Duke: Dark College Bully Romance (Bastards of Bainbridge Hall Book 3)
Duke: Chapter 13

There’s something about what Derek said that’s got me on edge. I can’t quite pinpoint what it was that bothered me so much because a lot of his foul-mouthed insinuations were problematic at the very least. It’s going to bug the shit out of me until I figure it out. He’d been firing way too much at us too damn quickly, almost as if the onslaught had been completely premeditated. It’s not surprising I can’t wrap my brain around every last detail. Or maybe we’re simply all too tired, too overwhelmed by how tonight played out for Bear to think about much else.

Poor fucking guy. I feel awful. He’d been way too quiet on the way home. The rest of us could sense the tension rolling off him—ripples of horrified angst and regret and humiliation that threatened to send him spiraling right off the deep end. The loss in the ring had been bad enough, but nothing Derek had done or said had helped mitigate the misery either.

Then once Lennon unleashed on him, we had no choice but to hightail it out of there. We’d left Derek bent at the waist, cupping himself, and swearing. There’d been some shouts from his security detail that we’d heard as we left the building, but fortunately, no one had followed.

Now that we’re home, I’m tired, but also too keyed up to sleep. I blow out a frustrated breath before pouring myself some whiskey and taking a deep swallow. Letting the expensive liquor slide down my throat, I pick up both the half-full tumbler along with the bottle and take them out to the back patio. It’s past one in the morning, and I have the entire backyard to myself, so I sit on one of the loungers, as is my habit, and look up at the moon and the stars. I’ve always loved to do this, ever since I was a kid, and it was my fucking escape. I’d sneak outside and lay in the grass anytime my parents fought before their divorce. They’d have one row after another about who fucking knew what. I was too young to understand. All I knew was that they were unhappy together. And I was sad watching them fall apart. The night sky … well, it became my solace, in a way. Gah. Running my hand over my face, I shake my head. I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to be waxing poetic.

I take another sip of the whiskey, then slick my tongue over my lips, making sure to get every last drop while going over the absolute BS we witnessed in Derek’s office tonight. To think there was a time when I was younger that I kind of looked up to Bear’s dad. Derek wasn’t scary like Murdock, and he didn’t smack Bear around like my father did me. I let a half-chuckle slip from my lips. As we’d gotten older, that adoration had fallen away when I realized how manipulative Derek could be and the way he took advantage of every one of Bear’s successes from football to—eventually—fighting in the ring. He’s a user.

It’s not a wonder Bear’s mom, Marci, is a drunken shell of a woman. Her husband’s brand of calculated abuse extends to her, as well. He plays games with her head. Fools her into thinking he only has eyes for her when he so obviously does not. Maybe she does know, and she uses the alcohol to bury her head in the sand? To cope. Totally possible. Either way, their entire family dynamic is one huge clusterfuck.

Come to think of it, Nikki’s not much different than Marci Pierce. Only instead of drinking herself silly to forget her husband’s cheating ways, my stepmother allows my father to buy her with pretty clothing and jewelry. I know what she’s after from my dad, always have, even if Lennon doesn’t see it. But I’ll be fucked if I can fully figure out his fascination with Nikki Bell.

She’s a looker, as is her daughter. I suppose I can’t deny that. But there’s so much in Lennon that Nikki simply doesn’t have. It was never really Lennon’s looks that drew me to her. It was her independence. Her drive. Her fire. I fucking loved it all.

And I never fucking told anyone. How could I? That first winter break that I came home from college … shit. Juliette had been gone a little over a year. That’s when things began to change for me. And I fuckin’ hated myself for it—not just because she was my stepsister, but because she was Juliette’s friend. It made me feel awful that I could possibly be looking at her like that. I’ve lived with the guilt of it for years. I guess it makes sense that once again, I began to spend time looking up at the stars and pondering my existence.

I tip my drink back, downing the contents, my jaw set. Stella Bella. I exhale slowly, wondering where she is as I pop a few buttons free on my shirt.

Upon our return home, I don’t know what Lennon ended up deciding to do because I fuckin’ doubt her own room is an option. The last thing we need tonight would be a panic attack or for her to end up sleepwalking into the pool again because she’s overwrought by the idea of staying in the room where she now knows she was attacked and taken.

She’ll probably crash in Bear’s room again. He’d retrieved ice for his arm from the freezer and headed upstairs, so maybe she’d followed. A laugh gurgles up from my chest. Then again, she just unmanned his dad. I don’t know if that makes things weird or not, if he was proud of her for it—I sure as fuck was—or if it’s made things awkward.

Maybe Mase? I suppose she could be with him, too. I swivel my neck, looking back toward the house. There’s a faint light coming from the tiny attic window. I figured he might venture up there. No doubt, he didn’t take what Derek said about them being on the verge of springing Murdock from prison very well. Hell, he could have even invited Lennon up there with him.

All I’ve ended up doing since coming out here is wildly ruminating on one thing after another without getting much of anywhere. Fuuuck. I lean forward, setting my empty glass beside the chair.

