by Emerson Rose
“It may seem quick to you, but I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever,” Kimber says.
“I’ve never known you not pregnant. I think it’ll be weird not having the little cock blocker between us anymore,” Garcia says with a goofy smile on his face.
Garcia is crude, but Kimber gets him. She swats at him and laughs.
“You’re such a pig, and just wait. I’m hot when I’m not pregnant,” Kimber says.
“You’re hot when you are, baby.” Garcia leans over to kiss Kimber on the cheek, and my heart skips a beat.
“Hey . . .” Violet places her hand on my knee. “Are you okay? You’re quiet.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
The waiter brings our drinks and takes our dinner orders. Garcia and Kimber banter back and forth like an old married couple. I can’t imagine her saying no to him tomorrow unless she’s skittish about marriage because of the way her last one ended. I understand skittish all too well. Maybe I’ll mention that to Garcia when we are alone so he will be prepared.
I can’t keep my eyes off Violet. She’s so incredibly stunning, easily the most gorgeous woman in the restaurant. The lighting is dim and shadows play along her shoulders and collarbone. Her dress appears modest from the front, and her back is against a tall backed chair. I’m glad. I didn’t like the way other men were looking at her when we walked through the restaurant to our table. She’s mine, and as much as I enjoy watching her move in that dress, I hate knowing that other men are too.
Violet is engaged in a conversation with Kimber about decorating nurseries when I feel her foot brushing against my leg. One corner of her mouth lifts in a secretive smile, but she never breaks conversation with Kimber.
We aren’t seated in a way that we can play footsie under the table, but I think it was just her way of saying I see you watching me.
And I am.
I slip my hand over her thigh, and she promptly covers it with her own. If she thinks that’s going to detour me, she’s mistaken. She must know it’s borderline torture sitting next to her with nothing but a slinky piece of material separating us.
While she and Kimber go on and on about baby names and neutral color palettes, I slide my hand down to her bare knee and push her dress up until I’m at the crease between her legs. Her hand is still on mine as if she wants to control how far I’ll go. She can try all she wants, but I can’t keep my hands off her.
She’s struggling to keep her voice even and normal, but when I slip a finger over her clit, she wavers. She’s wet. I love that she is affected by me no matter where we are.
Her grip on my wrist tightens when I slide a finger inside of her and begin a slow figure eight that passes over her clit, inside swiping over her G spot and then out again.
Her legs are squeezing my hand so tightly it’s difficult to move, but I don’t stop.
She clears her throat and takes a drink of her iced tea.
“Would you excuse me, please? I need to use the powder room. I’ll be right back,” she says sweetly and scoots her chair away from the table, forcing me to stop.
She stands, wavering so slightly that only I can tell, and only I know why. I watch her bare back move further and further away from our table.
“I’m just going to check on her, you know, make sure she’s okay. I’ll be right back.” I toss my napkin onto my chair and follow Violet, thankful that I wore dress slacks tonight that give my cock a little expansion room.
Her swaying hips and the way her dress comes millimeters from exposing her backside with every step mesmerize me.
She isn’t heading toward the restrooms. She’s walking toward the elevator. She was counting on my following her.
She stops and presses the up button. I approach her from behind and slink my arm around her waist, pulling her against my length.
“Where do you think you’re going, Ms. Washington?” I say, propping my chin on her shoulder.
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she presses her ass against my cock and the doors open. We step inside, and she laces her fingers with mine as we ride up to our floor without so much as a kiss. She leads me down the hall, unlocks the door to our suite, and holds it open for me.
I raise my eyebrows and look at her out of the corner of my eye.
“We have dinner coming soon, you know,” I say, as if I give a shit about food right now.
She motions to me with her finger, silently calling me inside. I pass the threshold and close the door. She takes ahold of my tie and walks backward, pulling me along with it until she reaches the bed.
I’m not one to give up control—especially in the bedroom—but Violet is so seductive and subtle in her leadership that I do as she likes more than willingly.
The suite is dark but for a lamp on the end table across the room by the couch. Her skin glows in the soft lighting. She releases my tie but holds me at arm’s length with that hand and flicks the spaghetti strap of her dress off her shoulder with one finger, revealing one very plump breast with a very erect nipple.
I lick my lips and look into her eyes. I want to touch her. I need to put my mouth around that nipple and make her moan, but she continues to hold me away. Her lips part, and I can see her carotid artery pulsing in her neck. She wants this bad, bad enough to abandon our friends at dinner right before the food is to be served.
She flicks the remaining strap off her shoulder and the dress slides into a pool at her feet. God, she’s gorgeous and bare but for those fucking stilettos. This is her game, but I really hope she decides to leave those on.
She releases my tie and holds up a finger indicating that I need to wait. She turns around and crawls to the center of the California King canopy bed and drops down onto her forearms, ass up, legs spread, pussy glistening.
That’s an invitation if ever I’ve seen one. I drop my pants and crawl to her without even bothering to take off my shirt. I place my hands on her thick, fleshy ass cheeks and slide them up her back, pressing my cock against her wet crease. She moans, and I gather her hair in one hand and gently pull her head up to kiss her on the neck.
