FOURTEEN
Violet
The first week back to school blows. I swear to God, waking up prior to nine in the morning should be outlawed. On top of that, the only thing I’ve gotten to do with Cullen the last three days is text and say hi in the hallway. Oh, and wink. I got a wink. Not even our plan periods line up anymore. Last year, we both had third block off, but this year, Cullen has a last block plan to my third. Admin said it had something to do with football practices and getting out on the field sooner. Whatever I was thinking before about a little separation being good for us was total bullshit. I miss him.
Tonight’s football game is a big one. Rivals and all that. But it’s away so I’m not going, and the team left on a bus right after school.
I throw my stuff down inside the entryway of my townhouse, promising to pick it up after I change my clothes, but I get a text from Cullen that delays it all.
Cullen: Miss U
Me: I bet. On bus w/stinky boys
Cullen: Got that right. See U at game?
Me: Not this one. Long day, bad mood.
Cullen: I’m sorry, Beautiful. Let me fix it?
Me: LOL, not from the bus
Cullen: I can come by after game?
Me: That would be perfect
Cullen: I’ll text U, 2 Color
Me: Sounds good, Thor, C U. Good luck!
Feeling slightly better that I have something to look forward to now, I pick up my bag from out by the front door and skip up the stairs. In reality, I never could have let it sit. I change into some yoga pants and a tank top, brush the knots out of my long hair, and trot back downstairs to relax with Jax until I hear from Cullen again.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep because I jolt awake and check the time. It’s nearly light outside and my phone says five thirty. Did I miss his text? The indicator light isn’t blinking so I type in my code to retrieve messages. Nothing is there. No missed calls, either. A slow panic starts to build in my belly; little butterflies randomly take flight. This isn’t like Cullen at all.
I send him a message.
Me: R U ok?
Then I wait. I stretch and pace around the living room, waiting. I look at the pictures on my wall, waiting. I clean the two counters in my tiny kitchen even though they are already spotless, waiting. I sit on a cold, hard stool with a huff and lay my head on the counter. The scent of citrus Lysol wafts into my sinuses. What if he’s laid out somewhere in an accident and I don’t have any idea? Flashbacks to not knowing that Anden was sprawled on the front lawn with twelve rusty metal tines piercing his organs, blood pooling in between his tissues as air hissed out of his lungs at each attempt to call my name flick across my vision like an old film reel. Then, in the most horrifying fashion, his baby blues shift to simmering brown, round cheeks morph into strong angles, and the full picture of Cullen laying in a ditch somewhere covered in ants and flies dances behind my eyelids.
My head jerks up with the sudden force of a train wreck. There’s sweat collecting in the creases of my knees. This is stupid; I’m going to call. I grip my phone to pull up Cullen’s contact information, but it dings instead.
Cullen: I’m sorry. We got back super late, Celebrating the win.
I figured U were sleeping, didn’t want to wake U.
Me: So U R ok?
Cullen: Yes
Me: And U R home?
Cullen: Yes
Me: So I didn’t miss U?
Cullen: No?
I can’t explain why I’m pissed, but I am. I thought Cullen was coming over. I mean, that was the plan right? Dammit when plans don’t work. Plus now I’ve just gotten near hysterical imagining his horrible fake death on the side of the road somewhere. It’s embarrassing.
Cullen: Violet?
I just stare at my screen. I don’t know what to say to him that won’t sound like a petulant child. I probably should just go back to sleep and deal with this later. I prepare to type just that, but Cullen beats me to another text.
Cullen: I’m coming over.
Me: I’m going back to bed.
Cullen: Nope, already in truck.
Well shit. I avoid responding by running up to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I can’t have this discussion with barn breath. I’m also starving, which makes everything worse, so I make it back downstairs and grab a bowl and some granola, but I hear a light tapping at the door. That was fast.
Taking a deep breath and abandoning my cereal, I walk over and open the door. Oh. My. God. What is it about this beautiful man with bed hair, a t-shirt stretched tight over sleepy muscles, and loose pants hanging low on his hips leaning on a doorframe first thing in the morning? He twirls his keys from his finger to his palm once, twice, three times… I’m star-struck.