“Duke.”

My head snaps to the side, my eyes replaceing the raspy source of my name in the dark. “Hey.” My gaze roams over Mason. His posture is stiff, his jaw rigid. He’s barefoot and shirtless, and if I squint, I can kinda make out some charcoal smeared on his chest and his cheekbone from whatever he was drawing before he came to replace me. “What’s going on? Everyone okay?”

He makes a pffft sound before sitting sideways on the lounger across from me, resting his elbows on his thighs. His hands dangle between his knees, charcoal staining his fingertips. “Bear’s as well as can be expected, I think. I asked if he wanted any more of the meds I had, and he said no fucking thank you.” His lips quirk for a moment, but then slide right back into a frown. “So at least he’s sort of got his head on straight. But as the drugs leave his system, he’ll probably be a real dick again.”

“Lennon?”

“She’s actually down in that round chair she likes where she does homework sometimes. I’m a little worried she doesn’t know what to do about the sleep situation.”

I make a mental note to check on her before I try to get some rest. “And you?” I grip the nape of my neck with one hand, searching out his dark eyes.

“I’m just fuckin’ peachy.” He tucks his tongue in his cheek and gives a bit of a shrug.

I cock my head toward him, raising a brow as if to say You don’t fucking fool me, then wait for him to admit it himself. Murdock getting out of prison would be the absolute worst thing for Mason. He thinks I don’t notice when he’s spoken to his father on the phone or if he’s worried about something concerning him—usually something Hunter has told him—but Mason has certain nervous tells that give him away. He doesn’t sleep well for days after. That one’s pretty obvious, because he spends loads of time in his attic with his charcoal drawings. But if he’s sitting relatively still, his leg bounces nonstop. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. Just like it’s doing right now. My eyes travel from the jiggling leg to the shaky hands before I whisper, “How can I help you, Mase?”

He shoots from his seat, pacing. His hands come up over his head, his forearms blocking his face from my view. “You can’t. I mean. If they have some way, after all these damn years, of getting him out—” He speaks in low tones, maybe concerned about someone overhearing. But then, as his frustration mounts, he barks, “What the fuck can I do?”

I rise from my seat and close the distance between us. “Nope. You need to get out of your head right now. Stop thinking about it.”

His dark eyes lock on mine. “You’ll help me? I need you,” he demands raggedly. My heart thuds heavy and anxious in my chest. I nod, and a moment later, he grabs my arm and tugs me impatiently along with him. We cross the yard, and he pulls me behind a huge fucking tree with a thick trunk and shoves me up against it. We can’t be seen from the house, and I have no doubt that he did that for me. With both fists tangled in the fabric of my shirt, he wrenches the material apart, the buttons popping free as he yanks it open, then pushes it off my shoulders.

I let it fall from my arms as our chests heave, bumping together as he presses me to the tree, his hands wandering over the skin of my abdomen and chest. He leaves charcoal streaks everywhere he touches, and the tree bark scratches at my back. I don’t care about either. It turns me right the fuck on, as does not knowing what exactly he intends to do to me.

The crazed light in his eyes creates a jolt down my spine that makes me so fucking hard I think my cock might stab through my jeans. His dick brushes mine, then he presses roughly against me as he steals my breath with a voracious kiss. His full lips tease and taunt me, though I don’t need to be tempted. I asked him what he needed, what I could do to get him out of his head. If he wants my body, if he wants to use me … I’m his. Because there’s nothing worse for me than seeing someone I care about hurting, especially if there’s something I can do to stop it. I might not be ready to let the entire world know, but everything he does excites me. He touches me, and it’s like I’m being zapped by the sexiest electrical current known to man.

And it feels so fucking good.

The rising passion between us is a back-and-forth battle of tongues sliding, fighting for dominance. Lips rubbing and breath mingling. My heart thumps harder and harder in my chest as his fingers stroke my body, and his cock rubs up against mine, trapped between us. We’re both thrusting, our hands roaming everywhere. He’s warm and hard and— Oh, fuck. Why had I denied myself all this time? Now I couldn’t say no if my life depended on it.

I grasp either side of his head, demanding more and more of him, wanting all his sloppy-beautiful kisses and the way he feels so goddamn perfect. I drag my lips along his stubbled jaw, then lower to replace the spot on his neck where his pulse beats fast. I waste no time, sucking the skin into my mouth. He moans and grips my hips, thrusting his groin to mine. My tongue flicks savagely, and I have the worst desire to swallow him whole. His skin is salty. Manly. I inhale deeply because I can’t get enough and catch notes of his aftershave. The scent of him makes me groan aloud.

His breath shudders out into the night, then his hands grapple at my waistband. He unfastens and unzips, then pauses to seek out my lips again, catching them on a hungry moan. He whispers roughly, “I’m gonna suck your cock until neither of us is capable of thinking of anything but each other. And you’re gonna bury your dick so deep down my throat that you’ll feel it close around you while I fucking swallow.”