“I appreciate you extending this invitation, but it’s time I took control now, Violet. I’m gonna fuck you hard and fast so we can get back downstairs to our friends, so hold on.”
I rise up on my knees and slide my cock up and down through her folds until she’s writhing with want. I glide into her easily and pause before pulling back to slam into her over and over. I’m holding her hair in one hand and digging my fingers into the flesh of her hip with the other as our bodies slap together. Her moans and whimpers spur me on until I feel her clenching around me. I release her hair and grab her other hip and pound into her hard until I climax with her.
Violet is truly one in a million. She’s so fucking erotic, playful and intelligent, I keep wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. There’s no way I’m getting her with no strings attached, no secret bomb waiting to explode.
We collapse on the bed together, panting.
“We should go back. Our food’s going to be cold,” she says.
“You should have thought of that before you led me up here for dessert first.”
“You started it, trying to make me come at the table in front of our friends.”
“True, I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I won’t apologize. This was worth the rude interruption to dinner.”
I kiss her on the shoulder and slide out of her body, still semi-hard.
“I’ll get you a towel. hold on,” I say, heading for the bathroom walking backward because the sight of her naked on the bed is one I can’t tear my eyes from.
She looks back at me. “You should take a picture. It lasts longer.”
My God, she’s sassy.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, bending to slide my phone from my pants on the floor.
I snap off several pictures of her ass and then a few of her laughing while she scrambles to get under the covers.
<
br /> “Thanks, these will come in handy when you’re forty-five minutes away.”
“You can always just facetime me, you know.”
“What if you’re not available?”
“I’m always available for you.”
“Good to know.”
When I come back from the bathroom, she’s already got her dress back on, making her way across the room. She slides past me, brushing her breasts against my chest, and kisses me on the lips. “I’ll be right out.”
“Are you sure you want to go back?” I look at the time on my phone.
She cocks her head back, opening her eyes wide. “Yes, I’m starving, Major. You have to at least feed me.”
“Better make it snappy then.” I kiss the tip of her nose and the door is swiftly closed in my face.
Back at the table, two pairs of raised eyebrows greet us.
“I take it she’s all right?” Kimber asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“She is now,” I say, pulling out her chair for her.
Violet rolls her eyes. “Sorry, we haven’t seen each other in a while,” she says with a shrug.
“Guess the pre-dinner appetizer wasn’t enough? Had to have dessert too, huh, Major?” Garcia says, grinning and stuffing a big bite of steak into his mouth.
“Shut up, Garcia,” Violet and Kimber say in unison. There is an awkward pause, and Garcia stops chewing, thinking maybe he took it too far with that jab. The three of us burst into laughter when we see his worried face, and he relaxes and begins to chew again with an even bigger grin on his lips. Kimber, soon to be Mrs. Garcia, is going to have her hands full with a new baby and this guy. I’ll have to send her a good wedding gift . . . like perhaps a muzzle.
26
Plan B
Violet
He’s so beautiful when he sleeps. Major is an active, fit man, but I think I may have actually worn him out. I’m lying on my side, curled up with my hands under my pillow, watching him sleep. Even in a California King bed, he looks too tall. Lying on his back with one hand on his chiseled abs and the other on my knee, he occupies most of the bed. He’s always touching me. No matter where we are, no matter what we are doing, he has a hand on me somewhere. It’s like he wants to reassure me that he’s always there for me and he’s got my back, and God, I hope he does.
The weight of having to tell him this news is heavy on my mind. I can’t sleep, so I watch Major sleep. An hour later, a streak of sunlight slices across the foot of our bed where the curtains are separated. Major is on his side now, facing me with his leg stretched across the space between us to touch me with his foot. It’s been fascinating to watch his eyes flutter under his lids while he dreams. And whenever he changes position, it’s like I’m a magnet drawing part of him toward me, a hand a foot, his arm constantly in contact with my body.
He twitches, and I think he’s waking up, but it’s another dream. He seems tense this time though, his muscles are all bunched up, and he has a deep crease on his forehead between his eyes. His eyes begin to dart back and forth rapidly, and I don’t want to scare him but I think I should wake him from this dream that’s looking like a nightmare.
“Major.” I speak softly and nudge his shoulder. He starts to mumble, but I can’t understand a word of what he’s saying. I try again. “Major.” His hand snaps up, grabbing my wrist hard, hard enough to really hurt me. When his eyes open, I know he doesn’t recognize me, but I’m having trouble speaking because of the sharp pain shooting up my arm.
It takes him several seconds that feel like hours to come around and loosen his grip on my wrist. When he does, I cry out and cradle it in my other arm.
“Oh God, Violet, what the hell happened? Are you okay?” He sits up on his knees to reach for my arm. Instinctively, I pull away and protect my arm and try to get into a sitting position using just my elbow.
“You were dreaming, and I thought I should wake you but you grabbed me.” Fuck, my wrist hurts. Could he have broken it with one bare hand? My guess is yes, it’s possible.
