I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I wouldn’t keep the money we make, would I? It’s technically yours, since we’re basing a lot of the curriculum on what you’ve just demonstrated. But I get a cut since I’m going to be the main investor, and going to be building this academy.”
Duke nodded seriously. “Naturally.”
“Whatever profit comes after the investment will obviously be donated to various charities. But womankind need you to spread this talent. And I’m not going to allow you to do it the conventional way, so this is the next logical step.”
Duke’s face was blank but his eyes danced with amusement. “Of course.”
I frowned at him. “This is serious, you know. Countless men don’t know how to do what you just did. There are millions of women suffering right now, millions sneaking off to bathrooms to satisfy themselves while their husbands snore in the bed. It’s my duty to help these women.”
“Baby, it’s nothing to do with the man’s skills and everything to do with the man himself,” Duke said. “A man who doesn’t make an effort to satisfy his woman so thoroughly she has trouble forming sentences—until she gets a crazy idea about a sex academy—is not a man at all.”
My stomach dipped yet again. First with the “baby,” then the rest.
The. Fucking. Rest.
“Contrary to every porno and movie ever made, there are very few women who are unable to use their limbs after sex, or women who orgasm three times before the man has ever done so once.” I made sure to put the sex into my voice.
If the look in Duke’s eyes was anything to go by, it translated well.
“Well, baby, there are very few true men out there in the world,” he said, voice rough. “Count yourself lucky you’re in bed with one right now.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “He’s humble to boot.”
He shrugged. “Confident.”
“Well, I think I’m going to have to do some more research on this academy,” I continued, trailing my finger down his bare pec. “You know, just in case.”
I’d no sooner finished my sentence than I was flipped onto my back, Duke’s lips at my neck.
He didn’t say anything else.
But I sure did conduct a decent amount of research.
“What are these from?” I asked, trailing my fingers over two puckered scars on Duke’s stomach. They marred his otherwise perfect abs. He had other scars, not as deep and violent-looking as these, though.
My head was resting on his chest and it was my first chance to inspect him up close. And to slow down my thundering heart. It was only now getting down to a resting rate, and we’d been lying here like this, silent, for at least half an hour.
I had no idea what time it was, or, fuck, what day it was.
All I knew was that Duke’s arms felt nice around me and made me feel as safe and sated as I’d been…ever.
“Knife wounds,” Duke said, answering my question. “Friend of mine had a fuckin’ piece of shit stalker after her. Somehow got through security, took me by surprise.”
He was angry about that, it vibrated through his voice. Not even at the man who did the stabbing, but at himself.
But I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to inspect that. I was too busy focusing on the fact that the two scars I was touching were from someone fucking stabbing him.
“You were stabbed? Was it serious?”
A totally stupid question, I was aware, since two knives slicing into your stomach deep enough to cause a scar like that were most obviously serious.
Duke paused. “Was in a coma for a few days. Hospital for longer. Rehab was a bitch. I’m here to talk about it, but the fucker who did it is in the ground.”
The only reason I was able to jump up from the bed was because Duke was not expecting it. I wasn’t even really planning on getting up either until I started pacing the room. “You were in a coma? That’s serious, Duke,” I snapped, still pacing, trying to work out the images of this strong man lying in a hospital bed.
Duke sat up in bed. “I know it was, I was there,” he said sounding mildly amused. “But I’m also here. So you can come back to bed.”
I ignored this. “What does your family think about you classifying a stabbing that put you in a coma like you got a fucking graze on your knee or something?”
A pause. A heavy one. “They don’t know.”
I stopped pacing at this point to gape at him. “They don’t know? How the heck do your parents not know that you were stabbed and put in the hospital? Weren’t they your emergency contacts?”
I had no idea why I was getting this hysterical over something so far in the past it was nothing but scar tissue, but I was. The idea that Duke’s family had been here going about their daily life while their obviously beloved son was in the hospital baffled and upset me.