Mr. Fiancé(131)

"It never will be," I say, leaning in and nestling against him. "And you're worried that if we do what we did last time, that you're going to lose that fight."

Duncan nods, and I take his free hand. "I don't want to hurt you,” he says.

“I can take care of myself, if you haven’t noticed,” I reply, chuckling. "Duncan, you're more sensitive than you let on."

He cocks an eyebrow, flexing his unoccupied arm into a pretty decent bicep pose. "Who, me? I'm the Western University bad boy, remember?"

I laugh and scoot over, sliding down the table until I'm laying on it, and rest my head on Duncan's lap, looking up at the stars. “That's true," I quietly muse as I look at him against the outline of the overhead stars, “but you’re more than that too. We can be strong for each other, right?"

Duncan nods, and we sit quietly, him stroking my hair while I watch the stars and he watches the city. "Carrie?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember when I told you about the crowd and why I love it so much?"

"A little. I thought there was more you wanted to say, but you didn't."

"It's one of the things I've been thinking about. I know why I want the crowd, the fame, the adoration."

I hum, and his hand moves in slow, lazy circles over top of my blouse, not really stroking my breasts, but he's skirting around them. "Why?"

"It's not them I want attention from, at least not just from them," Duncan says, looking down into my eyes. "I wanted attention from my father. He has never really given me much attention. A shitload of money, but attention . . . no. You know who taught me to throw a football as a kid?"

"Your mother?" I ask, and Duncan shakes his head.

"No. Mom had taken off by then, tired of Dad's shit. Actually, the gardener taught me to throw a football. My first games, Dad was never there. He was always off making some next deal, some new score. In fact, thinking back, I can only remember of a handful of games he’s ever been to. None since I came to Western, that's for sure."

Suddenly, Duncan laughs and smiles. "I thought the girl was supposed to be the one with the Daddy issues?"

"Well, if you want, I can dress you up and start calling you Sally," I tease back. "But only if I get to dress like a guy, too, and you call me Sir."

Duncan laughs again, and his hand finds the curve of my left breast and massages it gently, causing me to moan. His hands are bewitched, that's all there is to it. "I think I like you as Carrie much more."

I groan as Duncan finds my nipple and pinches it lightly through my blouse, bringing it to pebbly hardness. "I like you as Duncan a lot more too."

I shift around, and he brings his other hand to my right breast, warm waves of pleasure rolling through me as he massages each breast gently. "You are so beautiful."

"With you, I feel beautiful," I whisper back, looking up at him. "You don't know how much that means to me."

Duncan leans down, and though he can't kiss my lips, he finds the hollow of my throat, kissing my neck softly. He whispers something, so soft I can't hear it, but I know what I want to hear him say. “Here?” I ask.

Duncan shakes his head, smiling wistfully. "As wonderful as that sounds, I don't have a condom on me. I wasn't exactly expecting this.”

I think about it for a second, then grin. "I know what to do then . . . the Hart Attack.”

He stops, frozen, unsure. Before he can say anything, I cover his hands that are still resting on my breasts and begin kneading my breasts and his hands at the same time. “Yes, I’ve heard the rumors of what the Hart Attack is.”

Duncan's hands begin to move again, his right hand drifting to the buttons of my shirt, unbuttoning my blouse slowly. "What about . . . well, lube?"

I laugh and reach up, rubbing the big muscles of his right arm. "I had the idea when I was packing. Look in my backpack. I didn’t expect to do it out here, but hey."

Duncan finishes unbuttoning my blouse and carefully opens it, taking me in. There's barely any light at all, just the moon overhead, and he becomes a pale, ghostly version of himself, like an old-fashioned movie or something. I lift my head and roll up to a sitting position before coming closer and kissing him. "Duncan, I trust you. I’m clean, I promise.”

“I know you are, as am I. I’m usually pretty anal about protection.” He chuckles. “I need to get you ready," he says, reaching for my backpack. He opens it and finds the tube of lubricant, taking a look at it in the moonlight. "How long have you had this thing?"

"A while. My freshman dry spell left me kind of desperate, and I ordered some things off the Web that I'm never going to let my parents see."