She appears in a spaghetti-strap nightgown that hits mid-thigh, nothing too risqué, but seeing her soft-skinned and bare-faced is one of the sexiest visions I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing her with her guard of power suits and icy glares gone. This softer side of her, with no barriers, calls to me and makes me feel like a lucky bastard to see her with her hair down, literally and metaphorically.
I pat the couch next to me, and she willingly comes over and sits beside me. Progress, I think, but I don’t dare tease her about it.
“Okay, now what? I feel like you’re buttering me up to rip the rug out from underneath me.” So distrustful and suspicious, especially of me, and that needs to change, starting now.
“No buttering. Just teamwork. Like my old football coach said, ‘Alone, we can do little. Together, we can do much.’ So that’s what we’re doing.” She tilts her head, not sure at all what I’m talking about.
I hand her my next offering, Cherry Garcia ice cream and a spoon. Violet smiles a little, her eyes clearing as she undoes the plastic seal and takes off the lid. “You know, Ross, you’re not always an asshole.”
“Thanks.” I admit with a chuckle, “I try not to be.” I shrug. “Well, sometimes, I try not to be, if we’re being honest.”
She laughs at my self-deprecation.
I watch with amusement as she stabs the ice cream with her spoon. I’ve learned from watching Abigail that there are two kinds of ice cream eating. If she’s running her spoon along the top, sort of gathering a layer of softer ice cream, things are good.
If she’s stabbing the ice cream like a villain in a horror movie . . . “So, what happened at dinner last night?”
She shrugs one shoulder but says, “You were there. You know.”
“Denial and avoidance? C’mon, Vi. You can do better than that. Talk to me. In for an ounce, in for a pound, so lay it on me.”
She eats another bite, flipping the spoon upside down onto her tongue to eat the creamy goodness as she thinks. “It was just a lot. I wasn’t ready when you got there and had planned to tell them first. And then it was this whole out-of-control scene, and then dinner was going so well, which was great. But it was just . . . a lot.”
I nudge her knee with mine. “Why, Violet Russo, it sounds like you’re a control freak or something. I planned . . . out of control . . .” I throw my voice into a high falsetto that sounds nothing like her, and she grins. In my own tenor, I reassure her. “Vi, it was fine. They loved me, and by the time we left, they were naming our children. They totally bought it and are looking forward to the wedding. That’s what you wanted.”
Violet pauses her ice cream eating. “I know. But it’s like they’re all ready, all settled about it, and this is all just one big party, a family event. Come see Violet get hitched and Stefano get planted. Two for one!”
Her lip trembles, but the fire in her eyes says she’s not done fighting yet. She won’t be curling up in a ball and giving up on Papa just yet. And if she’s not, I’m not.
“Violet, in some ways, I think your grandparents are being incredibly brave with it. Too many people hang on for no other reason than they’re afraid of what’s on the other side, or maybe they’re just too stubborn to give up. If there’s a reason, like your grandfather has, that makes sense, but . . . I think most of us hope to reach that point where we’ve done all we wanted with our life, every item on that bucket list checked off. And it can be a blessing to leave on our own terms, happy and secure in the legacy we leave behind.”
“But he’s still got so much to live for!” Violet pleads. “And now . . . everyone acting like this is going to be some big party . . . Ross, I know what the Russo clan’s like. Even the ones I’ve never met and only heard about. And when I say a big party, I mean if we’re not careful, it’s going to end up one police call short of Spring Break in Cabo.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Violet stops and gives me a double-take. “What?”
“I said it sounds like fun,” I repeat. “Violet, in talking with your grandparents, I get why you want to do this. And if they want to turn this into a big party, so what? I mean, if you’re going to go out, go out with the biggest, happiest bash you can. Go out in style. You’re giving him style.”
