The Failing Hours
Page 66“It got you over here, didn’t it?”
I rear back, surprised. “Pixie, are you flirting with me?”
“Not on purpose.” She licks her lips, and I lower my head to place a light kiss on her mouth, arms braced on either side of her head. “Yes.”
My pecs graze her chest.
I drop my pelvis, the thickening erection between my legs brushing the apex between her thighs.
Kiss her jawline, from the tender spot below her ear to her chin…down the porcelain skin on her neck. Use my index finger to pull back the cotton of her t-shirt, leaving warm kisses in my wake. Pepper kisses on her collarbone. Glide my tongue down the vale of her breasts.
She sighs into my thick hair, fingernails stroking my scalp.
I let my hands wander.
Down the thin shirt better fit for my bedroom floor. Over her denim-clad hips. Across the belt loops of her jeans. Up and down her metal zipper.
She sighs again, her hot little palms running the length of my wide shoulder blades, fingertips pressing into each muscle. Branding them with her hot touch, learning every cord.
Our open mouths meet again in an unhurried dance—so fucking deliberate and intentional and smooth…
I’m dragging my tongue across her lips. It’s sloppy, but the little shocks zipping up my spine have me shivering, dick stiffening in my pants.
My brows furrow from the friction, pained. From her tongue. Her smell, sounds, and gentle caresses.
I glide my hand under her t-shirt along her ribcage, cupping her right breast without preamble. She’s wearing one of those little lacey bras again, the kind without wires or padding or pretense.
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.”
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.
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.