me over the edge. I squeeze his neck. My back suddenly seizes and arches with a roll of warmth that continues forever, spreading up to my heart, causing it to gallop within me, all the way to my toes, tensing them into balls.

“Clay!” I scream his name.Clay. Clay. Clay.I take his tongue, his fingers, his everything. I’ll take it all.

He growls his own arousal out as he pumps his erection with brutal force, fisting it and drawing upwards until he shoots hot fluid over my legs. Convulsing beside me, his fist creating friction against my thigh, the liquid slapping my skin, he works his cock until he is empty.

Still holding his neck, I deepen our kiss as he breathes gruffly into my mouth. I tremble with sensation while his muscles slowly relax, but both our bodies melt together.

When he breaks the sultry dance of our lips, he leans his forehead into my hair, and it’s so vulnerable that for a moment, I want to scream,‘I love you!’For an endless moment, I want to whisper,‘I understand I belong to you. You won’t be discarding me. You won’t let me go. You’ll hunt me down. I agree. I agree to it, Sir. I’m yours.'"

He lifts his head, his eyes hooded with ecstasy. Licking my kiss from his lips, he looks down as he pulls his hand from between my legs, his fingers and knuckles covered in pink juices and thick red fluid, and I don’t care.

He cares even less.

After he has cleaned me up, we lay down in bed together, and I clutch onto him. As my mind rolls, delirious on a cocktail of everythinghim, I murmur softly, “I love you, Clay.”

Fawn

The soundof feet rapping on the wooden floorboards pulls me from my state of peaceful oblivion. For a few moments, I bask in the serene haze of waking from a restful state. And I realise that even my subconscious trusts him—Clay Butcher. I no longer have the nightmare. I no longer fall into the television... or is this my body’s way of letting go of what was growing inside me?

I crack one eye open, wrestling with my mind's intent to stay asleep a while longer. Yet, the weight over my waist and the heavy calf hooked over my feet causes both eyes to widen on the polished wooden panels opposite me. He’s still in bed with me.

He slept. Through the night...

Closing my eyes, I breathe him in, the earthy, rich scent of masculinity with lingering hints of cologne. I love the way he smells. Not like a boy. Like a man. Staring at the back of my eyes, I recall last night like a mirage of flashing images: the bathtub, the massage, his kisses. Touch.“I love you.”

Behind the door to our right, the footsteps continue, heavy steady ones followed by small pitter-patters and then a young girl’s voice quickly hushed by a man. Blinking my eyes open, Iadjust to the ambient yellow hue that the sun has gifted us this morning. The hour seems late.

I roll over in his arms, but they tighten immediately, making it hard for me to manoeuvre. Within the cage of large, warm muscles, I manage to get around to face him. His breath fans down my face, heavy and warm, with tones of his port cigars. He hums. As he fights against the world trying to wake him up, his brows weave, creating a slight ridge between them. His long dark lashes fan below his eyes.Why do some men have the most spectacular eyelashes?

I lift my hand to his chiselled jawline, mapping the dark bristles lightly peppered with grey. Beneath his caramel skin, I see the pulse of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. Everything about this man is firm, serious. Even as he rests, he is a formidable presence. So, I lean forward and press my lips to his before licking the valley between, coaxing him to wake up and relax his jaw.

I’m his...

I belong.

He growls in his chest, and I smile softly at the grumpy response. “You slept through the night, Sir. I’m so proud of you for not fighting it,” I tease.

With a start, he jerks me onto my back, holding me captive beneath him. I lose my breath as his lips crash against mine in a punishing rhythm that sends blissful stars soaring around my body.

My ballooning heart rests comfortably, warm and full, within my ribcage while my lungs strain below his heavy weight. It is a pleasurable sensation. Being so close to crushed, but not close enough to hurt or suffocate. Enough to feel the epitome ofsecure.

I moan into our kiss as the length between his thighs presses into my hip so hard it could bruise me with the right pressure.Rubbing his shaft on me, he groans. To experience this man, raw, feral, animalistic and without his practised façade, fills me with warmth. I moan when his mouth attacks my chin and jaw, ravishing my skin.

His hips begin to move in a sleepy way, chasing a sensation, an ebb to his erection, I am overcome with the desire to please him. Like he pleases me. "Are you under duress?"

His lips smile at my neck. "Somewhat."

“Can I please you?"

He drops his forehead to mine, his breath a tumbling wave of heat. “Would you like to?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Rolling onto his back, he pulls me with him, his blue gaze holding a dare, a warning. “I’m going to come in your pretty mouth then. Am I correct in saying you have never done this before?”

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