All the air punches from my lungs, and my eyes widen as I stare into his. Those words send a thrill whipping through me, and I become impossibly harder, my balls heavy with the desire for release. Jesus Christ. “Fuck. You have such a dirty mouth on you.” I can’t help myself, I grab his ass and grind our erections together, heat lancing through me with every raw, stimulating stroke.

“You’ve always appreciated my mouth, even when you tried to say you didn’t.” He puts his hand between us and shoves it into my pants, firmly gripping my dick through my boxer briefs and rubbing. “What do you think? Should I put my mouth on you right here in the yard? Out in the fucking open? Make you come?”

“Is that what’ll help you?”

He continues to stroke me, chewing on his lip as his dark eyes roam over me, and murmurs gritty and low, “Yeah. I need to fill my mind with you—all my senses—until you’re the only thing I can think about.”

No one’s out here to see whatever we choose to do, but the forbidden nature of it is damn near intoxicating. Fire races through my veins, sizzling and crackling and making me feel so hot I wanna tear my clothes off. I grab him by the back of the neck and drag him close. Our lips brush as I demand, “Get on your knees and put my cock between your lips, you filthy fuck.”

Mason gives me one final jerk and bites at my lower lip, tugging on it, before he lets it go with a wet pop. A satisfied smile creeps across his mouth before he mutters, “You have no idea how filthy I can be, but you’re about to replace out.” With one hand, he flicks his thumb over my protruding nipple, and with the other, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. It’s impressive how he manages that, but my mind is swiftly plucked away from that thought when he bends a bit at the waist and licks the flat of his tongue directly over the pebbled skin he’d just been toying with.

It elicits a full-body shudder, especially when he goes back for more, sucking on the peak. My cock twitches hard, almost as if it’s saying Hey. Attention down here, please. But honestly, I don’t care because he seems hell-bent on doling out the best kind of torture. His tongue flicks and licks and sweeps over my chest, dipping between the pecs and laving over my skin. I hiss out in surprise when he sucks the second nipple into his mouth, looking up at me with a naughty gleam in his eye.

“You like that, huh?”

I nod, almost incapable of speech, especially when that devilish tongue of his moves on, sliding over the dips in my abs, then along one side of the V leading toward my weeping dick. He drops to his knees and hooks his hands in the waistband of my jeans, tugging them and my underwear down over my ass.

My cock bounces, and I suck in an unsteady breath as the balmy night air hits it.

“Hands over your head. Hold on to the tree.” Mason’s sinfully dark eyes tear from my dick bobbing in front of him to meet my gaze. “Now.”

I wet my lips and follow his command, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rough bark. It’s almost too much—the scratch of the bark at my back, the slight breeze floating past my cock, the ravenous expression on Mason’s face. He catches his full bottom lip between his teeth as he raises a brow at me. “Fast or slow, baby? You choose.”

I swallow, blinking at him, the question catching me off guard. My logical mind screams to do it fast so we won’t get caught … but fuck. My dick is saying the opposite. “Slow at first,” I breathe out. My eyes close for a moment. And because of that, I’m wholly unprepared for the slow, teasing stripe Mason licks up the underside of my length that has me gasping for breath. “Oh, fuuuck.”

Mason wraps his firm hand around the base of my dick and slowly begins to jerk me as his tongue flicks out, then languorously laps at the head of my cock. There’s a low rumble at the back of his throat, and as I look down, he slides his splayed hand up my abs, fists my dick tighter, and takes me to the back of his throat.

“Jesus. Fuck. Mase.”

He pauses, eyeing me as he slides back until only the tip remains in his mouth. His tongue swirls around, and he sucks so hard my eyes cross. And then, he slowly, leisurely takes me in and out of his warm, wet fucking mouth. The noises that he makes are the most decadent, delicious things I’ve ever heard in my life. My cock brushes the back of his throat over and over. I can’t stop the desperate movement of my hips or the lightning racing through my veins.

Mason pops off for a second to grunt hoarsely, “Give it to me, D. Give me everything.”

I let go of the tree and grip his head, threading my fingers through his dark hair at just about the time he slips a hand between my legs. He massages my balls, tugging and squeezing, then his fingers slip back farther, rubbing my taint. Fuck, it feels good. And it’s not like I’ve never been touched there before, but there’s something about it being Mason that makes it that much more intense.

A breath gusts from me, and our eyes connect. We’ve always had a connection, but there’s something happening between us. I keep holding my breath, and all it’s doing is heightening the experience. His fingertip edges its way between my cheeks, replaceing my puckered asshole. My brain may have just exploded. The riot of sensation is going to do me in. Wet, hot mouth, probing finger. Nerve endings sparking to life.

“Mase!” The strangled shout I make right before I come must be enough to warn him that my release is imminent because he grips my ass cheeks and forces me to the back of his throat. I’m in there so far, I swear to fuck, I almost pass out. The tension in my body unlocks as cum rockets out of me, immediately hitting the back of his throat where my dick is lodged. And fuck if I don’t feel the tightening of his throat as he swallows me down. Every. Fucking. Drop.