by Mazzy King
I take the book from her and lay it down, keeping it open to her place. Then I carefully lift her loose sweater, sliding it up over her hips, up above her breasts, over her head, until it’s off. Underneath, she’s trim and curvy, with beautiful, generous breasts covered in a scrap of lacy material. I can just see the pink of her nipples behind black lace and it takes the whole man in me not to feast on them.
She hasn’t read me that line yet.
Instead, I slip my hands into the waistband of her leggings and tug them down. Her little thong matches the bra.
There’s no point in even trying to hide the fact that my erection is huge and prominent, and it’s all because of her.
“‘Leona gasps as William’s lips brush the inside of one thigh,’” Violet struggles to get out.
I kneel to pull the leggings off her legs. I kiss the inside of one of her soft, shapely thighs, and she does indeed gasp. I grin, then straighten. I keep my hands to myself—I’m a good boy who listens to directions, after all, although every fiber of my being is screaming at me to touch, taste, be inside her now.
“What happens next?” I ask softly.
“Uh.” Violet searches the page. Her chest is heaving with excited breaths. “Uh. ‘William gently lays her on the bed, then stands back to undress himself. It’s every bit a show and a tease, just for Leona’s eyes, and she drinks in every second of it, her excitement growing hotter and wetter.’”
Hot and wet. Shit. I’m no romance reader, but Violet’s words are turning me on.
I touch her bare waist and gently guide her back toward her bed until she’s perched on the end of it, then scoot her back. I tug her thighs apart. I want a good view as I undress before her. First I unbutton my uniform POLICE shirt and pull it off my shoulders. Next I lose the thigh holster with my pistol—that I set at a safe distance away on the floor. I loosen my belt, then pull off my tight white undershirt. Next I tug down my cargo pants.
Finally, I peel off my boxer briefs.
My heavy, stiff cock pops out, reaching out toward Violet.
Her eyes flutter and roll back into her head for a second.
“Skip to the touching part,” I command softly, clenching and unclenching my hands. Every part of me is tense—not with self-consciousness, but with the insane need to touch her.
She swallows, her eyes skimming down the page. “‘W-William parts Leona’s thighs—’”
Thank God. I climb onto the bed and lean over her, making her lean back against her pillows, and I part her thighs.
“‘She bites her lip as he trails his mouth all over her soft belly, teasing her nipples, all the while causing her to grow soaked down between her thighs.”
I lower my mouth to her skin. Her belly is soft, yielding under the gentle pressure of my mouth and tongue as I map its contours. My hands drift up to breasts, and I brush her nipples. One of them feels—interesting.
I lift my head, fingers lingering on the nipple that caught my attention.
She blushes. “It’s…pierced.”
“Oh, fuck yes,” I growl. “Gonna go off script here for a second, beautiful.”
She helps me pull the lacy bra off her, her full breasts bouncing free. Her right nipple has a little silver ball on each side of it, and I zoom right in, closing my mouth around it, playing with it, teasing it. Violet arches underneath me, moaning softly. She writhes a little, and I know that’s an unconscious physical display of her utter, consuming need.
My cock weeps a little with excitement, and I sternly tell it to tighten up. We have work ahead of us. I move my mouth to her other nipple, lest it feel neglected.
“‘Leona’s fingers knot in William’s hair,’” Violet reads in a throaty voice, and tightens her fingers against the longer part of my hair on top of my head as I continue to work on her breast. “‘His sweet torture of her is nowhere near complete, though she’s not sure how much more she can stand. Then she feels his hot breath against the wet, puffy skin of her…’”
She trails off, and I lift my head. She’s blushing furiously again.
“The wet, puffy skin of her what?” I prompt softly. “You have to say it if you want me to do it.”
She takes a deep breath, glances at the page, then back at me. She recites from memory, “‘Then she feels his hot breath against the wet, puffy skin of her pussy.’”
A smile that might be a little bit evil curls up my mouth. I scoot down her body and waste no time tugging her panties off. I run my hands up and down her smooth legs, gently squeezing her fleshy thighs as I lean close.
