My dick immediately stirs at the memory, straining against my pants.
Normally I would make a phone call, invite someone over to take care of the ache already building in my balls.
But watching a pair of red lips dramatically suck my cock doesn’t hold the appeal it once did.
Not when I have the image of Duchess’s sweet mouth swallowing me down still burned into my brain.
But even that isn’t the primary reason she seems to dominate my thoughts.
Any other woman would have gone home, thankful she didn’t have to fulfill her end of the bargain between us.
But Duchess didn’t. Somehow she convinced Victor to bring her here, and stood in front of me, defiant and unafraid.
Two characteristics that continued even when she went to her knees.
Which must be the reason I can think of nothing else but finding a way to make it happen again.
Except I won’t do it.
Duchess isn’t the kind of woman who belongs in my world, and she certainly isn’t the kind that belongs in my life.
Or my bed.
She’s still young and sweet and naïve and full of hope, something that left me a long time ago.
She’s looking for white picket fences and rose gardens.
I’m just looking for someone to satisfy my needs.
Which she proved to be surprisingly capable of.
The ache in my dick grows stronger, pulling me away from the windows and to the phone on my desk.
I drop down into my chair. The same chair I sat in barely forty-eight hours ago, watching as Duchess proved every assumption I had about her wrong.
I shove one hand down the front of my pants, gripping my straining cock tight, hoping only to ease the discomfort long enough for me to make a phone call. Janine could be here in five minutes, spread across my desk, begging me to fuck her.
But I don’t want to fuck Janine.
The tight grip I have loosens, just enough for my fist to drag down my length.
I haven’t fucked my hand in years. Haven’t had to. A willing woman was always waiting with a hot mouth and an eager cunt.
I could have either of those now, and yet I find myself jerking off to the memory of Duchess’s blue eyes looking up at me, watery and wet, gagging on my cock as she forces it down her throat, eager to please me.
I grunt as I come, ruining my pants like I wish I could ruin her.
Because I can only imagine what else she’s willing to prove she can do.
But Duchess will have to find someone else to deflower her. Someone patient enough to deal with easing his dick into an unwelcoming hole.
Not that Duchess seemed all that unwelcoming while I covered her perfect tits in my cum.
Speaking of covered in cum.
I wrangle my hand from my pants and wipe it on one leg as I stand up to strip the trashed Armani from my body. My phone rings before I even have the waistband open, the number flashing across the screen catching my attention immediately.
I answer it, connecting the call faster than I should, but offering no greeting to the woman I know is on the other end.