Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“What does it mean for us?” she whispers, stepping forward.
It’s dangerous to do this here… dangerous to grab her hips and pull her against me. I’m addicted. That’s the truth. I can’t quit her. Never. She’s even more tempting when she makes her just-Violet moaning noise, pressing herself against me as I squeeze her body, owning it.
Our lips meet in a collision of heat. She moans with more fierceness, gripping onto my back with eager fingernails, her breasts flattening against my body, her curvy hips captured by my hands as I obsessively tighten my hold, keep her in place, own her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she says as the kiss breaks off, remaining in my arms.
We’re in full view of the doorway. If Andrew came downstairs now, he’d see us, but I can’t let her go. She feels too perfect in my embrace. Made for me.
“It wasn’t my place,” I say gruffly.
“You know this makes things more complicated, right? I mean…” She shudders, her cheeks blushing crimson. “It was crazy enough, anyway. With you… doing what you do. And the mob. And everything. You were best friends, Luke.”
I sigh darkly, the significance not lost on me. “I know. It’s a tricky situation.”
“Talk about an understatement.”
“Come on. It’s getting cold out here.”
I take her hand, hold it with what I hope is reassuring pressure. She squeezes me with something like desperation as I lead her inside. Leaving her at the table, I go upstairs and switch the heating on, hearing Andrew in his bedroom, the tap-tap-tap of his computer keys.
“Do you want to talk about your dad?” Violet asks when I return.
My body stiffens. Memories attack me, physical as much as emotional, countless hate-filled arrows fired at me.
“Why?” I growl.
She stands, brushing her outfit down. I think it’s a nervous gesture, but the result is her hands smooth down her curvy body, over her breasts, her belly… her gorgeous, voluptuous belly I can already imagine swelling with our future.
“We don’t have to,” she murmurs. “It’s just… in the car… it seemed like you might want to.”
“It’s ancient history,” I snarl.
She walks close, reaches up, touches my chest. “Your heart’s beating like crazy.”
“It’s you,” I say fiercely. “Being close to you. Kissing you. Just looking at you, Violet.”
We kiss again, the feeling never getting old, always feeling this is what we’re supposed to be doing.
Despite the rage, the pain her questions bring, my manhood stiffens as I drive my hips against her, pushing against her belly. Ready to claim her womb, ready to fuck her sweet hole hard and fast until I’m emptying everything I’ve got.
Once the kiss ends, she remains in my arms, leaning back as if she never has to question if I’ll support her. I will… always.
She’s right. It’s complicated with Andrew, with the friendship, the borderline brotherhood we once shared.
Violet doesn’t ask anything else, just looks up at me with so much understanding in her face and acceptance in her eyes. It’s like she’s melting the ice I’ve built up around the past. She takes my face in her hands, one hand to each cheek, pushing her warmth against me. It does more melting, chipping away at the shield I’ve put up. My breath shudders. My chest tightens.
“What are we, Violet?” I snap, though it’s not her I’m angry with. Maybe it’s the world. The past. That I lived all these years without my woman. Of course, I had to. Our age gap means I needed to live without her, waiting… It still pisses me off… the thought of those long years without Violet, this heat, this closeness.
She flinches. “What do you mean?”
“You and me. What are we doing?”
She laughs, a hint of her trademark feistiness in the noise. “That sounds like a question I should be asking as the needy younger woman.”
“You’re asking about my childhood. I thought I was the killer who kidnapped you. The man you couldn’t wait to get away from. Why would you care?”
She digs her fingernails through my shirt. There is no way to quantify my feelings for this woman. It’s in every little quirk of expression, the way she tilts her head, the gorgeous messiness of her hair, the tiny flitting movements of her eyes. It’s everything, every single moment. Just her.
“We both know it’s more than that,” she whispers.
I smooth my hands around her to her lower back, close to her ass, but somehow, I restrain myself. Even with my manhood raging, my tip leaking hot precome as we press closer.
Maybe that’s all I need, the knowledge she sees it as more. Maybe not forever, but we’re farther along than where we started.
I lean down, kissing the edge of her mouth as softly as I can. “I never talk about this, but it’s not complicated. My dad was in the life, too. He worked for the mob. He was the cruelest man you’d ever meet.”