Duke-ing It Out by Jami Albright

6

Sienna

Iburst out laughing the minute the elevator doors close. “That was hilarious.”

“Laugh it up, funny girl. That kid is searching the internet right now looking for your porn films.” Duke scowls at me.

“Do Me Delilah?” I try to scowl like him but dissolve into giggles again. He’s so easy to poke. “Poor kid, he was so sincere. I kind of feel bad that we touched a nerve with him.”

We exit the elevator. “There was no we. That was all you.”

“I’m not the one who introduced myself as a porn star.”

He shrugs. “I was just trying to protect your identity.”

“I was impressed that you played along. I didn’t think you had it in you.” I’m pretty sure that beneath his do the right thing, don’t waste your potential exterior, there’s a fun guy. Not that he’s ever shown me that side of himself, but I heard him on the phone with his friend Cash King one time, and they were laughing and cutting up like a couple of guys in the locker room. He was also super flirty and sweet with Celeste at the restaurant, but not with me. Never with me.

He stops at a room and hands me one of the key cards. Long fingers slide the plastic into the slot. When the light turns green, he turns the handle and pushes the door open. Before he enters, he turns to me. “That’s the thing, Sienna. You don’t know me.” Then he disappears into the room.

My feet are frozen to the spot until the chills that started at my head at his low growly voice trickle down my body. Holy crap. I shake my head. I’ve never been attracted to Duke Wayne.

Not true. What about this morning?

That was an anomaly, or at least I thought it was. Now I’m not so sure. Oh, he’s hot, and that face with its chiseled lines, tan skin, and good Lord, those dimples, is enough to set my panties on fire, but his superior attitude has always repelled me.

I slide my own key into the door of my room. The smell of Pine-Sol hits me like a Mack truck the minute I walk in. I guess I can be glad that they clean, but wow. I toss my bag and the Pokey Bills shirt on the bed and go to turn on the A/C. The orange drapes are open, so I close them too.

I turn and survey the room. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s not that bad. My back is still screaming at me for raising my arm to close the curtains. All I want is to jump into the shower and let hot water run over my abused muscles.

My reflection in the mirror tells the story of the pain I’m in. I can take a lot of pain—I don’t know a professional athlete that can’t—but my skin gets pale and dark circles ring my eyes when I’m really suffering. And six hours in the car has me suffering big time. But every mile that took me away from my dad and that life was worth it.

A slice of guilt cuts through me. He’s probably worried, but this isn’t the first time I’ve disappeared. I stare at one of the burner phones in my go bag. Sad that I’ve been planning this escape for a while, and weird that it was Duke standing up to my dad that jolted me into action.

I pull the phone from my bag and pull up the text app I type out my message and hit send.

Dad, I just wanted you to know that I’m safe.

His response is immediate.

Sienna. Where the hell are you? What number is this?

I don’t answer, just drop the phone on the ground and stomp on it with the heel of my shoe until it’s just a pile of broken plastic.

Okay, that was probably the chickenshit way to handle this, but if I’d spoken to him, he’d have convinced me to come home and made me think it was my idea. My heart breaks when I think of the dad he used to be.

I only had my mom for eight years before she died, so all I’ve ever known since then was my dad. He filled the void of her loss.

Tennis is what my dad and I did together. It was ours, and it was so exciting when I first started winning at tennis. We celebrated each win. I knew he loved me no matter if I won or lost, because I lost a lot before I started winning, but he never gave up on me.

Those first few years of winning were fun and exciting, but then things changed. I’ve tried to trace the memories back to where things went south, but I’ve never been able to put my finger on it. All I know is that I’ve felt alone and forgotten as a daughter for a long time.

I shake off the troubling memories and flip on the shower. My fingers tremble a little as I unbutton my shirt and peel it off my shoulders. No bra until my back heals. Thankfully my B cups don’t require much support. I slip my yoga pants and underwear down my legs and step into the shower.

The hot water immediately loosens my abused muscles. I really screwed myself up with that snowboarding trip. I can admit that it was a stupid thing to do, but what’s done is done. I just need some rest, and maybe Duke can help me find someone to help me in his hometown, since he’ll go back to his life after he drops me off in Ryder. It has a nice ring to it and sounds like a place I can hide, recover, and figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

After a final rinse, I flip off the water and grab a towel. Man, it is hard to reach some places with my injury. I carefully but successfully slip on my thong and pajama shorts. The camisole I’m going to wear to bed is another story.

I slip my arms and head through the holes, but the fabric sticks on the damp skin of my back, and I can’t get it to slide down my body. My arms are stuck in the air, and my face is covered. I’m trapped in a band of cotton and spandex.

