Page 124 of Dukes of Peril

I’ve fucked Lavinia a lot these past few weeks. Hard and soft. Fast and slow. Quiet in the dark of her loft, and loud in the echo of the Forsyth University Library’s emergency stairwell. She’s even tasted me, those red lips of hers slick against the head of my cock. But she’s never–not once–gotten on her knees to suck my dick like this.

When she releases me, my cock bobs painfully against her chest, brushing the sticky tip across her soft skin. The contact elicits a shiver, from the top of my spine all the way to my balls. Her jaw loosens, pink tongue peeking out to take a tentative swipe over my tip. The surge that runs through me is more intense than the electrical current in that cage.

“Shit, she likes it,” comes a voice from the crowd that filters through the music. Another remarks, “Of course she does, Eugene. She’s a Lucia. She’s aslut.” My jaw tenses, but I remain still as her hand fists around my base, jerking fast. Too fast.

I take in her tense shoulders, her perfunctory moves. This won’t do.

“Slower,” I demand, raising my voice so they’ll hear it. I wind my fingers in her hair, yanking her hair back. She cries out, then takes a breath, before her hand moves again, finding a good rhythm. “That’s better.”

I lean back, relishing the feel of her hand on me. My balls tighten, clear precum weeping desperately from the head. Fuck, if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to come like this. We’re here, and we’re going all the way. Clamping my hand over hers, I say, “Enough. Open your mouth.”

She doesn’t skip a beat, and that’s when I notice how flushed her skin is, all the way down to the swell of her heaving tits. Lavinia is turned on, probably almost as much as I am. Her tongue unfurls, wet and pink, giving me space to slot my cock against the warm surface. She closes her mouth around my head, giving it a little suck.

“That’s right.” I yank her forward, pulling at her hair, and thrust my hips at her face, fucking in deep. She gags around my shaft, startled by the invasion, but I told her I wouldn’t hold back, and I don’t intend to. I drag her off my dick by a fistful of hair, barking, “You're not wet enough! Open.”

Unblinking, she drops her jaw, looking so open and trusting that my stomach flips. Bending over, I hook a hand beneath her chin, aiming for that pink tongue of hers, and spit. The crowd erupts and I bring her back to my cock, feeding it to her with a grunt.

Lavinia’s mouth is warm,perfect, and when I thrust again, fucking into her throat, the men around us go wild. It’s an ugly thing, the looks on their faces, all gnarled and hateful and probably hornier than they’ve ever been in their pathetic little lives.

Her hair falls in her face, sticking to her stretched, shiny lips. I brush it back, wanting so badly to feel her tits, to push my fingers into her tight pussy. But Lavinia isn’t coming on this stage. Not in front of these assholes. They can have this ugliness–thislie–but I won’t allow them to bear witness to something so sacred.

I give her head a few more forceful tugs before leaning back and letting her draw her own rhythm. She curls a hand around my base and bobs, tongue gliding up my shaft until it reaches the head. She gives it a ball aching, suction-fueled tug.

“Keep that up,” I rumble, voice low, “and I’m gonna blow.”

She looks up at me, eyes watering, cheeks pink, but I see something in them. Lavinia Lucia is a fighter, and she’s fucking fighting for me and my boys right now, down on her knees.

She’s not a Duchess.

She’s a goddamn Queen.

Suddenly, I just can’t take it anymore, shooting to my feet as I grip my cock. “You want to know what a Bruin’s Duchess looks like?” I shout, fisting the top of her hair. My eyes pass over Remy and Sy, who are standing between us and the crowd with squared shoulders, ready to fight if they have to, and then the men in the crowd. They’re on their feet in anticipation, phones pointed at us as they record a Bruin jacking off over the heir to North Side.

And then, with a hard grunt, I come.

The first thick ribbon lands on her cheek. She flinches but doesn’t move away, eyes fluttering closed as the second surge lands on her nose, down her mouth, dripping toward her chin. I exhale as I shoot on her forehead, the glob of cum dribbling into her eyebrow. I paint her with it, long slashes of jizz trickling toward her neck, and the crowd erupts in a victorious roar.

It takes me a second to catch my breath, dragging the back of my wrist over my sweaty lip as I watch her rest back on her haunches, cracking one eye. There’s a glob of cum racing toward her mouth and she meets my gaze, lips twitching up into a lightning-fast smirk.

Her tongue darts out to catch it.

It strikes me then, why I’ve known from the first second I saw her that Lavinia is it for me. She’s not just a fighter.

Lavinia is avictor.

Like after every battle,we celebrate our wins.

And that was a major fucking win. Saul thought he could break us down, force our hand. And sure, things escalated in a way I didn’t anticipate but, in the end, the Dukes flipped off Saul Cartwright. With both fingers.

Tonight, we celebrate with pancakes, because fuck, I’m starving.

“You hungry?” I ask Lavinia once we reach the car. There’s an exhaustion running between us, but when she looks at me, there’s a warmth to her smile that takes my breath away.

Lavinia loves me.

Me.

“I could eat,” she says, leaning into Remy’s side. She’s got his two-thousand dollar jacket wrapped around her shoulders and that sexy outfit underneath. Her hair is a mess, and her makeup is smeared, but none of that takes away from how fucking beautiful she is. All of us are wrinkled as hell, and beside the tender bruise forming in the middle of my chest, Sy has a welt forming on his jaw and Remy’s wrists are raw and scraped from being held back by Saul’s goons.

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