24. Duncan
DUNCAN
The belt comes loose under my fingers with a single tug and the robe falls open, pooling on her shoulders but not quite sliding off yet.
She's naked underneath, skin still warm and damp from the shower, and I have to close my eyes for half a second just to regain some semblance of control because the sight of her like this—completely bare, looking at me like she wants this as much as I do—is almost too much to process.
When I open them again she's watching my face, reading every microexpression like she's searching for something. Proof maybe, that this is real and I'm not going to disappear the second it gets complicated.
I push the robe off her shoulders and it drops to the floor in a soft heap of terry cloth.
Then I'm kissing her again, slower this time, my hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips.
Her skin is impossibly soft under my palms, still slightly slick with moisture, and when I pull her flush against me she makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan that goes straight through me.
"Couch," she murmurs against my mouth. "It's closer."
I walk her backward toward the living room without breaking the kiss, my hands never leaving her waist. We stumble slightly when her heel catches on the edge of the rug but I catch her, one arm wrapping around her back to steady her before she can fall.
She laughs breathlessly against my lips and the sound is so unexpected, so completely unguarded, that I have to pause just to look at her properly.
Her hair is still wet, curling at the ends where it frames her face.
Her mouth is swollen from kissing, lips parted as she tries to catch her breath.
And her eyes—dark brown and wide and looking at me like I'm the only person in the world who matters right now—hold something that looks like hope mixed with terror.
"Don't stop," she says quietly.
"I'm not." I kiss her again, softer this time, then guide her the rest of the way to the couch. When the backs of her knees hit the cushion she sits without me having to tell her to, and I kneel in front of her because standing feels too far away right now.
Her thighs are pressed together and I run my hands up from her knees to part them gently, settling myself in the space between. She watches me with an expression that's half curiosity and half something darker, her chest rising and falling rapidly in a way that tells me she's as nervous as I am.
I lean forward and kiss her knee, then her inner thigh, working my way up slowly while my hands grip her hips to keep her steady.
Her skin tastes faintly of body wash, something citrus and clean, and when I reach the juncture between her legs she lets out a shaky exhale that makes me want to take my time with this, draw it out until she's begging.
But we don't have time for slow. Not with everything crashing down around us, not with the knowledge that tomorrow could bring another scandal or leaked video or some new disaster designed to tear us apart.
So instead I slide one hand between her thighs and find her already wet, slick with arousal that makes my breath catch in my throat.
"Duncan—" Her voice breaks on my name and her head falls back against the couch cushion.
I push one finger inside her and she gasps, her hips lifting slightly off the seat to meet the motion. She's tight and warm and I have to close my eyes again because the feel of her clenching around even just my finger is almost enough to undo me completely.
I add a second finger and her hands come up to grip my shoulders hard enough that I can feel her nails digging through the fabric of my sweater. I set a rhythm that's slow at first, watching her face for reactions, adjusting the angle until I find the spot that makes her moan and tighten around me.
Her breathing gets faster, shallower, punctuated by small sounds she's trying to muffle by biting her lower lip.
I lean forward and kiss her neck just below her ear, then drag my mouth down the column of her throat while my fingers continue their steady pace.
Her pulse hammers under my lips, rapid and erratic, and when I scrape my teeth lightly over the skin she shudders and cries out.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmur against her collarbone. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
She doesn't answer, just threads her fingers through my hair and pulls me up to kiss her again. Her tongue slides against mine, demanding and desperate, and I can feel her thighs trembling on either side of me as she gets closer.
I curl my fingers inside her and press my thumb against her clit at the same time, and that's all it takes.
She breaks apart with a sound that's half gasp and half sob, her entire body tensing before the pleasure crashes through her in waves I can feel rippling around my fingers.
She clings to me through it, her face buried against my neck, and I keep moving inside her until the aftershocks finally subside and she goes boneless in my arms.
For a moment we just stay like that, her breathing slowly returning to normal while I press kisses to her shoulder and wait for her to come back to herself. When she finally lifts her head to look at me, her eyes are glassy and unfocused in a way that makes pride surge through my chest.
"That was—" she starts, then stops, shaking her head like words are failing her.
"I'm not done," I say.
Before she can respond I'm pulling my sweater over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me.
