The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(61)

I swallow the lump forming in my throat, nose tingling from his words. His words.

His words, simple as they are, are beautiful words.

A tear escapes the corner of my eyes, but he catches it with his thumb. “Don’t cry, Pix.”

“I-I can’t help it, you’re being so sweet. It’s so weird.”

“You know I wouldn’t be saying any of this to you if it wasn’t true.” His voice is raw with emotion, too, his lips brushing mine in a shocking jolt of heat. His breath is hot. He tastes like beer and peppermint gum. “Violet.”

Zeke’s hands don’t leave my face, not until I release the hold I have on his wrists and touch his firm chest. His hard pecs. Drag my flattened palms along the planes of his shirt, letting the pads of my fingers memorize the lines.

His body is so strong. So impossibly unrelenting, in top physical form.

I release the top button of his shirt. Then another, and another, until his lips pull back, brows raised. “Are you undressing me?”

“Yes, I think so. Please stop talking—I don’t want to l-lose my courage.”

A chuckle. “Yes ma’am.”

Closes in for another kiss.

Tongue.

My hands.

His body.

I just want to touch it.

See it.

All of it.

Insatiably curious, I part the collar of his shirt, sliding my hands inside, over his warm skin with a moan—is that his moan or mine? Zeke has hair on his chest, a light smattering on his pectoral muscles and sternum. Black and soft, I explore it, gently running my fingers across the sparse hair.

Finish unbuttoning the shirt. Spread it wide. Push it down over his broad shoulders. He shrugs out of it, watching it land on the hardwood floor at our feet in a heap.

His heated, liquid gaze is positively on fire, and it’s directed at me.

I want to see every part of him, so I break our kiss, doing a short walk around him, eyes consuming the sight of his naked upper torso. Devour his graceful collarbone. His sinewy physique.

He has ink on his back.

I’ve never seen such a large tattoo in person; it’s big and black, engulfing his entire muscular back, beginning at each shoulder blade, spanning down his deltoids and dipping low, disappearing down into the waistband of his dark denim jeans.

My fingers ache to touch it.

When I do, hesitantly at first, he shivers. A long tremor that ripples through his entire body when I caress the fine lines inked onto this beautiful, smooth skin. He’s tense, but lets me trail my fingers across his ridged shoulder blades, along the intricate lines etched into his flesh.

I love this tattoo.

It’s so perfect, angry and menacing and somewhat ominous in its design.

So him.

“Is this a phoenix?” Rising from the ashes, overcoming obstacles, wrapped in a map of the world rather than flames, its talons clutching a compass. Moving forward? Traveling the world?

His head dips. His skin breaks out in gooseflesh. “Yes.”

I kiss his back, trailing my lips along his skin. His shoulder blades. The contours of his spine. “What does it mean?”

“I had it done when I was pissed at my parents.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re always gone. Traveling.”

“Always leaving?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He watches me silently over his shoulder, eyes blazing, before deciding he’s had enough of my feathery touches. Twisting his body around, Zeke pulls my hands to his chest, resting them on his firm pecs.

I’ve never touched someone with a body like this before; I can’t believe I’m touching one now. He is tan, strong, well-defined—all rippling contours and bulging muscles.

Taut, tight perfection.

His low baritone interrupts my gawking. “My turn. Let’s get you out of that dress.”

I try to nod when he moves to stand behind me.

Zeke’s fingers are clumsy, fiddling with the button at the back of my dress. “I have no idea how to be gentle with someone so delicate.” His lips hover near my ear, warm breath caressing my neck. “Bear with me.”

“Y-Yes you do. You’ve been doing it with me for weeks.”

“I have?” He nuzzles my nape as he parts the zipper.

“Yes.”

Now he’s lowering the zipper, fingers skimming the newly exposed skin along the way. My eyelids slide closed when he pushes my hair aside, mouth brushing the skin under my ear. His lips are warm, gentle. Teasing.

I tip my head.

His lips find the pulse at the side of my throat.

I hum.

He groans.

Arms around my waist, his giant paws hug my hips, drawing me closer and pulling my butt snugly into his erection. Hands move lower. Fingers toy with the hemline of my pretty blue dress. Raise the fabric and skim my stomach, just above the elastic band of my white underwear.

His hands glide higher, dragging the dress along with them, skimming up my abs. Ribcage. The underside of my breasts.

The cool air hits my body at the same time his erection presses into my backside, straining against me. Zeke continues kissing my neck. Sucking. Licking.

Cups both my breasts in his giant hands, sliding them one at a time into the cups of my lacey white demi-bra. There are no wires and no padding; I don’t need them.