“A tattoo?” She wheezed in my ear as she continued to bounce from my thrusts. “A burger and fries. And a Frosty?”
I leaned my forehead on the wall behind her, letting it support her shoulders. “Because you’re the fries to my Frosty.”
Violet cried out. She pulled my face away from the wall and held it between her palms. Our eye contact was intense. “You waited?” she rasped.
I nodded. “I waited.”
“You have a butt tattoo for me?”
“To remind me who I was waiting for.”
Her head fell back and she thrust her chest into me. Her pussy tightened around me, and I rutted into her harder. “You really want to fill me with babies?”
I chuckled, low and dark. “Fuckin’ quadruplets, baby.”
Vi latched her mouth to mine, hips rocking, pussy grinding, legs shaking, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Violet, I’m gonna?—”
She nodded. “Please. Give it to me.”
“Touch yourself and come with me,” I urged her. From there, we were breath, heated looks, desperate cries, and long overdue, sweet, sweet relief.
I pulled us away from the wall, and on wobbling legs, I sat her ass on the counter by the mirror.
Vi’s kisses were languid, and I savored her, our connection. She slumped to rest her forehead against my chest. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Worth every second.”
FORTY-TWO
COLTON
NOVEMBER | COLUMBUS, OHIO
The timing was either predestinedor predamned.
We were playing Dallas at home that night. And I was reading the first book that wasn’t going to work for Violet.
Violet wanted to be able to read this book, but I could tell very early on that it probably wasn’t going to be a good match. She said she loved dark romance spice and the “touch her and die” vibes, but it was the romance subgenre most likely to set her off.
“It’s healing for some people to read bad things that have happened to them, and I respect that,” she’d said. “But I can’t read it without getting sick.”
I rubbed my eyes for a third time sitting at team lunch. I sniffled so many times, Dottie asked if I was getting a cold. But it was no cold you can catch from germs. I was getting choked up reading a scene that felt too close to the story Violet told me that one stormy night in my car.
I coughed to clear my tight throat. I hated that she had been through this. That anyone had to go through it. I hated thatmen like this had normal jobs and normal lives and would likely never be held accountable for what they did.
The female main character described feeling helpless. Terrified. Worthless. Confused. Trapped. I could almost feel it myself, a restless ache in my skin, a need to run.
Violet felt this. She went through this at the hands of someone I knew well and treated like a brother. Or maybe a weird cousin, because the guy never did act right. Of course I had thought about the scenario. Pieced together the fuzzy images she described. But reading it here, like this, well-written and descriptive?—
“I’m gonna get sick,” I mumbled, rushing off for the bathroom, but not making it. I bent over the trash can at the edge of the lunchroom and emptied my stomach. My teammates jumped, covering their eyes and giving out random, “the fuck, bro?” cries. I excused myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face with shaking hands.
Pete had done that to Violet. Probably to other women too. That little piece of shit damaged the best part of my life. I almost lost everything I had with Violet because of him.
But my feelings aside, he hurt Violet. My precious, determined, tough-as-nails woman.
I hated him, and I didn’t hate anybody.
