Not really, but I'm not going there.
"Hey, Rune," Duncan whispered. "Come back to me."
I swallowed, looking up at him. "What? I'm here."
"No, you're not." A rough palm cradled my cheek. "I can go. I don't want you to be scared of me."
"I'm not scared of you," I said. "I don't want you to leave."
"Then what do you want?" he asked.
"I…"
He bent down, thumb pressing my chin up, and nuzzled my lips with his. "This?"
"Uh huh," I breathed, all thoughts rapidly evaporating. "I like that."
Instead of delving into a lingering kiss like I expected, he turned my face away, tilted it higher to bare my throat, touching hot, slow kisses down the column of my throat; each touch of his lips burned my skin, scorched my nerves, lit dynamite in my core. Soft wet lips danced over my breastbone, touched the ridgeline of my shoulder. I gasped as his mouth sizzled down my chest and over the twin swells of my breasts, tongue sliding over the slopes, left side and then right, left and then right. His fingers dove into my hair and toyed with the thick tresses, his other hand descending by increments to cup the outside of my hip.
I tipped my head back until it thunked against the door, sent my hands on a quest to find his flesh and muscle. Lifting the hem of his sweatshirt, I found what I was looking for—hard muscle and soft, hot skin at his belly. I pushed at his hoodie, and he yanked it off with an impatient snarl, hurling it aside.
"Thank fuck," I whispered, carving greedy, hungry hands over the rippling wonderland of his impossibly shredded eight-pack abs. "How the fuck do you maintain this while working the hours you do?"
"Hard work, a strict diet, and fucking fantastic genetics." He grinned at me. "To be honest, it's mostly just unfair genetics. I do work out a lot and watch what I eat and drink pretty closely, but it's mostly just the genes."
I pressed the waistband of his shorts lower, baring those razor-sharp V-cut grooves, gnawing on my lower lip as my lady bits sat up and took notice. "These things drive me bananas," I whispered, trailing my fingers down his abs and along the grooves, only stopping when I reached the boundary of the waistband.
"I know the feeling," he murmured, scraping his hands up my belly to gather the heavy, aching weight of my tits in his hands.
"Yeah, but I'm naked," I pointed out. "You're not."
His smirk was that maddening, cocky grin, as infuriating as it was arousing. "If it bothers you that much, maybe you should do something about it."
"Maybe I should," I agreed.
I tugged his shorts lower, but they caught on something huge and hard and upright. Hooking my fingers inside the elastic at his hipbones, I pulled the shorts away from his body—no underwear. Lowering them past the hard bubble of his ass and the tentpole of his erection, I let the shorts drop to the floor, letting out a whimper of aroused surprise at the size of the organ waiting for me.
I met Duncan's eyes, watching greedily for his reaction as I curled my fingers around his hot, hard length. "It looked big on FaceTime," I whispered. "But in person…"
I stroked him from tip to root, a caress that took an improbably long time, watching his face betray his pleasure: his eyes shuttered, eyelids fluttering as his eyes rolled back in his head, jaw dropping open with a quiet hiss. I squeezed at his root, palming his heavy balls in my other hand, grinning as his legs bent helplessly at my touch.
"Fuck, Rune," he growled. "Feels too fucking good."
I glided my loosely-curled fist up to his plump, round glans, rolling my thumb over the tip now weeping precum, making him growl like a cornered predator.
And then he yanked himself out of my grip. “Goddammit," he snarled. "That's not how this is gonna go, Smokeshow."
Before I could so much as squeak in protest, my hands were pinioned in his and pressed overhead against the hard, cold surface of the door, and his mouth was plundering mine, tongue darting and daring, sweeping against my lips and teeth and tongue. His other hand cupped my breast, squeezed, thumb grazing my erect nipple, and then his palm seared down my belly and his fingers scratched over my pubic hair, parted the tender flesh of my pussy, middle finger delving between my lips and pushing inside me.
I whimpered at the penetration, struggled against his hold. "Let me touch you, goddammit, " I said through gritted teeth. "Please."
"Hell no," he answered, that long finger curling inside me, withdrawing to smear the essence of my arousal over my clit, making me whimper again, making my knees threaten to give out, making my tits ache and my nipples throb into diamond erections, making all of me go hot and wild with the need to reciprocate—to touch, to taste.
I didn't play-struggle, then—I genuinely fought his hold, trying to free my hands so I could get them around his massive cock. It was futile—he was too strong by several orders of magnitude; he held me without effort, without having to grip too tightly. The reminder of how much stronger than me he was should have frightened me, but it didn't. I continued to thrash against his hold, growling like a trapped wildcat, but those growls and snarls and mewling, frustrated whimpers shifted to gasps and pants and huffs of ecstasy as he fitted his finger inside me again, withdrew, smeared it circles over my clit, and then thrust two fingers into me, once again giving my clit a single, teasing swipe of his fingers.
"Duncan!" I whispered. "Please."
He shoved my hands hard against the door, extended at arm’s length overhead, dipping at his knees to suckle a hard nipple between his teeth. "Fuck, Rune. Your body is fucking goddamned perfect. You're goddamned perfect."