My jeans follow, awkward to get off while kneeling but I manage it, and then I'm climbing onto the couch with her.
She scoots back to make room and I settle between her thighs again, this time with nothing between us.
I'm already hard, have been since the moment I pushed that robe off her shoulders, and when the head of my cock brushes against her entrance she makes a small sound of anticipation that nearly destroys what little restraint I have left.
"Look at me," I say, waiting until her eyes meet mine before I push forward.
The first inch is slow, giving her time to adjust, but she's still tight enough that I have to grit my teeth against the overwhelming urge to bury myself completely in one thrust. Her hands come up to grip my biceps and her nails dig in hard enough to leave marks, little crescents of pressure that ground me when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.
"More," she whispers, and I give it to her.
I push deeper, inch by inch, until I'm fully seated inside her and we're pressed together so tightly I can feel every rapid beat of her heart against my chest. She wraps her legs around my waist and locks her ankles at the small of my back, changing the angle just enough that I hit something inside her that makes her gasp.
Then I start to move.
It's not gentle. There's too much emotion behind this, too many weeks of wanting her and holding back, too many days of thinking I'd lost her before I ever really had her.
My hips snap forward in a rhythm that's almost punishing, each thrust driving her deeper into the couch cushions while she clings to me like I'm the only thing keeping her anchored.
I brace one hand on the armrest above her head for leverage and slide the other under her lower back to lift her hips higher, changing the angle again until she's crying out with every stroke.
Her head thrashes against the cushion, her wet hair leaving damp streaks on the fabric, and the sounds she's making are completely unguarded now—high and desperate and so honest it makes my chest ache.
I lean down and kiss her neck again, trailing my mouth along the curve where it meets her shoulder. Her skin tastes like salt and citrus and something uniquely hers, and when I bite down gently she arches up against me with a moan that reverberates through both our bodies.
"Duncan—" My name comes out broken, half plea and half prayer. "I can't?—"
"Yes you can," I murmur against her ear. "Come for me again."
I shift my weight to free one hand and slide it between us, finding her clit with my thumb while I continue thrusting into her.
She's already sensitive from the first orgasm and it only takes a few circles of pressure before she's tensing again, her inner walls clamping down around me so tightly I almost lose it right there.
She comes with my name on her lips, her back bowing off the couch as the pleasure tears through her. I fuck her through it, prolonging every wave until she's shaking and gasping beneath me, and only then do I let myself follow.
My orgasm hits like a freight train, white-hot and all-consuming, every muscle in my body going rigid as I empty myself inside her.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck and hold her as tightly as I can without crushing her, riding out the aftershocks until I'm spent and trembling and completely wrecked.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled together on her couch with our breathing slowly syncing up. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, up and down my spine, and I press kisses to her shoulder just to feel her skin under my lips.
Eventually I shift my weight off her, careful not to crush her completely, and she makes a small sound of protest when I pull out. I settle beside her on the narrow couch, pulling her against my chest so she's half-draped across me with her head tucked under my chin.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
She nods against my chest. "Yeah. You?"
"Better than I've been in days."
She's quiet for a moment, her fingers still tracing patterns on my skin. "I'm sorry I ignored your calls."
"Don't apologize. You had every right to be angry."
"I wasn't angry. I was scared." She tilts her head to look up at me. "Scared that you'd actually done it, leaked the contract. Scared that I'd let myself care about someone who would throw me away the second things got hard."
I tighten my arms around her. "I would never do that to you, Millie. Never."
"I know. I think I knew even then, but fear makes you believe stupid things." She shifts slightly, adjusting so she can see my face properly. "LaToya told me to block you. Said you were a liability and I needed distance."
My jaw tightens. "Are you going to?"
"No." She says it without hesitation. "I'm done running from this. From you."
The relief that floods through me is so intense I have to close my eyes for a second. When I open them again she's still watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"I love you too," she says quietly. "I should have said it before. I was too scared to admit it out loud, but I do. I love you, Duncan."
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, slow and deep and with every ounce of feeling I've been holding back for weeks. When we finally break apart we're both breathing hard again, and I can see the exhaustion starting to creep into her features now that the adrenaline is fading.
"Stay," she whispers. "Tonight. Just stay with me."
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise.
And I mean it.