SEVENTEEN
Violet
My phone is ringing, so I pause Sons of Anarchy to answer it. I’m at the end of Season 6 and only one other thing on the planet sounds better to me on a Sunday afternoon than taking on Jax and the final season…
“Hey, Handsome, what’s up?”
“Now what if I was a salesman or your wireless provider?”
“Then I guess I’d make his day.”
“You know, you’re somethin’ else.”
“I know! That’s why you like me.”
“Um, that’s not the only reason,” he pauses and I clear my throat.
“Oh, yeah? What else could there possibly be?”
“Well, let me think. You’re really organized. I like that—“
I shriek, “Oh my god, Cullen Metz, I’m hanging up!”
We both start laughing. “No, really,” Cullen chokes out. “How are you? Is everything good with your sister?”
I sigh, “Yeah, we talked all about you and how nuts you’re making me. I mean, I didn’t even remember my phone for shit’s sake.”
“Violet.” Cullen has absolutely no warning in his tone. I imagine he’s running his hand over his hair by now, though.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. We did talk about you, but all the amazing stuff, I promise. It’s all good.”
“Alright, awesome, because she seemed pretty upset.”
“Yeah, Charlotte’s got the drama gene.”
“And you got? I mean, besides being fucking gorgeous and a genius, of course.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me, “Puh, whatever. No, I got sarcasm but with a touch of class.”
“Yes! That’s it! I knew it wasn’t just your knack for organization.”
That makes me laugh so that I almost drop the phone. “Oh my god, who’s somethin’ else now?”
“Right?” Cullen laughs, too. “So…”
“So?”
“What’s the ‘amazing stuff’ about me?”
“Ugh, please don’t. You’re better than this, Cullen!” We laugh again. “Besides you already know it all and if you don’t think you do, just watch what you do to me more closely.”
“You talked about sex stuff then? So the rumors about girl talk are true!”
“No, we didn’t!” I blow out a breath, getting a little exasperated. “I’m just, I don’t know, different when I’m with you. Better, I guess. That’s what I meant.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and I can tell he’s deliberating.
“Can I tell you what I think?”
“Sure,” I sit up on the couch and tuck my feet under me. I’m biting my lower lip, scared about what Cullen’s going to say.
“I think you’re the same Violet you always were, just the unfiltered version. Like, you’ve been showing everyone the neutral, one-color, soft velvet kind of Violet that we all love, and now we, but mostly I, get to enjoy the two-colored, powerful, textured velvet you’ve been keeping under wraps.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m still considering key words he said like powerful, textured, and love.
Don’t get carried away. He was just making a point, the voice in my head says.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, no, I was just letting that sink in, I guess. I didn’t know you saw me like that. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, that’s just how it is.” There’s another pause. “So, what are you up to?”
“Sons of Anarchy, almost to Season 7. Why? What are you doing?”
“That’s a good season—grand finale.”
“Did you want to watch it with me?”
“Sure, but I gotta do some work around here.”
“How about I come over in a couple hours?”
“I guess I better get to cleaning then.”
***
I’ve got a good romance novel with me to keep me occupied while Cullen’s cutting the lawn. I figure pretending to read while I watch his macho, sexy body riding around the yard is the perfect cover. Thinking along the same lines apparently, Cullen takes my hand when I arrive and leads me right around to the back of his house where there is a magnificent deck branching off a set of French patio doors.
“Whoa, Cullen, why haven’t I seen this yet? It’s gorgeous!”
“I’ve been wanting to show it to you, but we’ve been a little busy inside up till now,” he tries to mask a sly smile.
I give him a playful shove, but I might as well be pushing a brick wall. Feeling a bit awestruck, I slowly peruse the impressively designed area. It smells fairly new; the scent of cedar topped with lemongrass wafting up into the air reminds me partly of seventh grade woodshop and releases a ridiculous grin. Stepping under the pergola strung with twinkle lights and draped with gauzy fabric, Cullen catches sight of it.
“What’s the grin for?” He steps up beside me and tugs me close.
I glance at him, feeling a little dreamy, “The smell of fresh cut wood just makes me insanely happy. I don’t know, it just reminds me of good things—memories from a long time ago.”
He puts his hands on his hips and looks like a bearded Superman in that stance, “So, if I can’t ever find you, I should try looking in the lumber section of a home improvement store?”
“It’s a good place to start,” I lace my arms through his.
He chuckles and pulls me in, “Good to know.”
“This is really beautiful, Cullen. The design, the furniture, everything. Did you build it?”
