Duke orgasmed for the second time within minutes of his first release, his cock having a seemingly endless appetite for the undone, half-naked woman underneath him.
The sounds she was making were driving him as crazy as the feel of her was, her sex holding his cock tight as a fist, her flesh hot and wet as he drove into her again and again, riding out both of their releases for as long as he could.
But he couldn’t keep taking chances like this. Condoms were a one-use-only kind of thing, and he wanted to take care of her in the right manner.
As was his way, he didn’t waste any time—as soon as he wasn’t seeing double from clenching his jaw, he reached between them and held the condom in place as he withdrew. Yup, twice in a row was not safe—and with the way he was feeling? Give him another minute and a half and he was going to be tempted to go for number three.
He was so not interested in stopping—and he had another Trojan, but goddamn it, he was too impatient for that.
Dropping his head, he found one of her nipples and ran his tongue around it as he adjusted his position, his knees moving off the boat cushions and finding the decking. Handling Cait harder than he would have liked, he shuffled her around as he kept kissing his way down her body—and like she’d read his mind and wanted exactly what he did, her knees fell wide, her thighs parting as she arched up for his mouth.
Gripping the insides of her legs, he swept his palms upward until he reached her heat with his fingertips. Stroking her, he watched from above as she writhed on the cushions, the luscious planes and angles of her body contorting in the shadows, the fact that she wasn’t completely naked making everything seem even hotter.
When he couldn’t stand the teasing for a second longer, he covered her core with his mouth, sucking at her as he reached up and palmed her breasts. From a distance, he heard her call his name, but all sound was filtered through the prism of an almost unholy need to possess her, to get inside of her, to clothe himself in all this heat of hers.
Her slick flesh was so smooth against his tongue as he licked at her and then penetrated her, dipping deep inside of her. And because he wanted her to orgasm for him again, he rubbed his thumb in circles at the top of her sex, urging her up to and over that awesome cliff.
She came against his face.
And he fucking loved it.
So much so, he didn’t stop. He drove her harder, giving her another one as he put a hand down to his cock and squeezed hard, pumping up and back.
He said her name against her flesh as he ejaculated—
A loud clapping sound went off behind them, and he instantly came back online with reality, jacking up from between her thighs and wrenching around as he put a hand on her lower belly to hold her in place.
Just the door.
In his haste to get on her, he hadn’t bothered to check that it had re-latched itself, and the wind had blown things wide and then sucked them shut.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I got this.”
Wiping his mouth and jaw with his hand, he stalked over and closed the panels properly. It was time to go, though. He didn’t care about getting caught, but he was willing to bet she did.
“That scared me,” she said as he came back over.
She had pulled down her shirt and was bent in half, obviously tugging her panties back into place. As she straightened and got to her feet, he thought her re-dressing should have counted as a crime.
“Next time,” he heard himself say, “I want to fuck you in a bed.”
Chapter
Thirty-two
Wash your hands, G.B. told himself. Just wash your frickin’ hands.
This is going to be fine.
As he stood over the sink in the basement of the Palace Theatre, his heart was going a million miles a minute. But at least his vision had cleared and he could see the industrial faucet in front of him, and the deep-bellied sink, and the bald bulb that hung from a chain over his head.
“Wash … your … hands.”
He’d taken the heavy-duty gloves he’d used off … but he still felt like he had to clean himself.
He closed his eyes, but that was not a good idea. Not for his brain and not for his balance. As he opened them again, he was at least able to stop himself from listing to one side. The images in his mind? They persisted, raw and with sound and smell.
As he rubbed his soapy palms together, he looked for something else to clean them with even though there was nothing on them, some kind of heavy-duty—
Bleach. There was bleach in a dusty bottle under the sink, along with some other chemicals.
The Clorox burned as he poured it on both his hands, first the left, and then the right. The stench was horrible, but this part of the theater’s vast basement complex wasn’t exactly a flower shop—which was a good thing.
Not a lot of foot traffic.
“Just pull it together,” he said. “You need to pull it together.”
He shut off the water with his elbows and went to rub his hands dry on his—oh, shit. His shirt.
He stripped himself and wadded up the cotton, shoving it into the three-inch-wide space between the sink and the battered cupboard. He’d have to come back for it; he had other things to worry about now—but at least he had a clean button-down in his backpack.
The next thing he washed was his face, his neck, his chest. And hit all that shit with bleach, too.
When he was finally done, a quick check of his watch reassured him that other than housekeeping staff, he was likely totally alone.
Walking around the cramped space, he brushed cobwebs out of the way, but was thankful for them. Along with the heavy layer of dust on the countertops and the seventies labels on the supplies on the shelves, it seemed reasonable to assume no one had been anywhere near here recently.
Well, except for him and Jennifer. And she’d stayed out in the hall.
She wasn’t going anywhere. Anymore.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Focus. He needed to fucking focus—God, he hated when he got like this. All scattered and weird in the head—
“Hello.”
G.B. let out a bark as he wheeled around. Standing in the doorway, looking like twelve million dollars, was that brunette, the one who had come and visited him the night before last.
“I’m glad I found you,” she said in that seductive voice of hers.
“How did you know I was down here?”
Had she seen—
The woman waved a manicured hand, batting away the question. “Someone upstairs saw you. They said you were with a woman—I hope I’m not interrupting.”
From out of nowhere, the self-preservation that had always rescued him came to the forefront, zipping him up tight.
“I’m not sure where she went.” He felt himself smiling. “What can I do for you?”
The woman walked into the squalid room, her perfume covering up the sting of the bleach and the musty odor of the damp concrete walls.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she murmured.
“Have you?” He snagged an old cloth and wiped his hands, wishing the thing was clean. “That’s lucky for me.”
She looked around the utility room. “What are you doing down here? Half naked?”
“I was looking for some old props. I ended up with paint all over my hands—and my shirt.”
“Messy, messy. But you took care of it, didn’t you.”
Something in the tone of her voice made his eyes narrow. For a split second, he could have sworn knowledge seemed to glow in her stare.
“Did the bleach help?” She sniffed the air. “I can smell it. You know, clean hands are so important.”
What the … fuck?
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about you, too,” he said, taking control of the conversation. “And what you told me.”