Page 58 of Wallflower
“Of course he does. That’s not the problem.” Violet dashes a single tear from her cheek. “I feel bad because I should have found a way to see him when we were in the city today.”
A stab of regret shoots through my middle. “I’m sorry. If I’d known you wanted to see him, we could have made it a priority.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, and it’s not the real problem.” Violet breathes in deep and sighs with her exhale. “These last few weeks have made me so happy, and I’m sad that he wasn’t around to share it.”
“Yeah? You’re really happy here?”
God, I’m an arrogant motherfucker, because all I heard in that sentence is how the last few weeks have made her happy. The last few weeks withme.
Violet turns her head where it rests on her knees and smiles. “Yeah. I’m really happy here.”
I nod once, like I’ve been awarded a prize, and after that awkward gesture, I’m pretty sure it’s for “Dork of the Year.” On the plus side, it makes Violet’s watery smile stretch wider.
“I’m glad to hear that. But there’s just one problem now.”
Her face falls as she straightens from her slouch. “Oh. What?”
I resist the upward pull on my lips and reach over to twist a lock of her damp hair around my finger. “You saying things like that makes me want to kiss you, and—”
“You can kiss me,” she says in a rush.
The heat in her voice is all the invitation I need. I lean across the short space between us, slide my hand behind her neck, and pull her mouth against mine.
There’s none of the hesitancy of our first kiss, and Violet laps against my tongue with needy whimpers that draw me closer to her and deeper onto the bed. When the taste of her lips feels nowhere near enough, I twist my fingers into her hair, gently pull her head back, and kiss my way across her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. The flavor of her skin is sugar on my tongue, and I respond to the sweet little moans in her throat with husky growls of my own.
Violet slides her open palms up my arms, around my shoulders and down my back, then slips her cool fingertips underneath the hem of my shirt and brushes them along my lower back. Goosebumps jump up at her gentle strokes, and I groan as my cock fights the confines of my jeans. Her fingernails dig into my sides as she latches onto the muscles above my hips, and I respond without thinking, pushing myself up and over her body, straddling her hips, pinning her slender frame between my thighs.
I cradle her head and kiss her, my body arching over hers as she sinks deeper into the pillows.
When Violet’s hands disappear further under my shirt, her palms tracking a smooth course over my back, I mirror the move by skimming my fingers down her neck and shoulders. The flimsy straps of her camisole fall off her shoulders, the remaining fabric clinging to the soft swell of her tits and nothing else.
I moan at the promise of them—of her—then kiss the dip behind her earlobe just so I can breathe in the scent of her hair.
“Is this okay?” I ask. “Do you want me to stop?”
Violet moves her mouth to the shell of my ear. “Don’t stop,” she whispers. “I want to feel good. Ineedto feel good. Please.”
Her words ignite a chemical reaction in my blood—a mixture of desire and desperation and challenge.
I run the tip of my nose across her collarbone, swirling my tongue across the hollow at her throat, and keep my voice low. “Wallflower?”
She arches back, pressing her tits against my chest, and I resist the urge to tear her clothes off with my teeth. “Yes?”
“Can I make you come?”
“Oh, God.”
Violet closes her eyes, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breaths. I hover over her, watching the flush creep up her chest and tease her cheeks, wishing I could free the painful hard-on trapped inside my jeans.
She’s so beautiful like this—wet hair sprawled across the pillows, skin pink and damp, her body on the edge of wanting and needing andhaving—so when she bites her bottom lip and nods, I groan and stretch my body over hers, the sheets still between our hips, and fall on her neck as I tug her silky top down and free her incredible breasts.
“Damn, Wallflower.” I wrap my palm around one breast, tweaking a pink peak that’s already pebbled and perfect, and capturing the opposite nipple in my mouth.
She gasps when my hot mouth closes over the sensitive zone, then hardens further under my tongue, her fingers tangling in my hair as she gasps and groans, her pelvis twisting beneath the covers as she hunts for friction.
I set my lips to her ear and whisper, “I’ve thought about you like this so many times, but touching you now is better than even my wildest dreams.”
I glance up at her, wanting proof that I’m doing what she asked and making her feel good, but her eyes are closed. Yes, her body writhes beneath my touch. There’s a salty, sensual sheen of perspiration across her neck. Her hair is tousled, she’smaking lusty little noises in her throat, and I know if I touched her between her legs, I’d find her wet and wanting, but it’s not enough. Not for tonight and not for me.