To make matters worse, the battered muscles from my injury are beginning to spasm. I have two choices. I can wait for Jesus to cut me out of this thing, or I can knock on the adjoining door to Duke’s room and ask for help.

I wonder how long exactly I would be waiting on Jesus.

A giant spasm racks me and wrenches my body to the side and a cry from my mouth. I pant through the pain until it subsides enough for me to draw a deep breath. I make my way out of the bathroom, arms over my head, hands flopping, and body crooked to the side with my cami over my face. I’m sure I look like one of those inflatable wiggle men in front of used car dealerships.

I finally make it to the adjoining door. I have to bend at the waist, not easy or fun, to open it. My toe collides with the heavy wood, and I yell a string of curse words that would embarrass a sailor, then lean my head against the last barrier between our rooms. I count to ten, then ten to twenty, and finally, get myself under control. I must look ridiculous, but at the moment, I don’t care. My back hurts, I’m losing feeling in my hands, and now I may have injured my toe beyond repair.

Finally, the pain ebbs away, just as I right myself to knock on the door, it flies open, and I fall into Duke.

“Oomph,” I say at the same time he says, “Are you okay?”

It was nice of him to check on me, but we have a bit of a problem on our hands. Duke’s chest is naked, as is mine. Clearly, I haven’t thought this through. And now it’s like a flesh fest, and my lady parts sound a level ten warning.

Code red. Code red. This is not a drill. Pelvic thrusting in 3. 2. 1.

His warm arms are wrapped around me, and I can’t push him away because my hands are trapped above my head. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

We don’t say anything or move a muscle, and if his body is reacting even half as crazily as mine, then he’s probably just as confused as me. He adjusts our position ever so slightly, and I can feel exactly how I’m affecting him.

Little Duke is SUPER glad to see me. And little should never be used to describe Duke Wayne and his dick.

I swallow, trying to get some moisture to my mouth. But it appears all of the moistness in my body has migrated south, soaking my thong embarrassingly. “I need—”

“Yes,” slides smoothly from his lips. It’s like warm honey against my skin.

And now there’s an empty ache to go with the throbbing dampness between my legs. This situation shouldn’t be exciting, especially not with me in this absurd position, but I haven’t been this turned on in forever.

Why, universe, why?

And why does it have to be with this man, of all men? The question is enough to knock some sense into my head. “Close your eyes.”

His deep chuckle reverberates through my body. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to step back, and I don’t want you getting familiar with my breasts.”

“Are you kidding right now? They’re smashed against me. I think that particular horse has left the barn.”

“It doesn’t matter; I don’t want you to see them now.” It may be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. I want him to see them, touch them, and lick them like his favorite ice cream. I want him to become BFFs with my breasts, but I won’t tell him that. I can’t.

It occurs to me that I would most definitely capitalize on this situation with any other man I was attracted to.

His arms fall away from my body. “Okay.”

“They’re closed?”

“Yep.”

I straighten and turn around. “You can open your eyes now.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“A little help here?”

“What’s the magic word?”

I stomp one foot. “What are you, five?”

He laughs. “I’m not the one stomping my foot.”

“Could you please help me with my shirt?” I squeeze the words out through my clenched teeth.

“Sure.” He takes hold of the material and begins to lift.

“No!”

“What?”

“I want you to pull it down. I was getting dressed, but my skin was damp, and I got stuck.” I exhale an annoyed breath. “Why would I want you to close your eyes if I wanted you to take my shirt off?”

“I have no idea, but do you seriously expect me to read your mind?”

“No. Could you please pull my camisole down?”

“Certainly.”

He pulls the material down, and my injury shows me its displeasure for being held in that awkward position too long by spasming. “Ow.”

“Your back?”

I turn to face him, and hot damn. His naked chest is the stuff seriously dirty dreams are made of. I try to keep my voice steady and my eyes above his neck, but … wow. “Yeah.”

“Do you need me to get you some ice? We can use that little bag from the ice bucket.”

I shake my head and take another step back out of the gravitational pull of his come and get me pheromones, and I can immediately think more clearly. “I’ll do it.”

“Promise.”

“Yes, I’ll ice it before I go to bed.”

“Excellent.” He stares into my eyes just a beat too long. “Anything else?”

Yes, so many things, my horndog subconscious screams. “No, I’m good. Thank you for the help.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do.” Another step, and I’m back in my room. “I owe you.”

He shakes his head. “Naw, you don’t. Consider the debt paid in full.”

“What?”

The door begins to close on his side, but he keeps his face visible. Just before he’s out of sight, he says, “I lied. I didn’t close my eyes.”

Those last words are like a match to my already overactive libido. Fire flares inside of me, and I’m left standing alone, horny, and in pain.