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But none of those things were for casual acquaintances to know, and she wasn’t sure if Duncan was anything more than that yet, or if he wanted to be, or if she wanted him to be.
She was getting a sense about that last one, though. She really liked him, she could feel that gaining speed, and he’d done nothing yet to cause her to tug on the reins.
His smile faded and his hand slipped down to cup her cheek. “Sorry. I sounded like an asshole.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m glad you don’t think of it every time you look at me.”
He bent low and brought his lips almost to hers. His voice deep and low and sultry, he murmured, “Trust me, that is not what I’m thinking about when I look at you.”
Was there a hotter sentence in the world? Not in Phoebe’s world. Her whole body rolled out a welcome mat.
She slipped her arms around his neck. “I need to know what you’re like when you’re an asshole. I don’t want to get blindsided by it.”
He brushed his lips over hers and asked in a breath, “What if I’m just not an asshole?”
She rose onto tiptoes and arched her body into his. Her body really wanted her mouth to shut the fuck up. But her rebuilt brain needed to know. “Everybody’s an asshole, at least sometimes. I sure am.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a chance to get blindsided by that.” He ended the discussion there, claiming her mouth fully, using his tongue to steal all her words.
He was an excellent kisser, exploring without overwhelming, seeking out her response as if a kiss were a waltz. He led, he didn’t dominate. And he kissed as if it was the goal itself rather than a hoop to jump through to get what he really wanted.
In Phoebe’s moderate experience, that was rare.
She was the one to start them moving toward something else. While their mouths waltzed, she slipped her hands from his neck and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He took the hint and worked her buttons as well. As their shirts came off, she grabbed his belt, still keeping her mouth snug with his, and pulled him with her as she walked backward toward her bed. There, with her legs firm against the foot of her mattress, they finally let the kiss end.
They finished stripping, hardly looking away from each other. His eyes drank her up like water to slake a long thirst. Before he tossed his jeans away, he pulled out his wallet and extracted a condom. With a sly grin, he said, “Let’s skip the rainbow colors tonight.”
Phoebe laughed and slipped her fingertips into the waistband of his underwear: navy boxer briefs; she approved. “I don’t know. The purple kind of worked for me.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t your goods looking like they’d caught something terminal.”
She trailed her fingers up over the ridges of his belly, to the mounds of his pecs, through the light spray of hair between them. His muscles quivered under each touch.
“You seem pretty healthy to me,” she said. “I really like your body.”
His hands slid lightly down her arms. “I like yours, too.”
On a whim, Phoebe dropped to her knees, grabbing his underwear on the way and taking them down with her. His beautiful cock sprang free and brushed her cheek, leaving a light streak of wet there.
“Pheeb, ” he gasped in an earthy rasp.
The sound was perfect. The word was not. It was the first syllable of her name, yes, and thus an obvious choice for a nickname. A gesture of intimacy. But it was also a homophone of a slur she detested, one that had been tossed her way a few times after her injury, when she was still relearning how to be a person.
She looked up and waited until Duncan’s eyes opened and focused on her. “I don’t like to be called that.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“No need. Unless you do it again.”
“I won’t.”
She believed him.
Returning her focus to her task, Phoebe hooked one hand over Duncan’s hip—he had a subtle V-cut, and she settled her hand in that convenient slot—wrapped the other around the base of his pleasingly thick shaft, and brought her mouth to his tip. A bead of wet quivered there, waiting.
With the lightest of touches, she licked it up. His ass tightened, and his hips flexed toward her. She licked him again, with more pressure, and he groaned. His hand landed on the top of her head, but he didn’t grab at her.
When she sucked his full tip into his mouth, he groaned again, long and rough, and his hips began to rock. Picking up the tempo he’d started, Phoebe settled in and sucked him off, using her hand as well so she could touch all of him.