“The party alone is probably going to be enough to give him a heart attack,” she says gruffly, and then her eyes widen in horror. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean that.” She looks up to the ceiling. “If there’s anyone listening, please, I’m begging you with everything I’ve got, don’t let Papa have a heart attack at my wedding.” She crosses herself, something I’ve never seen her do, so that must mean it’s a serious prayer.
“Violet, no one can control what happens. Not even you, Control Freak Russo. But there are some things you can control. Would that make you feel better?”
She eats another bite but nods. “Probably,” she mumbles around a mouthful of cherry fudge.
I pull out a notepad and pen. “All right, hit me. What’s on your to-do list? Wedding dress, bridesmaid dress, decorations, flowers, invitations? Tell me everything.”
“Why?” she asks, shoveling in another bite, and I smile, surprised at how adorable she looks curled up on the couch, open and talking with me as she messily eats ice cream. I’m so not going to tell her about the tiny dribble of ice cream on her chest, even though it’s driving me mad. I want to lick it off so badly.
“So I can help you,” I answer, the duh barely held back.
“Archie and Abi are already helping me, and Kaede and Archie talked for over an hour the other day. I think at least half of it was about the wedding. I hope it was, at least,” she offers as protest.
“Right, but that’s them. And I’ll coordinate with them, of course, to help where they need me because sometimes, I can grease wheels they can’t.” I rub my index finger and thumb together, knowing that money talks, especially when we’re talking a big event in fast order. “But it’s my wedding too, might I remind you, and I want to be involved. So tell me your vision because I know you have one. Lay out the whole Pinterest board, Instagram-worthy dream on me.”
And like the magic elixir I knew it would be, the ice cream loosens her lips.
She tells me about her dress search and then describes what she’s looking for as I take notes. I vow to myself to call every bridal shop in the city and have them bring similar dresses to Vi’s office as soon as possible. That way, she can try them on and barely miss a beat at work.
She talks about Abi doing the invitations and how they need to be mailed out immediately, likely with priority postage. I volunteer the mailroom clerk at the office to handle that, knowing that a bonus and some genuine appreciation will go a long way in checking that off quickly.
She goes on and on. Venue . . . booked, but needs updated payment info, which I can do over the phone. Food . . . I’ll rent out the finest Italian restaurant for the day so they can cater the wedding. Decorations . . . totally an Archie job, but if he needs a spare pair of hands, Kaede can help. Flowers . . . Abi, of course.
Beyond her family, a lot of her stress is in the length of the to-do list and the short time frame. And I’m not too proud to throw money at it if it’ll help, and for so many things on the list, it will. If that’s all it takes to make this the wedding of Violet’s dreams, I’m happy to do it.
As she wraps up, I can tell that some of the weight is lifting off her shoulders. “You’ll really help with all that, Ross?” she asks uncertainly.
“Of course,” I reassure her. “Also, I think we should hire a wedding planner.” Her mouth is already arguing against it, but I steamroll right over her. “Not because you can’t do it all, but because you need someone to delegate to so you can keep all the balls juggling. And on our wedding day, while you’re getting ready, you need someone who knows your vision inside and out to keep it running smoothly. They will do exactly what you tell them to, Control Freak.”
She pinkens but shakes her head finally, a
greeing. “Fine.”
That was easier than I expected. We’re doing better. “But there is one thing.”
I take the ice cream and spoon from her hands, setting them on the coffee table as she protests. “What are you—”
I set my notepad down too and reach to the floor beside the couch, coming back with an elegantly wrapped box, complete with a fluffy bow, which I hand to her.
“What’s this?” she asks. I don’t answer, instead getting up to take her ice cream to the kitchen. She opens it slowly, like she’s afraid snakes are going to jump out of the box and scare her.
But when she spreads the layers of white tissue apart and sees what’s inside the box, her brows knit together in confusion. “What?” she asks again, her eyes jumping to me.
“You seemed uptight. Thought you could use a little bit of fun,” I explain.
And then, faster than a flash, I pull out my own Nerf gun and blast off a round her way. “Gotcha,” I yell before the soft bullet even lands. “Bullseye!” It hit her right in the cheek next to her gaping mouth.
