by Sara Ney
“You like that?” My voice is gruff, dirty thoughts taking root in my dirty mind.
“You feel so good.” She gasps. “Your hands are incredible…”
Women have said this before, moaned into the air about how good I’m making them feel, but this is different. Nothing about Violet is rehearsed or dramatic. Everything is genuine.
So when she whispers that my hands are incredible, my chest swells with pleasure. Satisfaction and pride.
Lust.
I lick her earlobe. “You should see the things these hands can do. Want me to show you?”
A quick, fervent nod and another hum. “Mmmhmm.”
We shuck our jeans enthusiastically, lying on top of the bed in nothing but our underwear.
Resting my head on her shoulder, I kiss the side of her neck, letting my flat, open palm float up her semi-nude figure, leaving a ripple of goose bumps in its wake across her skin. Beginning at her calf, my hand is so big it easily encircles her entire leg, flattening when I reach her knee.
Spans her thigh, stroking it leisurely. My thumb finds its way into the elastic band of her underwear, trailing up the leg hole toward her lean hips. Glides across her stomach, her abs, forefinger tracing around her belly button in slow steady loops.
She watches my hand the entire time, sucking in a breath when I walk my middle and index fingers up her delicate sternum.
Violet turns her face just then, our eyes connecting as I continue tenderly stroking her skin. Along the swell of her breasts, then down the smooth expanse of her shoulders. When I reach her wrist, our fingers entwine.
I kiss her nose.
She kisses mine.
I breathe her in—breathe in everything about this girl—from her scented shampoo to the smell of her clean, flawless skin.
They say not to judge a person by their appearances because looks can be deceiving, but there is nothing deceiving about this girl.
She is everything on the inside that she appears to be on the outside. Sweet. Compassionate. Kind. And beautiful—heart, body, and mind.
Violet DeLuca is my opposite in every sense of the word.
My finger travels the curve of her brow, trailing along to her temple. When her mouth tips into a shy smile and that pretty pink top lip bites down on the bottom…it’s agony.
My eyes squeeze closed when I kiss her, dark brows creasing in concentration. I don’t dare open them again.
Every part of me tingles during this kiss. The sensations are ones I won’t surely forget any time soon, ones I can’t even describe without sounding like a fucking pansy.
Shit, I already do sound like one.
Violet rolls into me, our fronts pressed together, perfectly aligned until I shift, my stiff dick snuggly tucked between her legs. Right where it fucking should be.
I wrap my arms around her, hands running down her spine, down her ass, squeezing both cheeks and pulling her toward me, the pressure in my balls so fucking satisfying, I groan.
Her hips gyrate slightly when my thumb hooks her underwear, dragging them down. She gropes at mine with fumbling fingers.
Together, we kick off our underwear, and, “Oh god, naked feels so good,” she moans, tossing her head back when I suck on her neck. Drag my tongue down to her nipples and suck on those, too.
Her hand tentatively reaches between us and grabs my cock. Wraps around it tight, up and down. Up…and…down.
I stop moving. Stop breathing.
Hold my intake of breath, anticipation damn near killing me as my eyes roll to the back of my head from her enthusiastic ministrations.
“Yeah, stroke it,” I groan into her hair, wanting to fist it but afraid I’ll hurt her. “Shit.”
“Am I doing this right?” Her hazel eyes are glassy, lips pink and pouty.
“God yes. All you have to do is touch me and I’d get off.”
As she jerks my giant hard-on, I count to ten, not wanting to blow my load in her hand. I want to blow it inside her.
“Violet?”
She lifts her eyes.
“Bare back?”
We didn’t use a condom last time and I never want to use them with her again.
Her mouth forms an O with a nod. “I’m on the pill.”
I reach for her hips. Her lips.
Our mouths fuse like two lovers solely surviving on kisses. Wet. Sloppy. Exciting.
I reach between her legs, fingers dragging along her part.
Her head hits the bedspread, hair fanned out.
I lean down and cover her mouth with mine, drowning out her surprised yelp when my dick is buried to the hilt. A perfect fit. So fucking snug. Tight.
Using my muscular thighs, I slowly pump into her. Clench my ass cheeks from the effort. Violet’s eyes soften, lids heavy. Mouth parts. Head tips back against the pillow.
Yeah, that’s it Violet.
“Give in to the cock, baby.”
My pelvis rocks, fueled by the sight of her aroused gaze.
I cannot stop kissing her lips.
Her pink, perfect lips.
This isn’t a quick fuck; this is a slow sizzle, the build up crazy fucking good and I can’t even come up with the words.
We barely make any noise; soft sighs and low, drawn-out moans are the only sounds filling my room, the bed scooting across the hardwood floor on its metal castors with every tender but forceful thrust.
I suck on her neck when my left hand digs under her ass to pull her in, binding us closer. Making me crazy.
God I love fucking. “Violet.”
I love fucking her. “Violet.”
She’s so fucking sweet. “Violet.”
I lick and suck and kiss her into a frenzy, her head lolling from side to side, mouth gaping open, arms thrown over her head.
“Does that hurt?” I demand, grinding her pelvis into my mattress. “Am I being too rough?”
