The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(89)

“All right then, it’s settled. You’re sleeping over.”

“I’m sleeping over,” he parrots, testing out the words with an amused expression. “Shit, those are three words I’ve never said to anyone.”

And they’re for me.

“Don’t look so smug,” he teases, reaching for me under the blankets, hauling me closer, snug into his body.

He draws down the strap of my bra, kissing my shoulder blade. Kissing the curve of my neck. Pulls back the lace and kisses my nipple, licks it.

An excited gasp of eagerness escapes my lips.

“Shh.” He silences me with a quick kiss on the mouth. “We have to be quiet. Winnie doesn’t want to hear us having S-E-X.”

S-E-X. He spells it out like it’s naughty.

“I love your pretty little tits.” He sucks gently until my head hits the pillow and I’m clutching my bed sheets. “I could suck your nipples all night.”

Oh god, I would let you.

He lifts his eyes, nuzzling the underside of my boob with his nose. “Shh, that was out loud.”

Oh god.

“That too.”

I don’t know how long we stay like this, him exploring my body with softly roaming hands—seconds, minutes maybe?—but when my eyes get heavy, his palm slides behind my neck.

He cradles my head in one hand, the other tracing the curve of my waist, up and down my ribcage. It takes a trip over my stomach, over my belly button, finger circling the small indentation there.

His mouth soundlessly forms the words, “I love you.”

Lips meet my mouth.

Tongue dips inside.

Slower than he’s ever kissed me before.

Wide, open-mouthed kisses. Slow, delicious tongue.

Wet.

Zeke repositions himself, his knee inserting itself between my legs, gradually nudging them apart. Firm, hot thighs. Tight ass. Chiseled, sexy body.

Mine, all mine.

When his hard, sinewy biceps brace themselves on either side of my head, our lips meet again.

He pushes in effortlessly. Slowly.

Magnificently stiff.

Gloriously long.

We moan in tandem, his face buried in my shoulder, nipping.

I cradle his head, spreading my legs farther when he begins a slow, steady rhythm, grunting with each thrust.

“Uhh…” My eyes roll toward the ceiling, vision blurry. I can’t focus. “Uhh…”

When his mouth muffles my moans, my brows furrow, almost painfully. It feels so “Mm…mmmph…” I break the contact. “Oh god…” I pant. “Oh Zeke, yes…I love you…”

“I love you, Violet. I fucking love you…”

Our kisses are frenzied. Frantic. Desperate.

Wet.

Panting.

Moaning.

“You feel so good, oh god, deeper…”

His pelvis rotates, controlled, pushing deep. Grabbing my ass and pulling me in, sinking into me as far as he can go. So thick. So hard. So…so…

I want to cry good. Painful good.

Mouthwatering.

Eye rolling.

Hot.

My toes curl.

The pumping becomes excruciatingly slow, our heads thrown back. He leans in to suck on my neck, my breasts.

When his tongue latches onto a nipple, “Ffff…uck…that’s gonna make me come…push Zeke, harder…oh god, yeah…yesssss…oh god, yes yes…”

Then my mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Stars shine behind my eyelids, and—my own name? Violet who?

“Violet, Violet…” he chants, remembering it for me, all attempts at silent sex long forgotten as Zeke comes, entire body jerking. Grips my hips with his fingers, releasing inside me with tiny spasms.

Shudders.

I can feel it—every bit of it—warm and hot.

Perfect.





Zeke



“I feel like a circus freak. Everyone’s staring like I’m a sideshow.”

Violet pats my hand. “They’re not staring at you; they’re staring at us.”

“No, babe. They’re definitely staring at me.”

We’re at the movies.

On—get this—a group date.

My personal hell has officially frozen over with rapid-fire speed.

This group date shit is just so fucking weird. Strange.

But I’m doing it for Violet, and at least it’s not one of those hideous canvas-and-wine parties I’ve heard about from other guys, which Jameson originally planned for this date night. “Unfortunately” the place was booked solid.

Dodged a bullet with that one.

In front of us, a two-story projection screen runs a reel of movie trivia while the audience waits for the movie to start—trivia questions Oz and Jameson keep obnoxiously shouting out the answers to.

Fortunately, there are people sandwiched between us, so I don’t have to sit next to my irritating roommate. It’s me, Violet, Rex Gunderson, his date (some chick named Megan? Teagan?), Oz, Jameson, and then Elliot, odd numbering out the cluster to make it even more of a fuck.

I glance down the row—because I’m a sadist—to find Oz watching me. He wiggles his fingers in a cheeky wave then winks. Tips his head back on the seat when I scowl, laughing.

James kisses his neck, his lips before settling back in her seat, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it with her mouth. She catches me watching and smiles, holding the tub forward in the universal sign of an offering: You want some?