She’s trimmed and neat, and she is most definitely wet as hell.
I lower my mouth until I’m a breath away. “Go on.”
Violet whimpers. “‘As—as he nears her, Leona finds herself mindlessly desperate for his tongue, his sweet tongue, sliding slicky against her flesh’—oh my God!”
I hold her hips in place and devour her like I’m on death row and she’s my last meal. I tease her opening with the tip of my tongue, up and down, up and down. Her body tightens and shakes. Then I use my fingers to gently spread her open, and pull her into my mouth.
She’s not reading, she’s moaning, so I give her a light smack on the side of her ass to prompt her. “‘Leona bucked against his tongue,’” Violet gasps. She swirls her hips against my mouth. Trickles of sweetness spurt onto my tongue. Who needs wine when you have Violet’s sweet, sweet juice? I suck greedily. “‘She felt the incredible heat of pleasure centering itself at the apex of her thighs. Just a little more, she thought, working against his tongue and mouth. Just a little…’”
The final word explodes out of her mouth in a wail of pleasure as she comes on my tongue. It is the best moment of my life thus far, and I drink down every bit of her, letting no errant drop go to waste.
I’d love to know how she writes the actual sex, but I’ve tortured us both enough for now. I slide up her body.
“Can I have you now?” I plead against her mouth, slipping my tongue in to let her taste herself. She moans and latches on. At the same time, her legs part, and her knees hug my ribs.
That is a hell yes.
I line up at her opening, sopping wet from my attention and her pleasure, and slide in, one torturous centimeter at a time. I’m a generously endowed man, blessed with a thick eight and a half inches, and she is so tight I could die from the pleasure of it, right here, right now. I have to take my time—for her comfort, and so I don’t let us both down.
Simply entering her is the greatest pleasure I’ve ever had—until I start moving. Her greedy hands latch onto my ass cheeks, and without a word, she sets my pace—deep, and hard. My hips slam against hers, and I bottom out inside her with each stroke, but she only moans, whining and high-pitched, each time. Her nails bite into my ass, and she pulls and pushes, wordlessly begging for more.
I’ve never in my life felt anything as sweet as Violet Randall feels. She’s a tiny slice of heaven beneath me, and if it weren’t for the crazy asshole in the house across the street, I might never have met her. Might never have found myself here with her.
Might never have fallen in love with her in the most natural, effortless way possible, as if I was always meant to find her, just like this, and love her, just like this.
I manage to keep up the controlled pace she craves until she gasps, “Rhys, please, give it to me. I need you. Faster.”
“Anything for you,” I grind out between clenched teeth, and kick my hips into overdrive. Her tight, wet clench and the fast pace bring us both over the edge. I explode inside her with a grunt as she clamps down tight around me, her exquisite little muscles pulsing rapidly against my cock like a massage. I coat her insides with my seed and stay locked between her legs as we fight to breathe.
Her arms slide around me to hold me close.
“‘As Leona lay in William’s arms,’” she whispers in my ear, “‘waiting for her heart to finally slow, she was struck by a realization. A simple, yet terrifying one.’”
I tuck my face in her neck, waiting, holding my breath.
“‘She was in love with him,” Violet recites softly. “‘Him, the one she’d had no idea she’d been waiting for all this time. Her whole life.’”
The words hang in the air between us. My throat is strangely tight, and I’m moved by those words. So much, I don’t trust myself to speak.
If I could, I’d make my own attempt at poetic phrasing.
He’d been waiting for her, too. For a lifetime, and more. But love is patient, as the saying goes.
And how he loved her.
Chapter 6
Violet
I lay beneath Rhys, feeling his warm breaths covering my neck, and feeling like the world’s biggest ass.
Did I really just tell him I loved him?
What’s more—did I mean it?
Maybe my own writing was getting to me and making me believe I could live out my own love story. Maybe it was being lonely for so long and finally having someone—an amazing someone—in my bed and making me feel protected and cared for.