“Are you serious right now?” she shouts.
I’m off, ducking around the kitchen counter and hiding behind the dining room table, definitely signaling that I’m deadly serious. This is war . . . Nerf war.
“Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong!” Her voice is already lighter, brighter than the overwhelmed and stressed Violet she was just a moment ago. Those issues are still looming, her Papa and the wedding, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to just let loose a bit.
And we do, foam bullets flying as we talk smack to each other, running and diving to hide from incoming blasts, and taunting as shots go wide and miss completely.
It’s ridiculous, it’s hilarious, it’s . . . fun.
From somewhere in the foyer, I hear her call out. “Where’d you get this idea, Andrews?”
Oh, we’re going for last names now, are we? “Saw it on YouTube and it looked good, so here we are, Russo. With you about to lose to me all over again! Just like old times!”
That’s the truth. It was just a silly video I saw on YouTube after watching a TED Talk, but it had sparked an idea in me. That I needed this, that Violet needed this, that we needed this. A silliness reminiscent of our younger days, but without the hurtfulness of the way we used to interact.
“All right, all right. I’m out of bullets and don’t have any close by to scavenge. I surrender. You win,” she says, but now it sounds like she’s back in the living room.
Victorious, I come out of my hiding spot, cockily swaggering toward her. “Guess that makes me the champ—” I start to say, but as I get close, a bullet hits me squarely between the eyes.
“Bullseye! Can’t believe you fell for that!” Violet taunts.
I see red. Not the angry kind, but the flash of her cotton nightgown, and I give chase. She screams, scrambling to run from me, laughing the whole time. I think I even hear one of her cute snorts.
I tackle her, turning so I land on my back to take the brunt of it but quickly rolling her over and pinning her. I toss her now-truly-empty gun away and trap her hands above her head. She’s breathing heavy, pink with giddiness at getting one over on me, and squirming beneath me.
She’s never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment. Silly, girly, daring me at every opportunity, challenging me in every way.
Fuck. I want Violet Russo.
And in her eyes, I can see it. She wants me too.
I kiss her, passionate fire igniting and burning up any thoughts I might have of whether this is a good idea or not. In this moment, I don’t care. I just want. I just need.
Her mouth is hot, greedy, and she moans against me, her tongue finding mine and her legs parting as I press down between them, feeling the heat from her pussy. Again and again, I kiss her, delving deeper into her mouth, tasting the candy sweetness she usually hides from me with her sour coating of barbs.
“Ross . . .” she moans breathlessly. Her hands tear at my shirt, yanking it over my head as I move her to the sofa and pull her nightgown off.
“Spread your legs for me,” I growl, hitting my knees and sliding down her body to lick her belly button.
Violet eagerly obeys, biting her lip as I kiss from her left knee to the soft skin of her inner thigh before repeating the process on the other side. “So good. More.”
I grin at the order, and though she pushes at my head, guiding me where she wants me, I hover my mouth just over her pussy lips, close enough that I know she can feel my breath but not get the release that she wants. “Say please.”
Violet trembles, knowing what I’m demanding. Strong woman, always resisting any restraints, always refusing any rules but her own, especially the ones we agreed to in our contract. This is my opportunity to get back at her, but it’s not out of spite, not to be a cocky winner this time. It’s for her own good. By giving in to me, I’ll reward her. Greatly and enthusiastically. She just has to say please.
She swallows and bites her lip. “Please.”
I know what it cost her to give me that. I’m going to show her that she can let go of her tight grip on control sometimes and can trust others, namely me, to do what’s right and even what’s best for her.
I slide my tongue deep inside her while keeping my eyes fastened on her. Deep inside me, a little voice says I need to claim her, to learn every nuance of her body and what makes her scream in pleasure, so I study her carefully.
With every lick, every nibble on her skin, every broad stroke of my tongue over her lips and to the wonderful bump of her clit, I memorize her every movement, every expression and reaction.
