The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(69)

I keep pushing the shirt up until together, we get it off and over her head.

The bra is lavender.

Violet.

Soft purple.

Delicate see-through lace just covering her nipples.

I can feel my pupils dilating at the sight of her small tits in the sexy miniscule bra that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her boobs might not be enough to fill the palm of my large hand, but they’re perfect.

They’re her.

I drag a strap across her shoulder, pushing the cup aside. Kiss my way down the side of her neck, dragging my nose against her skin. Lick and flick her peachy nipple, hand stroking the underside gently, teasing while I blow the wet tip. It’s hard and just begging to be sucked.

My lips comply and latch on. Gently I draw it into my hot mouth, sucking.

“Oh god,” she moans, fingernails digging into my shoulders. My scalp. “Ohhhh…”

I release the nipple, kiss the underside where my hand was, then lavish attention to the other one. Kiss up her bare shoulder, up the curve of her neck.

I nip and suck the entire way.

“Take your shirt off,” she instructs. “I want to feel your skin.”

I lean back, kneeling above her, yanking my shirt over my head then throwing it on the ground. Drag my naked torso up her body, firm pecs against her soft tits, the sensation indescribable.

Fucking amazing.

Fucking hot.

Fucking heaven.

She looks like a goddamn angel.

My fingers fiddle with the snap on her jeans, working the button free. Drag down the zipper, its metal teeth making the only sound in the room besides our heavy breathing.

Run my flattened palm over her stomach, dipping into the waistband of her underwear.

Her granny panties.

I chuckle; she’s so fucking cute.

The differences between us are astounding; I almost pause to list them all, but abort when Violet shifts her hips to redirect my hand, squirming.

“You like that?” My voice is gruff, dirty thoughts taking root in my dirty mind.

“You feel so good.” She gasps. “Your hands are incredible…”

Women have said this before, moaned into the air about how good I’m making them feel, but this is different. Nothing about Violet is rehearsed or dramatic. Everything is genuine.

So when she whispers that my hands are incredible, my chest swells with pleasure. Satisfaction and pride.

Lust.

I lick her earlobe. “You should see the things these hands can do. Want me to show you?”

A quick, fervent nod and another hum. “Mmmhmm.”

We shuck our jeans enthusiastically, lying on top of the bed in nothing but our underwear.

Resting my head on her shoulder, I kiss the side of her neck, letting my flat, open palm float up her semi-nude figure, leaving a ripple of goose bumps in its wake across her skin. Beginning at her calf, my hand is so big it easily encircles her entire leg, flattening when I reach her knee.

Spans her thigh, stroking it leisurely. My thumb finds its way into the elastic band of her underwear, trailing up the leg hole toward her lean hips. Glides across her stomach, her abs, forefinger tracing around her belly button in slow steady loops.

She watches my hand the entire time, sucking in a breath when I walk my middle and index fingers up her delicate sternum.

Violet turns her face just then, our eyes connecting as I continue tenderly stroking her skin. Along the swell of her breasts, then down the smooth expanse of her shoulders. When I reach her wrist, our fingers entwine.

I kiss her nose.

She kisses mine.

I breathe her in—breathe in everything about this girl—from her scented shampoo to the smell of her clean, flawless skin.

They say not to judge a person by their appearances because looks can be deceiving, but there is nothing deceiving about this girl.

She is everything on the inside that she appears to be on the outside. Sweet. Compassionate. Kind. And beautiful—heart, body, and mind.

Violet DeLuca is my opposite in every sense of the word.

My finger travels the curve of her brow, trailing along to her temple. When her mouth tips into a shy smile and that pretty pink top lip bites down on the bottom…it’s agony.

My eyes squeeze closed when I kiss her, dark brows creasing in concentration. I don’t dare open them again.

Every part of me tingles during this kiss. The sensations are ones I won’t surely forget any time soon, ones I can’t even describe without sounding like a fucking pansy.

Shit, I already do sound like one.

Violet rolls into me, our fronts pressed together, perfectly aligned until I shift, my stiff dick snuggly tucked between her legs. Right where it fucking should be.

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.