Except…he didn’t say it back.
And why would he? He doesn’t know you!
The urge to cry suddenly comes over me, and I hate myself for it.
I shift beneath him. He’s still inside me. He isn’t sleeping. He presses soft kisses to the side of my neck. “Rhys…”
“Hmm?” he murmurs.
A loud crackling noise from the other room catches my ear. It’s almost missable. “Rhys?”
“Hmmmm.” He nuzzles my neck.
“Is that your radio?”
If I shoved a hot poker onto one of his ass cheeks, he couldn’t jump out of bed any faster. He grabs his pants from the floor and hurtles out of the room.
Uh-oh.
I fumble around in the dark for my clothes and tug everything on. When I hurry out into the living room, finding Rhys wearing pants and crouched next to his rifle at the window, I feel a surge of alarm. I also notice my loose top is on backwards and inside out.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a hushed voice.
Rhys ignores me as he attaches a Bluetooth-type device to his ear. I can no longer hear the crackling of the radio. “Copy that,” he says in this clipped voice that makes my eyes widen. He sort of molds himself around the rifle, in a position that can’t be comfortable. The muscles in his back ripple and flex and I’m momentarily distracted.
Then it hits me—he’s getting ready to take a shot. Like, the shot.
“Holy fucking shit,” I gasp.
I should probably get the hell out of here. But where to go?
Then, a strange noise fills the air outside. Like pop-pop-pop. It’s like firecrackers. A lot like firecrackers, actually, but…
Sinister.
“Down down down,” Rhys bellows.
It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking to me.
He spares me one quick glance over his shoulder, and instead of his eyes being wide and rolling like I’m pretty sure mine are, his are narrow and laser-focused. “Violet, get the fuck down!”
I immediately drop to the floor on my belly, then instinct makes me squirm across the floor to huddle behind the kitchen counter.
The first report from Rhys’s rifle is so, so loud. I can’t help the scream that tears from my throat.
The next sound I hear is shattering glass. Glass that’s part of my home.
And then I hear another sound that makes my blood run cold.
A heavy grunt of pain—from Rhys.
“Rhys!” I cry, sliding from behind the counter.
I see the blood immediately. It seeps from his shoulder.
“Stay where you are,” he says between his teeth. “Fucking motherfucker is shooting at us!”
I want to make a sarcastic remark about how I’m totally shocked at that information, but all that escapes is a sob. I continue to peer around the corner of the counter, watching as he folds himself around the rifle again as blood oozes down his arm and after a few seconds where it seems like everything slows down Matrix-style, he pulls the trigger again.
And then…everything goes dead silent for one beat.
I expect him to talk to whoever is on the other side of that radio and say something. Instead he tosses the rifle down and rushes over to me.
“Are you all right?” he murmurs in this unbelievably calm voice.
I gape at him, tears streaming down my face. “You—you just fucking got shot?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He reaches out for me, his good hand cupping my cheek. “Violet, talk to me, sweetheart. Are you hurt?”
“No,” I sob, then launch myself into his arms. “No, I’m not hurt. But you are!”
“It’s okay,” he says, but his voice goes from calm to faint and it scares the shit out of me. When I pull back, his blood smears all over my front and his normally golden skin is…pale.
“Rhys,” I gasp.
“Maybe hit something serious this time,” he says, his brow furrowing with pain. “Bleeding…a lot.”
“Oh my God.” I snatch a dish towel from the counter and shove it hard against his shoulder. It’s in far, the wound. Way too close to his chest. “Oh my God.”
His eyelids flutter a little. “Vi…”
You need to hold your shit together, I snap at myself. He needs you.
“Hold it tight, Rhys,” I say, grateful my voice doesn’t waver. Then I scramble to my feet and sprint for my bedroom, where my phone is. His blood starts to cool against me.
I grab the phone and dial 911 on the way back to him. I know he doesn’t have the strength to hold that towel on his wound, and indeed, it’s fallen to the floor. I shove it back against his shoulder.
