The Probability of Violet and Luke(48)

Chapter 11
Luke

Good guy? Bad guy? What kind of guy am I? A few months ago, I knew the answer and I was okay with that. Better to understand yourself then to be completely clueless. Not knowing is hard and right now I’m the biggest, clueless * there is. Because I want to f*ck the hell out of Violet. I want to f*ck her long and hard until she screams out my name and stabs her nails into my skin like she did in the car… God, that made me almost come inside my jeans, right here in the back of the car.

I want her more than anything and need to take her more than anything. That’s what the devil on my shoulder is whispering. But on the opposite shoulder, there’s this little angel, well I guess that’s what it is, but I can’t be certain since I’ve never heard it before. But it’s telling me that Violet’s drunk and hurting, and that it almost seems like she’s trying to cover up her pain by doing reckless things she wouldn’t necessarily do when she was sober. Like coming with me here, being with me, wanting me. It hurts to think about it like that but I can see it in her eyes, the same look she had on the ledge when we were running from Geraldson. Only I’m her ledge this time—her danger.

I go back and forth for the entire drive and come to the decision to be a good guy, but she makes it really complicated when we get back, stumbling into the bedroom together and she starts stripping off her clothes before I can even get the door shut. She’s drunk enough that she’s unsteady on her feet and sloppy with her movements, but the way her eyes stay focused on me is sexy as hell. First the dress, then the slip under the dress… and oh hell, she has no panties on. But before I can even take that all in, off goes her bra. She playfully throws it at me and it ends up hitting my face. I catch it, shaking my head, a smile starting to emerge, but the sight of her bare body in front of me makes me have to bite down on my lip to suppress a moan.

“You’re seriously wasted.” I drop the bra onto the floor, unable to take my eyes off her long, lean legs, flat, inked stomach, her perky nipples.

“So what? So are you.” She backs up until her legs brush the bed, and then she lowers herself down onto the mattress, crooking a finger at me to follow, waiting for me to go get her. And I want to badly, but I need to be a good guy, even if it’s just once in my life.

“I’m always drunk,” I admit truthfully, slowly crossing the room toward her. “You on the other hand usually aren’t.” I stop just short of the bed where her legs are dangling over. “In fact, I’ve only seen you drunk once.”

She gives me a blank stare. “Can you seriously tell me that you’ve never slept with a girl that was drunk before?”

I shake my head. “But you’re different.” I reach out and place my hand on her cheek, intoxicated enough that I don’t give a shit how emotional I’m being. “And I don’t want to sleep with you just because you’re drunk and you’re hurting over something... I want it to mean something… for both of us.” I blow out a breath, my cock getting seriously angry with me. “But if you want to talk about it, we can. In fact, I wish you would.”

She lets out a sharp laugh. “I don’t want to talk at all.” She leans away from my hand, her expression hardening and filling with panic. “Why are you trying to be all chivalrous right now, when hours ago you were so ready to f*ck me?”

“Because I got caught up in the moment earlier,” I tell her, letting my hand fall to my side. “And I’m not saying I don’t want you. Trust me, I do, but I’ve just been thinking,” I take a deep inhale and let it out slowly before I sit down on the bed beside her, “About how we haven’t really talked about anything. And I know you don’t want to, which is fine, but I just don’t think we should sleep together. Not until we’ve confronted the stuff between us.” God, this is a first for me. Naked girl in front of me, legs spread open, and I’m not willing to thrust my cock inside her.

I wait for her to get pissed at me, but instead she starts breathing heavily as if she’s struggling to get air into her lungs and her gaze is sweeping the room, as if she’s searching for a way out, this panicked frenzy taken over the drunken look in her eyes. I’m not sure where it stemmed from so abruptly, but I know enough about panic attacks to know she’s about to have one.

“Violet, relax.” I put a hand on her knee, trying to get her to look at me. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to.”