“Are you gonna let me in?”
I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows. I’m supposed to be pissed, not aroused. I clear my throat and use my coolest, most unaffected-sounding tone. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me after standing me up last night?”
“Standing you up?” He stops swinging his keys.
I continue calmly, albeit slightly lofty, “And making me worry that something awful happened to you and no one would know to tell me? I’d get to find out with the rest of the mainstream? Maybe get a Tweet or Facebook post?”
“Oh, man, Violet. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. It was late, too late. You said you’d had a bad day, and I figured you were probably sleeping so I’d just see you today.”
He reaches for my arm, but I drop them both and turn to walk into my living room. However, I at least hold the door open behind me and wait. I hear Cullen blow out a breath, then the door latches and locks. There’s a tug on my arm, and then I spin and am pressed against his hard chest.
“Is that really why you’re so mad at me, Violet?”
I want to look at the floor so I can study the loops of the carpet instead of the intensity of his eyes, but there’s not even enough space for air to flow between us. I don’t know how to go about looking down. I stare at the valley between his pecs instead.
“I’m not mad.”
“Bullshit. Yes, you are. Talk to me.”
“I said I’m not mad. I’m just really disappointed. I wasn’t expecting to have such a hard time getting back into the work routine. I was looking forward to getting to see you last night. Then I woke up this morning and nothing. I flipped out imagining ridiculous things and now you’ve got me trapped, whining like Hollyn. Whatever, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter,” I continue to study the peaks and valleys made by the muscles of his chest and how they rise and fall when he breathes.
“Of course it matters. You matter and so do your feelings.”
“No, they really don’t. It’s not a big deal; I’ll be fine.” I make a move to the side, but Cullen steps with me. I guess we’re not done.
“Hey, Violet? Look at me.”
I sigh but look anyway. His brow is furrowed and only now do I notice how truly tired he looks. His beard isn’t neatly trimmed like usual and his hair is getting longer. Dark strands are starting to curl behind his ears. He’s actually kind of a hot mess who rolled out of bed just to get here for me. It’s really very sweet.
I can’t help but soften. “Cullen, I…”
“Shh, woman,” he smiles and a slow burn replaces the need to escape that started brewing a little bit ago in my stomach. “I’m very sorry for disappointing you. I should have texted like I said I would instead of waiting. It makes sense why that would bother you.”
Whoa, shit, hang on. That’s an actual apology. What am I supposed to do with it? Can’t say I’ve ever gotten one before.
“It’s really fine. I’m sorry, too.”
“Huh? For what?”
“Um… I don’t know. Getting mad? Being disappointed?”
“That’s not something to apologize for, Beautiful. You can be mad and disappointed and frustrated and anything else you want to be. Let’s just talk about it, ok? But don’t act like you don’t matter because that’s just gonna make me mad.”
“Ok, I got it. Can you kiss me now? I mean, you’ve been here, like, fifteen minutes already-”
He leans in with a smile and presses his lips to mine. My fingers run up his neck, playing with the longer hair that’s there while they can. He slips his tongue in just enough to tangle with the tip of mine, sending tingles through my body to my toes. I let out a little sigh, feeling much better already, and appreciating the power of Cullen’s body against mine.
Breathing just a little bit heavier, our foreheads touch and I run my hands over his shoulders and down his arms. He shivers.
“Do you want some breakfast? I can make pancakes.”
“Mmm, I’ll help you.”
Holding his hand, I lead him into the kitchen to make breakfast.
“How did the game go last night?” I pour my cereal back in the box and wipe out the bowl. Handing it to Cullen, I point towards the cabinet where the dishes are. I pull pancake ingredients from the pantry and fridge and dump them in a bowl while he talks.
“Our Raptors kicked ass. We won by fourteen, which doesn’t seem like much, but we fought hard. Hart didn’t have any interceptions and threw for five touchdowns. He had 405 yards.”
