Page 97 of His Pretty Little Duet

“And you’re avoiding the house because everyone is there. Am I right? You were not in the area at all.” He exhales roughly, taking a step towards her. “I want to put an end to this feud. You will try harder or there will be consequences. Now—" He holds his hand out for me to take and I slide from the countertop with his assistance. “You should stay here until you sober up. Go outside and sit by the pool. I will have Que bring you anything you please. Then go home and try to get to know Cassidy, Shoshanna, and your grandchildren. They are not going anywhere. You best get used to it.”

Holding his arm outstretched in the direction of the staircase, he signals for me to walk ahead of him, so I do, but I can feel his hot, dominant energy blanketing my spine.

What the fuck was that?

I chance a look at her as he steers me away. Meeting her sharp narrowed gaze immediately, I jerk back to face forward. It seems she is as interested in me as I am in her. If the prickles on my spine are anything to go by, she is still watching me leave. My mouth moves with the greeting I wish had been uttered.“Hello, I’m Fawn. It is nice to meet you.”A normal introduction to the mother of the man who was pressed between my thighs on her arrival.

He has a practised smile for everyone but not for her. At least, not today. Instead, I watched him belittle her in front of a stranger—me.

Does he have issues with his mother? She drinks, it seems. There are worse things in life than that, and given hisbusiness, I find it peculiar that it’s such an issue.

We enter his bedroom, the room just light enough to see but dim enough to shift the mood, darken it.

He closes the door behind us. I still, facing the bed, but feel him moving around behind me. I want to ask about his mother. Mine wasn’t great either. I stare at the dreamcatcher hangingfrom the bedpost and then at the onesie folded on the side table. “You don’t get along with your mother?”

I hear a lighter flick open, a spark, and the sound of crackling smoke being inhaled. Turning to face him, my breath catches. He is cloaked in darkness, sitting on the sofa. Tie loose. Suit still pristine. He grits a cigar between his teeth and inhales and exhales without even holding it in his hand. The cherry burns like a flaming heart, blazing every time he sucks and darkening as he exhales.

Scoring a trail across my body, his eyes make his intentions perfectly clear.

My knees shake under his heated gaze. “Clay?”

He pulls the cigar from his lips, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes are watchful. “Are you still bleeding? Have you been in any pain today?”

I shake my head. “Light bleeding. No pain.”

A ghost of a grin touches his serious lips. “Take off your clothes, little deer. I have a gift for you.”

My hand finds the ends of my hair. Soothingly, I twirl a blonde strand around my finger. “What kind of gift?”

“Take off your clothes.”

Between the walk from the kitchen to his bedroom, his mien has flipped from playful and passionate to dark and intimidating. I like them both, but I can’t help but think about how his mother’s presence has affected him.

He leans back expectantly, laying one of his powerful arms over the back of the chair, the other holding the cigar to his lips as he draws in the sweet scented smoke. His eyes,God, they are so narrow, so arrowed on me, it's a surprise they don’t feel like knives cutting deep, getting beneath my flesh.

With trembling hands, I remove my clothes, and then turn to lay them over the bed. With my back to him, I take a deep breath, willing my resolve to stay strong.

I stride over to him, completely bare, the light breeze from the air-conditioning dusting my hair around my face. My nipples pebble and ache.

His eyes are blazing blue rings that glare at me as I stop in front of him, my breasts in line with his penetrating gaze.

I run my fingers up the back of his head, through his dark-brown hair, and lean in until my nipple brushes his lip. He opens his mouth, and I slide my nipple through the slant, but he doesn’t suck it or lick. “What do you want me to do,Sir?”

He talks around my nipple, his mouth defiant in giving me the attention I need—I’m desperate for. “Lay over my lap.”

“Can I see my present before I lay down?”

“No. You can see it after.”

“After.”The word falls through a heavy exhale. It wasn’t a question. My lips just found the word both terrifying and exciting, and my ears wanted to hear it again.

He places a cushion on the other side of his lap. His blue gaze tracks me as I slide onto the couch, pressing my knees beside his left thigh. He widens his legs so when I lay down, my pelvis is on his thigh, my arse raised, my torso supported by his hard quads, and my forearms and head are resting on the cushion he positioned earlier.

His black suit pants are smooth, but at my navel his hard cock bruises the soft, supple flesh. I’m so aroused by being bent over him as he casually smokes his cigar. My heart is a steady little pulse in my neck. My pussy throbs. My hips shamelessly circle on his thigh.

I press against him with more force. Rub. Moan when I feel his defined thigh at my core. The intensity sends shivers along my spine, activating my skin, prickling the small light hairs all over my body.

“Are you humping me, sweet girl?” he says, the sound of his inhale and exhale the only way I can tell he’s still smoking his cigar. Then a cloud of sweet vapour tumbles down my face.

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