The Homeboy and The Virgin

Chapter 16-Duke

Chapter 16—Duke

 

Dammit, Junior was the most infuriating girl I had yet to meet.

    I slid my hands underneath her dress, enjoying how warm and soft she was beneath me. Her curves felt like putty under my hands, and the little moan that escaped her mouth made me shiver. Her hands roamed across my chest—which had been hot before, but was blazing now—and down my back, raking her fingernails down them. It felt good. Fuck that, it felt great. I lifted my lips from her mouth, gasping for air as I kissed from her neck down and back up again. “Tell me I’m your friend one more damn time,” I threatened.

   Her legs wrapped around me as she pulled me closer. “You’re just my friend,” she said, her voice breathless and playful.

   “Mm. You like games, don’t you?” I murmured, sliding my hands across her back. One of her hands entangled in my hair, bringing my face up to hers.

   A smile played across those full lips, and her cheeks were red. “Only when you play with me.”

   This was a far cry from the girl who a few minutes ago just wanted to be my friend. “Good.” I brought my lips down to hers again.

    This was different than Laila. Laila’s fire burned me. Junior’s fire made me crave more of her. I wanted to hug her, kiss her, hold her, protect her…. Shit, when Junior kissed me, I couldn’t even control myself. With Laila, I wouldn’t stop. With Junior, I couldn’t.

   “Duke—people—“ Junior said, trying to pull away.

   “Fuck them.”

   She laughed, turning her head away from me. “Our friends.”

  “Fuck them,” I repeated, trying to get to her again.

   “Laila.”

    “Fuck her.” And I meant it. This week had taught me nothing but what I needed to know—Laila had her best intentions, not mines. After hearing her sob her heart out about how Crank had left her broken-hearted, I wanted to shoot myself in my head. My mom had committed suicide, and the only thing she wanted to talk about was herself. Figured. Usually, it didn’t both me. All girls wanted to talk about themselves. But the difference was Junior. She had spent the night in my arms and let me cry. Laila only wanted to distract me sexually.

   And she hadn’t even mentioned she was pregnant.

   Junior arched an eyebrow. “Still. People.” She untangled her legs from around my waist, pushing my chest to give me some space. “You should probably put your shirt on.”

   Yeah, I didn’t want her to let me go. Not a single bit. But she was right. Our friends were quickly approaching. I took my shirt from her, hands still shaking as I tried to button it up. “I didn’t tell you what I wanted to say,” I said, looking at the door. I probably had ten seconds to get it out. “I wanna try us—like, in a real relationship. No bets, no nothin’. No other girls. You and me, Junior.”

   She blinked, looking surprised. Her mouth opened to answer, but Kyle flung the door open, the others close behind him. He took in the scene—Junior, pulling her dress down, me, putting my shirt back on—and groaned. “Please tell me you guys didn’t do it in my truck.”

   Junior laughed. “No.” She shot me a look that clearly read, later. Fine, I could wait. She reached over and finished buttoning my shirt for me.