“That’s insane! If he keeps it up, he could break some records.” I hand him the whisk and he begins to stir. I figure in his excitement, the batter will get mixed exceptionally well. “What about Boone? How many carries?”
“Twenty three for almost 300 yards.”
“Holy shit!” I pull the bowl away from him and start pouring little round puddles of batter onto the griddle. “Nice work, Coach. We might have to keep you.”
“Might? Damn.” He wraps his arms around me as I flip our pancakes over. “If I wasn’t so hungry,” he nibbles on my neck, “and those didn’t smell so fucking amazing, I’d drag you upstairs with me right now, make you keep me.”
My heart hammers at the insinuation, “You wouldn’t have to drag me, baby.”
“Ugh, you’re gonna ruin me, Violet,” he pulls on my tank strap with his teeth and lets it fall back.
I chuckle, “Nah, but I am gonna feed you. You wanna grab the plates and syrup? There’s berries in the fridge if you want some.”
I have a small café table along the wall and it’s where Cullen puts the plates, forks, syrup, and berries for breakfast. I stand, stunned, in the middle of the kitchen with a mound of pancakes on a plate. “You want to sit at the table?”
“Yeah, why not? I thought you might want to talk. Do you want to watch TV instead?”
“No! I mean, yeah, I want to sit at the table.”
“Ok, well, come on then. We’re all set.”
I walk to the table, but inside I’m falling. Cullen might as well have every bit of my heart now. I know not all of the pieces are together anymore, but I think I can get them close enough to where maybe the broken parts won’t matter and Cullen won’t even notice I’m not whole.
With a brief shake of my head to clear it, I sit down to our quaint little breakfast for two.
***
The tension in my belly is building through breakfast as we share easy conversation and tease each other’s feet under the table. It’s getting harder to hold my fork when all I want to do is lean back in my chair and let his toes climb higher up my yoga pants. I have to get up and move before I break all of my new plates by swiping them to the floor on my way to his lap.
Standing, I take both our plates to the sink and start rinsing off the sticky syrup. Even before I feel his soft lips on my neck, I can feel Cullen’s heat against my back and thighs. I lean into him, pressing my ass into his stiffening cock, and rest my head against his chest.
Cullen nips at my ear, “I’m sorry I frustrated you.”
One hand is on my hip and the other is lightly teasing the skin along the top of my pants.
“Mmm hmm” is all I seem capable of.
The hand on my hip slips beneath my tank, up under the fabric of the shelf bra, and frees my breasts. He kneads the flesh, pebbling my nipples, and I reach around behind me to pull his hips against me tighter. The sound of the water still splashing over the dishes I was rinsing muffles the groan I feel rumbling in Cullen’s chest when that extra pressure digs his erection into my back.
His other hand dips into the front of my panties and finds me hot and wet. His long, skilled fingers slip into my opening one, two, three times to dampen them and then they circle around the hard little bud throbbing for him. I rock my hips along his hand just a little, just enough to make him quiver against me.
“Fuck, Violet,” he nuzzles into my hair.
I pull my tank top off, hit the lever on the faucet, and wrap my arms backwards around his neck, stretching my breasts out to fill his hands with as much as he wants. He’s licking up and down my neck, circling his hand over my clit and between my folds. I could come at any minute.
“I want you inside me now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gingerly he pulls my pants over my hips, nipping at the soft flesh on his way down. I shiver, then wiggle them the rest of the way off as he removes his own shirt. I turn around to watch. I want to see the ripple of muscles, the flex of his arms as he tugs off his pants and throws them on the floor. I want to watch his abs clench when he bends to pull off his boxer briefs and reveal his tremendous arousal. Cullen’s eyes watch me watch him.
When he’s scrumptiously naked, we attack each other’s mouths and he fists my hair, “You taste like syrup and raspberries.”
I lick his bottom lip, “You taste like everything.”
“That’s what you said you wanted,” he breathes against my mouth.
