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Though his hips rocked steadily, and she could feel a growing urgency all through his legs, his hips, his ass, he never tried to force more on her than she gave him. His hand remained on her head, firm but not forceful. He let her have complete control; he gave himself entirely to her will.
No man had ever done that with her before.
The experience of it, of being on her knees before a man, yet wholly in charge, entirely trusted, respected, was so powerfully arousing, Phoebe thought she’d burn to cinders. Her pussy throbbed hotly. Her juices slipped over her folds. Finally she let her hand slip from his hip, down his leg, to her own body. As soon as she pushed her fingers through her folds and found her clit, she moaned around his cock.
And Duncan grunted like he’d been stabbed. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Watching you suck me while you finger yourself is gonna break me in half.”
Phoebe set out to find out of that was true.
She almost brought them both to orgasm at the same time. Each time her own pleasure threatened to overwhelm her focus, Duncan would make a move or a sound so replete with fiery need she could only want to give him more.
Then he came, and she let him fill her mouth. As she swallowed, he scooped her from the floor, dropped her onto her bed, and settled between her thighs to finish her off with his mouth.
In mere seconds, he gave her the most explosive, consuming orgasm she’d ever had. And he stayed there, prolonging it right to the edge of pain, then drawing her down gently, until all her spasms had settled and her breath was nearly back to normal.
Where had this guy come from?
He crawled up over her until he was smiling (of course) down at her. “Hey, beautiful. You good?”
She brushed her fingers over his bearded jawline. “Where did you come from?”
“Broken Arrow,” he chuckled. “About sixty miles north.”
CHAPTER NINE
Duncan woke with his pillow vibrating. He shoved his hand under and grabbed his phone to turn off the alarm. The club was leaving on the patch-over run early this morning, and he’d spent the night with Phoebe, so he’d set his phone to shake him awake at three-holy-fuck-thirty A-kill-me-now-M.
Though the weather had become warmer, Phoebe’s bedroom had not. As the last time he’d slept over here, the room was almost cold enough to show breath. But inside their little nest of comforters and closeness, Duncan was warm and snug. Phoebe slept naked before him, curled up as the little spoon.
Getting out of this bed would be torture.
But being late for the run would be worse.
Taking the risk for a few more minutes of cozy peace, he tucked in again and pressed a light kiss on her shoulder, where a small cluster of faint scars sat like a grove of brambles. When she moaned softly and burrowed more deeply into the covers, Duncan leaned back again; he wanted to let her sleep.
He’d told her last night that he’d have to leave well before daylight, so she wouldn’t be surprised to wake up alone in bed. Even so, he felt guilty about it now.
