Page 98 of Serenity
“What took you so fucking long,” he gritted.
Thrusting upward, he took over the rhythm, orchestrating my movements and slow destruction. Whimpers and whines were emancipated from my throat. Duke’s fingers slid inside my mouth, silencing my love cry. Hungrily, I sucked as he continued to slide into me without mercy.
Our passion stretched to ardent stares, whispers in my ear, nibbles against his neck, interlocked fingers, and tingles up my spine.
Relentless strokes caused us to shift from the sofa to the floor. Pleasure galvanized my core, seizing my senses and threatening to erupt savagely. Duke squeezed my ass cheeks, steadily laying slaps against each. Uncontrollably, I whined as pleasure took root. My head fell forward into his chest as the electrifying sensations rose and abated with my peak.
“Take this dress off. Keep the hat on,” he growled. Undeterred and full of vigor, the man could fuck through multiple orgasms.
Assisting me in getting naked, save for the furry boots and hat, Duke gently gripped my neck.
“Get up, baby. Hands to ankles.”
DIRTY DUKE
As well as I knew how to cook, I hadn’t exercised my skills much during the course of our relationship. At just over five months in, we’d settled into a routine that consisted of either takeout or home-cooked dinner.
I was tired of takeout, so after finishing up early at the spa construction site, I had groceries delivered to plan our meal for the evening.
The aroma of shrimp lasagna baking slowly in the oven filled Duke’s apartment. Drying my hands after finishing up in the kitchen, I headed to the bedroom to tidy up. With the linens stripped and on the floor, the hunt began for a clean extra set.
There were none in the actual linen closet, so I moved toward his walk-in closet. Sure enough, several blankets and sheets were located on the top shelf. Too high for me to reach, I stalked back into the dining area and dragged a chair from the space with me as I returned to the closet.
Gathering the linens, I stepped off the chair and tossed them in the room on the bed. Then I returned for the blanket, which was much heavier than I had anticipated.
As I slid the comforter down the overhead shelf and into my arms, the crashing sound of something heavy colliding with the floor summoned my alarm.
“Shit!” I yelped with my hand to my chest, seeking to settle my anxious heart.
“What the hell?”
Stepping off the chair, I sat the blanket down on it and kneeled to the mess scattered across the floor. Tapes. Lifting one, I turned it left and right in my hands for further scrutiny.
“Pam,” it read.
Lifting another tape and repeating the action informed me it was “Jackie.” Tape after tape, my hands brushed over with various names. So many names. Too many to keep up with. I’d stumbled upon a collection.
Blinking rapidly, my face went slack. Tasha. Tina. Kari. Michelle. Brittany. April. Keisha. Mya. A shudder coursed through me, shaking my body to the core. The insurmountable sense of disillusionment filled me. The schema of my relationship came crashing to the ground alongside those tapes.
We weren’t perfect, but I was happy. I was content. I was moving past our interaction with Mya. I was focused on us. And here was yet another secret about Duke that I’d involuntarily unearthed, threatening to disrupt that. I didn’t need to pop a tape in the camera to know what they were. I was disgusted. Revolted at the fact that they were here in a closet we shared.
Who are you, Duke?
He’d told me of a handful of women he’d recorded. He’d told me how he sent the videos out of spite to Mya, but the tapes scattered about the closet frustrated me beyond my comprehension. This wasn’t a handful. There were dozens of tapes.
Who was he?
I picked up each one—there were at least forty of them—and piled them back into the box they’d been hidden in.
Who the fuck was he?
Hastily, mental flashes of my time with Duke in a swing mounted to a door surfaced. I enjoyed every minute of it. There was a tape of me—of us somewhere, though it wasn’t among the box with the others. To be safe, I’d scanned through each one, grimacing when I didn’t locate my name. After returning Duke’s dirty tapes to the old shoe box, I rose, hastily swiping at the fat, unauthorized tears rolling down my cheeks.
I knew he had tendencies. Knew he had kinks. Knew he was a freak. As much was stated that night when I saw him in Genevieve. We shared similar appetites. I loved every minute of being recorded with him. But still, who the fuck were these women? Why were they here? In this fucking box. Hovering like ghosts of his past in this fucking box in a closet we shared. All of his past conquests. Like trophies.
Beyond apparent that he had a fetish, I was disgusted. Repulsed that I’d let my guard down with him. He’d hidden his collection so well, and he’d hidden it from me. Storing my sniffles aside, I exited the closet with the box in tow. A glance in the mirror revealed puffy, flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
Taking a moment to rectify that, I washed my face with cold water to suppress the edema looming. Once the task was complete, I took the box to the dining room table, positioning it like a centerpiece in the middle of our plates for dinner.