“My dad and I did this summer when I wasn’t at practice. It was about the same time you were moving.”
“I love it here. It’s really peaceful.”
“Well, you can come over anytime you want. Maybe I’ll just come home one day and find you lounging back here reading a book or enjoying a little campfire in the pit over there.”
I don’t know what to say to the fact that he’s imagining me here without him, or putting me in his future, so I stretch up on my tiptoes for a distracting kiss. Sometimes avoidance behavior has a pretty tasty reward.
“Speaking of books, I’m going to read one now while you get your mow on.”
“Sounds good. Make yourself at home. There’s a mini-fridge in the bar by the fire pit, so help yourself. This shouldn’t take too terribly long.”
“Are you gonna take your shirt off? It’s pretty hot out here.”
His eyes dance playfully and he licks his bottom lip. “Yes,” he answers, drawing the word out.
“Then take as long as you want.” I smack his ass and skip over to the two-seater facing out towards the backyard but set up underneath the canopy. I plop down with a satisfied smile while Cullen shakes his head. I catch my breath and bite my lip, however, when he grabs his back collar and yanks the tee up over his head and off his arms. The familiar ripple of muscle still makes me shiver, and I have to press my knees together to avoid squirming.
I watch Cullen’s hot body stalk towards me. He leans dangerously close to my mouth.
“Enjoy yourself, baby,” he kisses me hard.
I whimper when his tongue dives between my lips and then leaves again as quickly as it invaded. From the pocket of his shorts he pulls out his sunglasses then straightens and throws me a killer smile. I am such a goner.
***
Cullen gets done at dusk, and I’m not ashamed to say that I didn’t get much reading done. I finally gave up after I reread the same page three times and lost track of two characters while my peripheral vision was entertained watching his tanned, sweaty muscles ride that mower back and forth through the late summer grass. Now, I’m all knots inside.
He saunters up, dirty and smelling like grass; I’ve never been so turned on by yard work before.
“Good book?” he motions towards the novel laying lifeless on my lap.
“Um, yeah. I’ve read it before.” Not totally a lie.
“Hmm, it must be good then. Are you hungry?”
“For?” I lace my fingers behind my neck.
Cullen’s eyes twinkle as he chuckles, “Dinner, for starters.”
“Then, yes, I’m hungry.”
He smiles and places a light kiss on my lips, “Good. I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Smiling back at him—imagining how glorious that would be to watch—the twinkle lights wrapped throughout the pergola come on. I catch my breath on the beauty of the whole setting and look around us in wonder.
“The lights are on a timer,” Cullen says softly. “It’s dusk, so…”
“You’re awfully romantic, you know that?”
“Am I?” His smile fades and is replaced by a more serious regard. He takes my chin and softly presses his mouth to mine. His lips are warm and a bit salty from the heat and sweat of his work this afternoon. The combination mixed with the enchantment of our surroundings and the balmy night air makes me crave him even more.
With a slightly heavy sigh, Cullen pulls away, “I’m ruining the moment with my sweat. Let me get cleaned up for you.”
“I like your sweat.”
“Not this kind, baby. Be right back.” With another kiss, he’s gone, and I’m left dazzled under the lights.
***
“Let’s play a game,” Cullen brings a pitcher of a yellow mixture and two glasses out to the deck. I’m curled up on one end of the loveseat, belly full of grilled steak and vegetables, still fascinated by the twinkling canopy above.
“What’s in the pitcher, Metz?”
“Summer Lemonade. It’s vodka, lemonade, mint, and lime.” He sets it on the table in front of me.
“Sounds good,” I agree with a smile.
“The game or the lemonade?” Cullen pauses mid-pour.
“Both, Metz, both. But I’m more likely to play the game if you hand over that drink.”
“Gotcha, ok. So, here’s how you play. It’s called Say It Ain’t So. One person makes a statement to the other person. If it’s true, the person who listened to the statement takes a drink. If it’s false, the person who said the statement takes a drink.”
“What if I don’t want to admit either way?”
“Then we both take a drink. And no saying two statements in a row. Then you have to drink and I don’t have to answer.”
“Can I ask questions?”
“No way! You’ll have to take a drink!”
“But what if I want more details?”
“Then I guess you’ll have to say more statements.”
“That sounds like a good way to get drunk fast. Who wins?”
“There is no winner.” I frown and crinkle my forehead. Cullen makes a correction, “Ok, we’re both winners because it’s fun and we get to be nosey.”
“That’s lame, but ok. I go first!”