A tortured whine. “N-Nooo, god no, it’s perfect…”
“You fucking like it, don’t you?”
“Y-Yesssss….” She’s whining, hips raising, pelvis rolling. “God, yes.”
Sweet, pretty little Violet doesn’t mind a little dirty talk with her fucking.
“Say my fucking name.”
Her glassy hazel gaze stares into me before her lips smirk, lust drunk. “Say mine.”
“Violet.”
“Ezekiel,” she moans, stroking my cheeks. “Zeke.”
They say you can spout off some crazy shit when you’re in the middle of fucking, and I gasp out the words, “Where have you been all my life?” before I can stop them. They roll off my tongue like a plea, no taking them back.
Judging by the way her eyes soften, she’s not hating them.
“Where the hell have you been?” I pant, pumping my hips, wishing I would just shut the fuck up already.
My sweaty forehead hits her shoulders and my hips pause.
“Oh fuck baby…Violet…” I thrust into her again, and again, so hard the headboard hits the wall with a satisfying bang. The lamp shakes. “Pix, I love being with you so much I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I stop pumping. Stop thrusting.
Literally stop, mid-fuck.
She strokes my hair as I lie still inside her, my dick pressed against her clit, all this honestly bullshit making it impossible for me to move.
Violet tests my resolves, squirming beneath me.
“I cannot stop thinking about you, Violet,” I blurt out with a moan; she feels so goddamn good around me, so goddamn good. “I can’t stop, I’m s-sorry.”
Violet tips her head back, column of her neck exposed. “Now you’re the one stuttering. You sound like me.”
“God Violet, you’re so…” I drag my hand up her body, covering her breast, squeezing it gently. Pinching the nipple.
Endorphins are majorly fucking up my shit.
“I’m crazy about you.” Shut the fuck up Zeke.
Stop talking and fuck. Her. Already.
“There is no one in
my life like you, Violet. I…I…”
Don’t say it.
Don’t you dare fucking say it, you douchebag.
I gulp.
She stares up at me, half-lidded the way my friends look when they’re stoned, waiting for the next words out of my mouth, fingers stroking my back.
“You…what?” Her breathless whisper prompts me gently. “What do you want to say?”
I’m way too aware of her body beneath mine.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I cover her mouth with mine, putting all those unspoken words into that kiss. All the words I shouldn’t or can’t say. Pull back, balance myself on my elbows, and slowly pull in and out of her, my gray eyes meeting hers.
Powerful.
Intoxicating.
Exciting.
So intense that when we come, together, at the same damn time, Violet’s low, pleading moans match mine.
Sebastian was right about one thing: the more time I spend with Violet, the deeper I fall, the more I lose my grip on reality.
Zeke
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
I give the doorjamb of his office a few short raps with my knuckles.
“Daniels, take a seat.”
I enter the office, walking the few short steps to a chair, settling myself there. Spread my legs to get comfortable. Adjust the brim of my Iowa baseball cap.
“So.” Coach leans back in his seat, steepling his fingers and leaning back to study me. “Tell me how it’s been going.”
My lips press together, my knee-jerk reaction to mumble something evasive. But then, “It’s been good.”
He stares me down, letting silence fill the room—something I’ve seen him do to guys a million times before. He’s like a detective, using the tactic to pry information out of people, hoping they’ll want to fill the silence by talking.
It works on most people. But me?
I am not most people.
“Yeah, I’d heard that. Quite honestly, I’m surprised.”
I raise my brows.
Coach leans back farther in his chair until the wooden legs creak so loud I’m actually afraid the damn chair is going to snap in half. Neither one of us wants to relent, but he’s the one who called me in here.
“Tell me more about your Little Brother, Kris.”
“Kyle.”
“Kyle then. Tell me more about him.”
The question gives me pause, and I discover I actually know the answer. I surprise us both when I say, “He is…a really quick, uh, learner. He loves sports but his family doesn’t have a lot of money so he can’t play at school. So, uh, I’ve been taking him and we’ve been brushing up on his basketball skills.”
“Basketball?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why not wrestling?”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t really want to push him into anything he doesn’t seem interested in.” I clear my throat. “He, uh…” Jesus this is awkward. I’m singing like a damn canary. “We do his homework. He’s a real freak about his grades.”
Coach stares blankly, unimpressed by my choice of words.
“What I meant to say is, he’s very vigilant about his grades. He starts middle school next year and wants to stay on top of things, especially math.”
“You’ve been helping him with his homework?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods his approval.
Picks up a pencil, taps his desk a few times before tossing it aside. “Tell me about your girlfriend. She seems like a nice girl.”
Girlfriend.
I have a suspicion he used that particular word on purpose, to get a reaction out of me.
Stiffly, I nod.
“Violet? We’re just friends.”
Friends who have slow-burning sex and spend a shit load of time together, sometimes doing nothing but lying around holding hands.
Yeah. Those kinds of friends.
“Does she know that?”
“Yeah she knows that.”
“Do you?”
My lips press in a straight line when Coach’s eyes roam my face.
