Born from Conflict -A Duncney Fanfiction

24

I'm firmly pressed against the chilly glass, feeling the warmth of Duncan against me. His hard—yes, he's actually hard—body is so intimately close that there's hardly any space between us. The echo of his words plays on a loop in my mind.

Let me know when to stop, then

He simplifies it, though it's far from that. I'm beginning to grasp why girls yield to this— to sex. It's the pleasure, the warmth of his mouth, the eager kisses, the entwining of tongues. His hands tracing my form, his heartbeat quickening, breath accelerating, and the soft hums he emits while kissing, as though I'm the most delectable flavor he's ever experienced.

His kisses erase all coherent thought from my mind. He pulls my white shirt free from my skirt, his fingers sliding beneath the crumpled cotton to settle against my exposed waist, then trailing across my stomach.

I'm breathless, gripping his shoulders as my tongue dances with his. His fingers skillfully undress me, tracing the edge of my bra. I long for something frilly and sexy, hoping it would astonish him when he sees it.

Yet, I don't. The black bra I have on is straightforward, lacking any adornments or ribbons.

"Want me to stop, Princess?" He breathes these words onto my skin, my neck. His lips and tongue radiate heat. I respond with a shake of my head.

No, I want him to keep going. Always.

His hands rest on my waist as he turns me around, pressing my front against the window. I gaze at the falling snow, lips slightly parted, my mind filled with thoughts of witnessing him naked.

I'm uncertain how I'd react if I ever saw him truly naked.

Duncan's hands glide down, toying with the hem of my skirt. Soon, they slip beneath it, fingers grazing my backside, tracing the outline of my underwear—one, then the other. His touch, gentle and fleeting, moves back and forth.

I shut my eyes, pressing my cheek against the glass, craving the cold to alleviate the overwhelming heat. "Duncan..."

"Should I stop?" He withdraws his hands from my panties, and I let out a whimper. "Your skin is incredibly soft, Princess. It's hard for me to stop touching you."

I'm torn. I realize I should tell him to stop. It has gone too far—touching my bra, hands under my skirt. It goes against the promise I made to my father, to save such moments for the man I intend to marry.

However, those hands find their way under my skirt again, a lone finger slipping beneath my panties, and a moan escapes me, muffled against the window.

"Fuck, Court. You're so wet," he plunges deeper, his finger sliding into me. Arching my hips backward, the desire for more consumes me, pushing through any looming shame. "Jesus."

He playfully toys me, gently advancing as shudders ripple through my body. I can't fathom how I must look—my upper body pressed against the window, my back arched, as Duncan's finger gradually slides into me.

"Oh, God," I utter in a strained voice.

Duncan stops what he's doing. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" I could practically keel over if he puts a stop to this.

He eases his finger deeper into me, and I tense up. A throaty groan escapes him. "You need to relax, Princess."

I attempt to relax, but nervousness, fear, and excitement swirl within me. It's a new experience, letting a boy do this to me—foreign, odd, yet wonderfully delicious.

All of those sensations hit me simultaneously.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

I shake my head, hands on the glass once more, eyes open to the falling snow as Duncan does his thing. He slides his finger in deep and drags it back out—oh God, that friction. I'm hungry for more.