“I need an ambulance for an officer,” I tell the operator who answers. I give my address and explain what’s been happening outside. “He’s a police officer and he’s been hit and you need to get here now!”
The operator tells me in a kind voice to calm down and that she has ambulances already en route. I set the phone down and rush to the window. I don’t know how to work the radio and won’t even try. Officers are swarming into the house, but I see a few still standing back by the cruisers.
“Rhys is hit!” I scream out the window. “Help! Help me!”
The officers turn and stare up at me for only a fraction of a second before they tear across the street to my building. I shout my apartment number and hope they hear it. Then I rush to the door and prop it open with my foot while I stretch out next to Rhys.
“’S okay,” he mumbles. He looks like a sleepy little boy. “’S not that bad.”
“They’re coming,” I tell him, my voice wobbling now. “The ambulance and the other cops. They’re gonna come get you, okay? You’re going to be okay.”
“Thank you, sweet,” he whispers, eyes closing.
I smack his cheek, hard. “Don’t go to sleep, Rhys!” If he’s internally bleeding, which please God no, sleep is a death sentence.
His eyelids flutter again. “Okay.”
“Talk to me,” I plead desperately.
“I liked your story,” he whispers. “A lot. I love you too, Vi.”
My heart explodes.
Then the officers arrive—with the EMTs in tow.
They politely sweep me aside and I stand well back, my bloody fists balled together in front of my face. I sway side to side as I watch them load him up, asking him questions and reassuring him he’ll be okay. They carry him out of the apartment.
My knees shake.
One of the officers hangs back—I think he’s maybe a detective. He’s tall and really handsome, and wears a big black vest on the outside of his street clothes.
“Hey,” he says warmly to me.
I look at him mutely, fists still in front of my mouth.
“I’m Detective Saint Rivers,” he continues. “Rhys is a good buddy of mine.”
I pull my hands away from my face. “Is he going to be all right?” I ask hoarsely, tears finally
spilling out of my eyes.
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “They’re gonna make damn sure of it.”
I close my eyes. “What happened?”
“Man across the street was holding his family hostage. The threat has been neutralized.”
“What does that mean? Did Rhys kill him?”
He eyes me, and I can practically read his mind that he’s about to tell me something he’s not supposed to. “He’s not dead, but seriously wounded. However, his family is safe. Rhys is a hero.”
A big lump settles in my throat.
Detective Rivers pats my shoulder. “You must be terrified. Is there somewhere you can go? A friend you can stay with? One of us can give you a ride if you need one.” He gestures around the apartment. “We’ll need to do a short investigation of this area, since he shot from here.”
“What…what do I do about the glass?” I ask in a small voice.
“I got a pal who has a window repair business. I’ll have him take care of it.”
“Is that…standard procedure?”
“No,” Detective Rivers says, “but when we loaded Rhys on the stretcher, he told me to take care of you, or he’d kick my ass. I don’t want any problems, so.” He shrugs. “Get a few things together, call a friend, and then plan to come back here in twenty-four hours, all right?”
I don’t actually want to trouble my friends with this, and I need some time to myself to think and process things. In my room, I change out of my bloody shirt and drop it in the hamper, then stare at it for a moment.
I dress, grab clothes and toiletries, my laptop and charger, and my car keys. “I can drive,” I tell Detective Rivers quietly. Am I in shock? “I’m just gonna grab a hotel room.”
He frowns. “You sure?”
“Yep.” I step out into the hallway. “Um, do your…do your thing. Twenty-four hours, right?” He nods. “Okay, thank you.” I turn on my heel and walk quickly down the hall.
“Hey, wait,” he calls, but I keep going, my head in a full-on tumult.
I really shouldn’t drive, but I drive to a nice hotel downtown and I think there’s some dialogue with a front-desk concierge, because a few blurry moments go by—could have been hours for all I know—and then I’m sitting on a lush king-size bed and there’s a room service tray in front of me with a huge piece of chocolate cake.