“Shit, I was having a bad dream. I’m so sorry, let me see it.” He moves closer, pulling my arm away from my body to assess it.
“Ouch, stop, it’s probably just bruised. Why don’t you go get some ice and a towel?”
He looks at me as if he were trying to read a foreign language that he doesn’t understand. He’s unsure—should he leave me for the ice or stand his ground examining my wrist? When he decides, he is off the bed in one smooth motion, pulling up his jeans to walk down the hall for ice. God help any woman passing him in the hall wearing only a pair of jeans and nothing else. He’s stunning and rugged with his facial hair and smooth muscles. Even in pain, I take a moment to admire his backside walking away.
I hiss when he applies the ice. “That really stings.”
“It’s not broken. The ice should help. Do me a favor, will you?”
He’s asking me for a favor?
“After you almost broke my arm?” I say, moving my hand and the towel full of ice away from him.
“It wasn’t intentional.”
“I know. What’s the favor?”
“Don’t try to wake me during a dream. I haven’t had one like that in a long time, but obviously, I’m not myself, and I don’t want to hurt you again.”
He reaches out to stroke the side of my face with the back of his knuckles and I lean into his hand.
“Believe me, I won’t. What do you dream about?”
He lowers his eyes to the mattress and removes his hand from my face. Oh great, he probably dreams about his wife dying. Way to be sensitive, Violet.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s none of my business.”
I’d reach out and touch him, but my hands are busy holding ice.
“You’re not nosy, and it’s not what you think, actually. I don’t dream about Katie. I never went to watch them pull her car and her body from the lake. The last time I saw her was when I went flying out the door that morning to work. I gave her a peck on the cheek and waved at Malory in her swing. She didn’t look depressed, she seemed all right, and that’s the way I wanted to remember her.
“So what then?”
“Iraq. I still have some PTSD from that fucking hell hole.”
I forgot all about him going overseas. He’s seen a lot of death and destruction in his life. It’s time he had peace and joy. I’m telling him.
“I’m so sorry, that must have been horrible.”
“It was, but it’s the past. Let’s focus on the present. It doesn’t look like you’re going to be in any shape to golf today. Do you want to ride along in the golf cart with us, or should we figure out new plans?”
“No, we can still go. I don’t mind riding in the cart, but I need to talk to you about something before we go, okay?”
“Sure, baby, what’s on your mind?”
I’m about to open my mouth and say the two scariest words ever, I’m pregnant, when his phone rings on the table across the room. He doesn’t move, though. He keeps his eyes trained on me.
“Shouldn’t you answer that?”
“It can wait. You wanted to talk about something. Let’s talk.”
The phone quiets, and no more than a second passes before it starts up again.
“Maybe it’s important?”
He looks at the phone and back at me. “If they call one more time, I’ll answer.”
A third time the phone begins to ring, and he stands from the bed and pads across the room in his bare feet to answer it. When he looks at the screen, he immediately presses the answer button. “What’s wrong, Sam? Calm down, I can’t understand you. You need to stop crying for a second.”
His sister’s name is Samantha, and from the way he’s acting, I’m sure that’s who is on the other end of that call. I stand up, keeping the sheet wrapped around my torso and the ice on my wrist. I move to stand beside him and watch his face morph from confusion into unbridled fury.
“He fucking did what? Did y
ou call the police, Sam?”
He covers the phone with one hand and turns toward me.
“Get your phone and call the police in Oceanside. Tell them to go to 642 Honey Creek Lane, tell them a woman has been assaulted. Hurry.”
“Sam? Sam, help is coming. Are the kids okay? Where is he right now?”
He pauses to listen to her as I make the call to 911.
“Fuck! All right, listen, stay in there, don’t—no matter what he says—do not open the door. I’m on my way, Sam. I’m in San Diego for the weekend, but I’m leaving right now.”
He’s packing while he’s talking, and when I hang up with 911, I dress and start to do the same. He continues to talk and reassure her that everything’s going to be all right, but clearly it’s not. My phone rings, and it’s Kimber asking when we want to go for breakfast, and I tell her Major has a family emergency he has to go home for. She says she will relay the information to Garcia and wishes me luck before hanging up.
While he cradles the phone between his shoulder and the side of his head, I call the front desk and tell them we will be checking out right away for a family emergency. They say not to worry about the bill. It’s already been taken care of. Thank God. I think he might scare the front desk person to death right now if he had to wait for them to process our bill.
I’ve haphazardly thrown everything I brought into my duffle. I try to help Major with his things, but he moves me away and touches my cheek briefly as if to say thanks, but no thanks. Even in the middle of a crisis, he’s placing things into his bag in perfect order. In fact, I think the stress is making him even more OCD. He’s folding his socks, for heaven’s sake.
“Sam, put Mal on the phone. I don’t care if she’s crying, put her on.”
We’re out the door making our way to the elevator when Malory takes the phone from Sam. Like a professional actor, Major’s demeanor changes and the I’m gonna strangle someone rage leaves his voice.