The Failing Hours(39)

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.”