19. Duke #2
I unlaced my boots and set them by the back door before climbing the stairs. I sure as fuck wasn’t looking forward to another night cramped in that too-small bed, but I took comfort in knowing Sylvie had no complaints about taking the primary bedroom.
Her nausea had seemed to ease up a bit, but she had informed me with a laugh that it had been replaced with the near-constant urge to use the bathroom. It may have been a small gesture, but giving up my bedroom had been the right call. It was the least I could do.
The stairs creaked under my weight as I climbed to the second floor. The old farmhouse walls were thin, and I could hear the faint hum of a fan and the rustle of bedsheets.
I paused in front of her door, indecision gnawing at me. I lifted my fist, prepared to gently knock and wish her Happy Thanksgiving and a good night.
An unfamiliar noise stopped me. I paused mid-knock, hearing a throaty moan as it floated through the door. A knot formed in my throat as blood surged to my cock. My dick twitched to life when I realized the hum had come from Sylvie.
I listened again. Not the hum of a fan... vibrations.
Blood pounded between my ears as my cock thickened. An irrational surge of jealousy coursed through me.
Was she in there with someone?
“Oh Duke . . .”
My dick was rock hard, and I palmed it through my jeans. Hearing my name as breathless whispers on Sylvie’s lips was too much. I leaned closer to make out the muffled words.
“More, Duke. Yes. Oh my god. Yes .”
Holy fuck.
Unless Sylvie was behind the door with someone who shared my name, she was most definitely touching herself and thinking of me .
My hand paused above the door handle. I wanted to barge in and give her the real thing, but her needy little hum stopped me. If she actually wanted me to touch her, she would have said something—would have somehow told me that she wanted me like she had that day on the beach.
But fuck , if she wanted to get off on thoughts of me, I was fine with that too.
Instead of opening the door, I quickly undid my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled the zipper down. In one quick movement, I freed my aching cock and gave it a tight tug. I leaned one hand on the doorframe, bracing my weight, and the wood creaked beneath my palm. I stopped to listen.
“Yes, Duke, please keep going.”
“Oh, hell yeah,” I whispered.
I managed to keep my moan low. Sylvie’s vibrator hummed in the background as I spit on my palm and began to stroke. My dick pulsed, protesting against not feeling the real thing. I wanted to be buried in her hot, tight cunt—to hear those desperate moans as I matched her stroke for stroke.
When her moans became muffled, I imagined she had her face buried in a pillow.
My pillow .
“Duke...” Sylvie’s muffled cry of my name while she touched herself was my undoing.
My fingertips brushed against the wood door as my palm flattened against it.
“Sylvie.” I sounded angrier than I’d intended.
Her sharp intake of breath made me pause.
“Don’t stop,” I commanded, stroking my cock as I closed my eyes and imagined being in the room with her.
Her voice was tight with tension but confident. “I’m not.”
I wrestled to maintain control as I stroked. My abs flexed as I pumped into my fist.
“Are you still there?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I ground out, hating the distance between us.
“Are you . . . touching yourself?”
“Hell yes.”
“I’m close . . . please don’t stop. I’m sorry. I just need . . .”
I was hurtling closer to the edge, so I reached back to my collar, whipping off my shirt as I spoke to her through the door. “Don’t be sorry. I need this too.”
Her moan, no longer stifled, rattled through the darkness.
I couldn’t breathe. The air clung to my lungs in thick drags.
My jaw flexed, and a knot formed at the base of my spine.
A jolt of heat ran down my cock every time my thumb grazed the head.
I closed my eyes and imagined Sylvie laid bare before me.
“Duke.”
My name on her lips drove me harder. I clenched my teeth, and I was consumed by her, drowning in her.
Sylvie cried out, then released the air from her lungs in a breathless, satisfied huff. I grunted through a few final tugs before biting back a moan and following right behind her. I tipped my hips, angling my cock so cum gathered on my lower abs.
My breaths were as ragged as hers had been. Small black spots filled my vision, and my knees wobbled.
“Thank you.” She suddenly sounded shy and uncertain.
Spent, I leaned my forehead against the door.
I need to tell her. Tell her I want her and that existing side by side is killing me.
“Good night, Duke.”
I straightened and swallowed down my confession. “Good night, Sylvie.”
As the sheets rustled from behind the door, I gathered myself, tucking my cock back into my jeans and heading down the hall to the second bathroom.
I quietly closed the door and flipped the switch. Harsh, blinding light made me squint. I bit back an oath and looked at myself in the mirror.
What a piece of shit.
I had just come alongside Sylvie, listened to her while she pleasured herself while thinking of me. Maybe it had been wrong, but holy fuck was it hot.
A part of me had hoped that whatever tension had been building between us would finally dissolve. Maybe then she wouldn’t consume every corner of my mind. I took one last look at my reflection before shaking my head and flicking off the light.
Fucking idiot.
Somehow Sylvie had burrowed her way into the very heart I had been careful to keep hardened. Knowing she craved me as much as I craved her made it only worse. I hated myself for pretending she wanted me the way I wanted her—all consuming. Desperate and hungry for more.
If Sylvie were anyone else, I probably would have laid my feelings bare already, but she had plans to leave, escape this town, and never look back. It was a dream I couldn’t imagine stealing from her. I had never been given a choice, and I wouldn’t take that from her.
But one thing I knew for certain, when she and our kid left, Sylvie would be taking the last remnants of my soul with her.