The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(62)

“You feel so good, Vi. Better than I thought you would.”

My head tips back, hitting his shoulder and resting there. “You’ve thought about how I’d feel?”

“Practically every night since the day we met.”

Oh…

Oh.

Oh! His fingers graze my hard nipples, back and forth, and I tip my head back, to the side so he can kiss me. Our tongues roll as he gently strokes my chest.

His calloused palms feel amazing against my smooth flesh.

Those huge hands travel back down my figure, gripping the material of my dress. I raise my arms when he raises the dress up, over my head, relieving me of it altogether, discarding it on his desk chair.

Turns me by the shoulders to face him.

Steely gaze raking me up and down, I stand before him, self-conscious in only my sheer, lacey bra and matching panties, half tempted to cover my small breasts with my hands.

But I don’t.

I don’t because if I can’t stand naked in front of him without covering myself up, then I shouldn’t be standing naked in front of him at all.

But I know the kind of women this guy has been with. Beautiful girls with incredible bodies. Great boobs. Big boobs. Fake boobs. Perfectly coifed hair. Sexy girls with hips and lips and bikini waxes.

I have none of those things.

I don’t even shave down there. Not really. Sometimes I do a little trimming, but that’s about as good as it gets—because really, who is going to be taking any peeks downtown?

I clear my throat to redirect his gaze, off my chest and back to my eyes.

It does.

Slowly.

Up over my lower abs. Flat stomach, ribcage, and breasts. Grazes over my collarbone.

Something in his look though…

It’s tender and…

Kind of stupidly goofy.

Smitten.

His mouth is crooked, white teeth peeking out from between his lips before he bites down on his lower lip. Sucks on it.

Uh…

I take a step backward, legs hitting the back of the bed.

Crawling across the bedspread, I find my way under the covers.

Work the straps of my bra down and off my shoulders. Pull it up over my head and fold it into a square, resting it on his nightstand. Reaching under the covers, I peel my underwear down my legs.

“I cannot fucking believe you’re getting naked in my bed.” Zeke sounds giddy and excited while shucking his pants, fingers frantically working the zipper, pushing them down over his lean hips. His muscular thighs. He hops on one leg, kicking and shaking the offending jeans off and across the room toward his desk.

His body is a true work of art, flawless.

The mattress dips with his weight when he crawls toward me on all fours in nothing but his tight boxers. He seeks my mouth.

Our lips meet, but not in a frantic crush.

It’s more of a slow burn.

Tongue. Lips. Pressing together, spreading apart. Sucking. Delectable, wet kisses. His mouth drifts down my neck, and I recline onto his stack of pillows, fingers threading through his hair. His thick, silky hair.

Zeke’s nose nuzzles the curve of my neck, running the length of skin just under my ear. I can hear him breathing in the smell of my hair, my perfume, my collarbone, groaning like he’s losing his mind.

I raise my arms so they’re above my head, watching when his flat tongue glides up the underside of my bicep, back down again, palms pushing down the black sheets I’ve drawn up for modesty.

Drags the sheet down my thighs.

Digs his hands under my ass and lifts my hips, dragging me toward him so I’m lying horizontally on the bed. Inches over me, rising to his knees. One leg braced on either side of me, the massive, broody boy looks down at me.

I can’t imagine what he sees, watching me with those insightful eyes. Long pale hair spread out on his black pillow. My slender, willowy figure lain out beneath him. My small, sun-deprived breasts.

“You should see yourself, Vi. Fucking hot.”

He leans down for an open-mouthed kiss, all tongue and teeth. It’s sloppy and delicious, and his lips begin a slow trail over my bare flesh, across my shoulders, over the curve of my breasts. His tongue doesn’t stop until it reaches my nipples. He sucks gently, his palm drifting up my torso to cup the other breast.

His boxer brief-covered erection rubs my crotch and I lift my hips toward it, the throbbing between my legs getting more unbearable by the second. He’s taking his time, planting indulgent kisses on my body—all over my body—the scruff of his five o’clock shadow leaving tiny beard rash as a delicious parting gift.

“I want to go down on you, Pixie. I’ve never seen a girl with hair on her pussy and it’s driving me insane—will you let me?”

I just barely manage a nod, biting down on my bottom lip when he drags his hard length along my thigh, kisses creeping lower and lower.

Belly button. Abs.

Zeke’s palms spread my legs farther apart. Head lowers between my open thighs, tongue licking my bikini line. His thumbs track together up the center of my slit, spreading me apart. Tongue flicks my—“Oh shit!” I gasp, breathless. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

He raises his head. “Not even close, baby.”

There is no headboard to grab on to. No bedposts. No pillow or sheet to bite down on. “Oh god Zeke…oh god that feels so gooood…”