Page 5 of Bred By the Duke

The library.

I’ve been coming here with a regularity I can barely admit to myself since that night.

I pull a chair around so it faces the window seat where she sat, and I stare at it, a glass of scotch in my hand.

If I can just get through the wedding, I tell myself, Rochelle will leave, and I can go back to being able to focus on my work. Go back to being alone and trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to ever forget the way she felt when I kissed her.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the chair. Just knowing she is in the same building as I am, I can’t focus on anything else.

My cock hardens. I usually don’t let it. Force myself to think of anything else. I’ve even tried watching porn and imagining myself with any one of those women, willing and eager, anyone but her. But nothing ever works. It’s always her in my mind when I come.

The sun has fully set now, and the room is dark save for the glint of pale moonlight that pushes through the windows. One-handed, I open my belt and fly, pulling my cock free and stroking it slowly from base to tip.

I place the scotch on the small side table and bring my other hand down to cup my balls, thinking about her pillowy lips and big, bright eyes. Imagining what she would look like on her knees before me now, working me with her hands or maybe even her mouth.

A fizzing, popping sensation sparks at the base of my spine. I’m using both hands on my shaft now, pumping in a rhythm that will get me there while remembering the taste of her in my mouth. I wanted to taste every part of her. The skin at her neck, her nipples, her pussy. I wonder about what she might like. Would she like being eaten out? Would she prefer one finger pleasuring her or two? How long would it take her to sink onto my cock? How wet does she get? Does she squirt when she comes apart?

That’s what sends me over the edge, the thought of her juices soaking my face. I come hard, spurting onto my shirt with a groan I barely manage to suppress as my body racks and jerks. My head falls back, my eyes are closed, and it takes everything in me not to call out her name.

The worst thing about all this?

I don’t even feel like it’s scratched the surface.

My balls still ache desperately, my cock is still hard in my hands, and my blood is still running too hot.

I don’t think I’m going to survive until the end of the week.

Chapter Three

Rochelle

After another hour on the binder, which Delia did a spectacular job of maintaining, I decide to call it a night and get ready for bed. The day has been busy, exhausting even, but good progress has been made considering I came in knowing nothing about the wedding apart from the color and style of the dresses.

I finally unpack my suitcase, hanging up the little black dress I chose for the rehearsal dinner on Friday evening and change into the cotton nightdress I grabbed in a hurry from my bedside drawer this morning.

My thoughts go to the letter I left on my kitchen table. The fact that everything feels like it is before the wedding, or after the wedding in terms of when it happened to me and what it will sound like in future conversations with Cassia.

Oh, remember when I lost my job and then helped make your wedding happen all in the same week?

Yes, that was the job I got after your wedding. Remember? The wedding planner let you down last minute!

But my thoughts inevitably return to Lucas.

The duvet is too heavy. I huff and throw it from me, thinking how it’s always like this when I stay over now. I’ve managed to minimize the days I spend here by arranging to meet with Cassia elsewhere. My place, a spa as a birthday treat, the new little bed and breakfast by the lake that has the best afternoon tea. But the times I can’t get out of, like Cassia’s wedding, I end up tangled up in bedsheets thinking of Lucas and that stupid kiss. Or worse, dreaming of Lucas and what else I would have let him do to me that night in the library.

It’s almost midnight when I give up and decide to go to the library. I have a ridiculous notion that if I go back to the scene of the kiss, I’ll be able to sit there, in that same space, and create a new memory to override the old one.

It makes perfect sense to me. I’ll just sit in the cushioned nook near the lead glass window with the diamond quarries that overlooks the fountain, give myself one last moment with the memory, and then let it go.

I pad through the house in just my nightdress since I know everyone will be in their own rooms at this hour, and I won’t be long anyway. Maybe just an hour or so. One hour to have one last memory of that night. Then a fresh start in the morning.

I feel good about it when I reach the door of the library. It’s closed, which is unusual, the handle cool in my palm. I press it gently and swing the heavy door open, and immediately regret all of my life choices.

I’m frozen to the spot while Lucas sits in a leather Chesterfield armchair facing the window. I know exactly what he is doing. His breathing is ragged, and one leg is stretched forward and tensed. Both arms are moving, and his eyes are fixed on the window seat where he kissed me. Where I was going to sit tonight and try to forget it ever happened.

Then there’s a groan and a pause in his movements as the first rope of cum shoots hard enough from him that I see where it lands on the shoulder of his shirt.

I gasp. Blink. Try to make my legs move. Am I even breathing right now?