The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(66)

Violet leans down, leaning in, her long hair dusting my chest. Tickling. Teasing. Her tongue flicks my earlobe.

“But I like it.”

Her pussy is so close to my cock. So close. All I have to do is lift her, move her two inches to bury myself inside her.

I groan.

“T-Tell me what you want to do to me,” she whispers in the shell of my ear. “I love your body, Zeke. I love how it feels naked, how big and strong. Your…”

“Giant cock?” I supply.

“Yes.” She reaches behind her to latch on, giving it a few tugs. “It’s so soft.”

“I want you to fucking ride it. Climb on and fuck me, Violet.”

She braces her arms on the headboard, placing her palms on the wall behind the bed. Lifts her rear and hovers above my thick boner.

My leg practically spasms from the anticipation as I brace her hips in my hands to steady her. Hold my fucking breath like an amateur when she sinks herself down, tilting her hips so it glides in almost effortlessly.

“Motherfucker that feels good…oh god, fuck.” I utter out a string of curses when she slowly gyrates her hips, using the headboard as an anchor.

“Oh my god your dick feels good.” Violet moans, rocking her hips on top of me.

“Jesus that was sexy.” I give her ass a little slap. Reach with my mouth to suck one of her nipples into my mouth.

“I’m going to come if you do that,” she warns me, arching her back and sitting up. Releasing the wall and leaning back, rocking and rocking and rocking her hips until my dick fucking throbs, hard.

On the other side of the room, someone bangs on the wall, three warning thumps.

Violet pauses, biting her lip.

Still grasping her hips, I push and pull her along my cock, the give and take working her pussy and, “Mmm, oh…uh…I’m trying to be quiet but I can’ttttt…” she whines.

Violet is a talker.

A dirty little talker.

“Fuck me, oh god Zeke…”

I jerk my hips.

“Oh! Ooohhhhhhh…yeah…I’m dying, I swear…”

“That’s right Violet, fuck me, fuck it. You wanna get spanked?”

Her head lolls back and she gasps when I give her ass another tap. “Yeah spank me.”

A loud thump interrupts.

“NO! SHUT THE FUCK UP! Some of us are trying to sleep!” More banging and Oz shouting from the other side of the wall. “No one is spanking anyone! GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!”

A laugh brews, welling inside, beginning in my abs, working its way up and out of my mouth. Laughing while I impale her. I can’t stop it.

Violet halts riding my dick to stare down at me.

“Why are you stopping?” I pull at her hips, tugging insatiably. I thrust up, greedy. “Keep going.”

“Oh my god, Zeke, you’re laughing.” She leans down to press a kiss to my lips. “That was so sexy. You’re so sexy.”

My mouth latches on and I brush the hair out of her face to get a look at her beautiful eyes. Mouth. Lips. Nose. Chin. “You’re fuckin sexy.” Kiss. “Beautiful.”

“I love this body, so much…” Her hands smooth along the planes of my pecs. Pinch my nipples. “I could stay here all night.”

“Let’s have a fuck fest all weekend.”

The telltale sign of her pussy tightening has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Clenching my cock. Fuck it feels good, fuck it feels good, fuck it feels good…

“Oh god Zeke, I’m gonna come, I-I’m gonna… I’m…”

Why does this feel so good? Why does this feel so good, why…

Violet’s head tips back, mouth falling open when we come together—and I come hard.

Groan.

Groan so loud Oz starts thumping on the wall, banging loudly.

But the sound only makes me come harder.





Violet



“Those are some slick sneaks, Kyle.”

It’s Thursday and we’re walking into the city’s children’s museum—Zeke, Summer, Kyle, and I—since the weather is too frigid for the park. The kids are skipping along when I notice Kyle’s brand new shoes. I mean, the kid couldn’t make it any more obvious, kicking his heels up every ten feet, stomping around noisily, bending to tie them near every bench.

He stops to tie them now for the third time since we’ve been here. “Zeke got ’em for me. I won a bet.”

“You won a bet?” Whirling to him, I ask, “Dear lord, what kind of bets are you making with an eleven-year-old that require you to buy him new tennis shoes?”

He shrugs. “The normal kind.”

“I beat him at hoops,” Kyle brags, sprinting ahead to show off, jumping in the air and dunking an invisible basketball. His brand new navy and gray sneakers are high end and the latest style.

“The normal kind?” I turn toward Zeke, skeptically. “Is that so?”

I stop to tap the toe of my brown half boot on the marble floor impatiently.

“What’s the big deal?” Zeke asks when both kids are out of earshot, studying a demonstration of weather patterns. I can see Summer pressing down on a lever, the display box in front of them flickering, lightning illuminating the exhibit.