Violet wraps her legs around my head as I pleasure her, her heels digging into my back as I bring her to the edge before backing off, drawing my tongue up and down her lips, easing them open as she whimpers and squirms. “Ross, please. I . . . I need . . .”
The please came easier that time, but giving Violet exactly what she needs is my focus now.
“Need what?” I tease, licking again and causing her to gasp. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” she cries softly as I suck on one of her pussy lips. “I need to come.”
“Tell me,” I command, reaching down and freeing my cock.
“Please, Ross, make me come,” Violet whimpers, shuddering as I flick her clit once.
She reads my mind and swings her legs off my shoulders, getting onto her knees on the sofa. She leans forward, her hands going to the couch back, and presents her pussy to me. “Please?”
Oh, my naughty little minx. Begging, saying please like I demanded . . . but at the same time, she is totally in control, knowing she already has me addicted to her sweet pussy. And now that curvy peach-shaped ass wiggles in my face, her wetness gleaming in the light.
I jump to my feet, shoving my shorts the rest of the way down and off before grabbing a handful of Violet’s hair and pulling her close to me. “This has been so long coming, Violet. I’m gonna fill you with my cock, split you in half so all you can feel is me at your core. I want you to shatter into a thousand pieces knowing it’s me who did that to you. Ready?”
Before she can answer, I thrust my cock into her slowly, desperately wanting to go hard but at the same time relishing the feeling of her giving way to me. Her pussy’s so tight, hot velvet that grips my head and shaft even as she pushes back into me.
I have to stop halfway and pull back, letting Violet adjust as I let go of her hair and reach around her, cupping her teardrop-shaped breasts. “Mmm,” she moans as I squeeze and tug on her nipples, pushing in with my cock as I do. “Fuck, you’re killing me. More.”
“You feel so good, honey,” I rasp in her ear, knowing it’s as much an admission as her pleas. In this moment, she fucking owns me. As my cock nestles all the way inside her, she hisses, and I pause, holding totally still. “You okay?”
She bucks, and I can feel her body adjust. I ease up on her breasts, massaging lightly and letting her feel me, knowing she’s sa
fe until she hums in pleasure. “Give it to me.”
I pull back, thrusting again and letting my body take over as I listen to her. Every time she cries out, I hear nothing but pleasure, her breasts swaying and shaking in my hands as I stroke deep and hard, in and out of her body.
For at least this moment, we aren’t adversaries, aren’t frenemies. We’re two souls tangled up into one big knot of past, present, and future.
Finally, I can’t hold on and let go of the grip I have on my control, grabbing her waist to pull her tight as I speed up.
Violet pushes back into me as we start fucking each other, meeting stroke for stroke and leaving me breathless. The deep well of sexual passion inside her thrills me. She matches me, challenges me, both of us driving the other higher and higher until we’re trembling. Sweat drips down our bodies as we balance on the knife edge of ecstasy, not wanting to tumble over because it feels so good but at the same time, unable to stop ourselves.
Violet’s fingers dig into the cushion, and she screams, her pussy clamping tightly around me, and I unleash myself in a mighty roar, slamming deep inside her to release the torrent of heat that’s been building inside me. My balls pump again and again into her while she cries out, screaming her orgasm in tandem with mine until we’re both spent and my legs can’t hold me up any longer.
Chapter 14
Violet —Thursday—9 Days Until the Wedding
Despite getting only a few hours of sleep, I wake up with the dawn, and immediately, I feel like things are never going to be the same again.
I’m lying with my head on his chest . . . on the sofa. Despite Ross’s protests that sleeping on the too-small surface is impossible, after last night’s torrid sexual poundings, we were both out like lights. And I have to admit, I’m incredibly comfortable naked atop him, listening to his soft snores, his arm thrown over his eyes as he lies with his other leg falling to the floor.
My Big Fat Fake Wedding Page 17