There’s no chance to pause or comment. He sweeps thoroughly with his tongue again, then I turn around and press my backside against his length. He leans back and drags his hands down my sides to my ass to cup the round cheeks pressing into him.
I lean forward, my hands on the edge of the sink, and part my legs. I hear a packet rip open and then feel the hot, slick shaft of Cullen slide along my wetness. I want to cry, it feels so good. My knees are already about to give out. Sensing my feebleness, his arm goes around my waist, and Cullen pushes into my body with one hard, smooth stroke. It’s a whole new remarkable sensation at this angle. He fills me entirely, more than in any other position we’ve shared.
I clinch around him, squeezing and releasing as he backs out, then in again. He pumps and rolls, burying himself inside me deeper with each thrust. I push back onto him until I feel like he might crawl inside and disappear. I risk a glance over my shoulder at him but just seeing the sexy stubble on his face, sweaty torso, and large hands digging into my skin has me losing control. I cry out his name as I plunge hard over the edge. I drop my head, panting, while Cullen leans forward and bites my shoulder. He thrusts faster and harder and then explodes inside me, pulsating and throbbing.
“Violet” escapes as a groan and he holds his position folded over me while his body comes down off its climax.
My legs are weak; it’s Cullen who supports both our weight. He pulls me back against him as he slips out. I shudder and try to catch my breath. We’re sweaty and a bit sticky. I’d say I need a shower, but I’m not sure I’d make it up the stairs.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” his voice resonates through my back.
“Not really. I just can’t seem to get enough of you.”
“Mmm, I like that.” I feel his lips on my hair as he speaks.
“I like you,” I breathe.
“I like you, too,” he rests his chin on my head. I feel him take a breath, hesitate, and then let it out quickly. “Can you make it to the couch while I take care of this?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I’ll be right there.”
Cullen bends and straightens to hand me my clothes. I thank him with a kiss and as steadily as possible, make my way to the living room. I feel like a newborn foal; I probably look just as graceful.
I collapse on the couch just as Cullen appears to snuggle me into his side. We lay down instead and it’s not long before his warmth and slow breathing lull me to sleep. The last thing I hear is a dreamy “Thank you for breakfast.”
Cullen
She’s sleeping pressed into my body and I don’t think there’s a greater, more satisfying feeling in the world. Looking down at her long lashes sweeping over her cheeks and her doll baby lips touching loosely together, I start thinking of all the different ways I can keep this girl with me, make her want to stay with me. She’s a contradiction of mellow innocence playing over a sharp, quick-witted genius of sorts, and it’s causing this white hot flame to tumble around in my guts and seek her out for relief. Except there isn’t any. The closer I get, it just burns brighter and hotter.
I panicked when she tried to shut me out on the phone. Go back to bed? I don’t think so, Beautiful. If you’re mad at me, talk to me. We figure it out. I got here in record time, afraid she’d keep that damn door locked on me. Thank God she answered.
I feel like an asshole for making her afraid that something happened to me. What would she have done? How would she have known? Violet’s right. It would have been in a goddamn tweet.
She tightens her grip on my hip and whimpers a little. Her bare foot twitches, tickling mine, so I press down on it to stop the flutters. I pray this dream doesn’t wake her violently like the other nightmares have. I’m not done looking at her—thinking about her and how to move on from here.
It has to be her past that keeps sneaking in and disturbing her. It gives her a far away, haunted look to her eyes sometimes. I don’t know if she thinks I notice, but I see it. She’ll stare out a window or into a glass of water or watch the pavement speed by when we’re driving somewhere as if she’s trying to slow it down with her eyes and look at the individual pieces of asphalt that make up the road. It’s then that I know she’s being preyed upon by a memory or a phantom feeling that shouldn’t be there anymore. Doesn’t own her anymore. I want her to talk to me. I want her to let me fix it.
Violet stirs and slides her hand up into my shirt. Her leg slips in between mine, adding pressure where pressure is already building. I slowly tug her in closer. The warmth she adds to the front of my sweats has me stifling a groan, but if I could possibly get her even nearer I would. I’m a masochist.