“Why are you just friends?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you just friends. Why isn’t she your girlfriend? And don’t give me the same bullshit excuse everyone else gives about time and practice. What’s the real reason she’s not your girlfriend?”
“Sir, with all due respect, is that the reason you called me in here? I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
He laughs, the old fuck, chuckling and coughing while I scowl. “It’s my business because your personal life affects the team. When you’re happy, your performance is better, dipshit.”
Is it?
“You’ve been a real prick in the past, but since the fundraiser and those kids and that girl…” He pushes a paperweight to the corner of his desk. “I’ll admit you’ve been easier to handle.”
I consider this; I guess it’s true I haven’t gotten into any arguments with anyone on the team since I started the Big Brothers program.
“Son, I’m going to ask you another personal question. You don’t have to answer, but I want you to give my words some real consideration. Will you do that for me?”
What can I do but nod? I’m his captive audience.
He steeples his fingers again, resting his pointy, wrinkled elbows on the desk and leaning forward.
“Now, I don’t want to sound preachy, but that little gal you’re spending time with has had a difficult life. Anyone can see that. She worked tremendously hard to get to where she’s at with all the hurdles she had to face.”
How the fuck does he know all this?
“The last thing she needs is someone with a chip on his shoulder fucking it all up.” Coach coughs into his closed fist. “I’m not telling you to break up with her, but I do want to tell you this: share your burdens with her, but don’t weigh her down with them. I know you have a lot of anger because of your folks, but Zeke, you’re a grown man. It’s time to let that shit go.
“More importantly”—his beady blue eyes pin me to the chair—“maybe it’s time to relieve someone else of their burdens instead of worrying so much about your own.”
I can’t believe all the sensitive bullshit coming out of Coach’s mouth; this is a man I’ve seen reduce grown men to tears, and now he’s doling our relationship advice like he’s…like he’s fucking Dr. Phil.
“Give it some thought,” he concludes. “And close the door on your way out.”
“Hey Zeke.” Rex Gunderson, our team manager, nudges me in the arm with his boney elbow. I don’t even know why the hell I let him and Oz follow me to the library tonight—neither of them ever shuts up long enough to let anyone study. “Isn’t that your tutor?”
Gunderson’s nasally voice breaks through my concentration, snakes through my cerebellum with alarming speed, and has me jerking my head up. Scanning the perimeter of the library. Skimming over the entrance. Glancing toward the back stacks, to the circulations desk.
Finding Violet.
Schooling my features into an expressionless mask of indifference so they don’t start in with the questions, or give me a rash of shit.
“Yeah, that’s my tutor.” I lower my head, determined to keep my eyes glued to a term paper.
“She’s not just his tutor,” Oz says with authority. “Is she Daniels?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“He’s why.” I cast a glance toward Rex Gunderson, wide-eyed and curious, then back at my roommate. “Why are you even here?”
“Ozzy invited me.”
“Of course he did.” Because he knew it would irritate the piss out of me.
We collectively watch Violet round the circulation desk, bending at the waist to straighten a cart of books, pulling one out and moving it to the bottom rack. Stand. Straighten the hem of her dark gray shirt.
“Psst,” Oz hisses loudly, cupping his larg
e hands beside his mouth like a megaphone. “Psst, Violet.”
“Dude, cut it out,” I demand, smacking him in the tricep. “Knock it off.”
He is the picture of innocence. “What? I want to say hi.”
God he’s so fucking annoying.
I suck in a breath when Violet glances up, eyes scanning the first floor of the library. Know the exact moment she spots us by her sweet smile. By the way she nervously smoothes down her hair and bites her lower lip.
Beside me, Oz seizes the opportunity of having her attention. Shoots his hand in the air when she glances over again, signaling her with a wave, wiggle, and shake of his meddling fingers. He waves and waves, tattooed arm flailing around as if independent from his body, causing a scene. She’d have to be blind not to notice him, especially with that bright yellow Iowa t-shirt he’s sporting.
“I said knock it off.” I’m gritting through my teeth.
I see her flaming red blush from here—a blush I’ve seen over her entire naked body half a dozen times—and want to fucking punch my roommate in the face for drawing attention to our table, and for making her uncomfortable.
“Put your damn arm down,” I hiss, slapping at it.
“Dude, chill. I thought you’d want to say hi to your girl over there.”
I do.
I don’t.
I—not like this.
My face burns as red as hers, and I’m pretty sure the tips of my fucking ears are red, too.
“I do, but not right now.”
Oz scrunches up his ugly ass mug. “Why not? I thought the two of you were a thing. Canoodling and shit.”
“What’s canoodling?” Gunderson asks.
“You know,” Oz starts with an air of authority. “Snuggling and hanging out and shit.”
I’m telling you, ever since he started dating Jameson, he thinks he fucking knows everything there is to know about relationships; I could do without his unsolicited advice.
“Why do they call it canoodling?” Gunderson just will not let it go.
Oz shrugs. “How the hell should I know?”
“It sounds awful.”
“Well, Rexy, maybe that’s why you’re still single and Zekey and I are both in budding relationships.” His thumb flicks between the two of us. “He’s finally getting sex regularly, which is why he hasn’t been such a bitch.”