Cullen arranges himself to face me on the sofa, our legs all intertwined together, and drinks in hand.
I start, “Your favorite color is grey.”
He drinks. Yes, I’m on a roll.
It’s Cullen’s turn.
“You love reptiles.”
I take my first drink; it’s sweet, tangy, and remarkably strong. I wonder how this will mix with the wine from dinner.
I reply, “You like it when I call you by your last name only.”
He drinks.
“Football is your favorite sport,” he says with a smile.
I drink.
So far, Summer Lemonade is going down pretty fast and easy. But we’re asking each other simple questions, ones we already know the answers to or can at least guess on our own.
I decide to kick it up a notch, “At some point, you thought Claire was hot.”
“What?! Shit.” Cullen takes a drink for asking the question “what”. He glares at me over his cup, knowing I did that on purpose. I look at him questioningly and tilt my head while shrugging my shoulders as if to say “Well?” He just sits there, so I take that as false. I nod once and drink. His turn.
“You’ve been fantasizing about me since you’ve known me.” Under the lights, his eyes look like they’re coated in brown glitter. Is it getting hotter out here? I thought there was a breeze…
I shift on the slate blue cushion trying to stop the bead of sweat wanting to fall between my shoulder blades. Then, I drink. Cullen slowly smiles and gives me a wink. His cockiness over my answer gives me butterflies. Maybe I’m not as unreadable as I think.
“You’ve been fantasizing about me since you’ve known me,” I counter. He licks his bottom lip and drinks. No hesitation. I shake my head, unable to hide my smirk.
“You don’t want to be called ‘Mrs. Black’ anymore.” I take a long drink to emphasize the fact that nothing could be truer.
“You were mad when I didn’t ask you to help me move.”
Cullen hesitates. His glass is raised as if he’s going to drink but he pauses. He closes his eyes almost like it’s hurting him not to be able to explain, and then takes a drink.
I reach out and rub his calf. My lips are buzzing a little and my neck feels warm. The crickets’ songs seem louder than usual out here where there are no neighbors, parking lots, or busy streets. I rest my head on my hand to hear them better and slow down the movement of the stars that are spiraling above my head. Cullen has goosebumps under my fingers.
“You don’t like talking about your past,” he says low.
I cringe and sip from my glass. I eye ball Cullen over my rim, condensation collecting above my fingers and threatening to roll off altogether. I’m almost down to the ice; there’s a little runoff from the cubes mixing with my summer lemonade, thankfully diluting it. I don’t like where the game is going. My defenses are on full alert.
“You don’t seem to have one to talk about.”
Cullen puts his glass on the table and crosses his arms in challenge. So, it’s my fault we rarely discuss anything from his past? My swimming head doesn’t know what to do with that right now. Fine. It’s false. I take a drink.
He fires back, “You’re still haunted by yours.”
Abruptly, I unfold myself from the position I am holding. He’s getting too close to the boundary between information that’s needed and the kind that’s wanted. My glass dings on the table before I start marching off the deck.
“I don’t want to play anymore.”
I use the posts of the pergola to try to get to the stairs more steadily since my eyes have a little trouble focusing, but Cullen catches up with me before I get to the last column. He has a hold of my arms and I fight the urge to lean into him. I’m frustrated for being called out but I’m at war with myself over being shitty back.
“Ok, hold on. What just happened? Where are you going?”
“I told you. I don’t want to play anymore. I’m going for a walk. I need some air.” The floor is wobbling.
“Violet, baby, you’re already outside. There’s plenty of air.”
I close my eyes and bite down on my lower lip. It feels numb. I feel numb. Bad things happen when I’m numb.
“Then why do I feel like I’m suffocating, huh? I can’t breathe, Cullen. There’s no air!”
“I…I don’t know why you feel like that. I’m sorry, though. I think it’s my fault.” He strokes my face, my brow, my hair.
“No, it has to be mine. It’s always mine,” I quietly tell the floor.
“Violet, stop with that. It’s mine. I was challenged by your question; it wasn’t really fair, so I got you back. It was stupid of me, and I shouldn’t have done it. It’s a dumb game, that’s all.”
“It was a statement, and I was mean, too,” I whisper.
“Ok, a statement,” he tilts my face up and smiles. “Either way, I’m sorry. We’re both sorry. Come back with me.”
“Only if you kiss me.”
“Done.”
I close my eyes in anticipation, the moment of chagrin at Cullen knowing that my past still burdens me fading away. Cullen’s breath on my cheek as he sweeps his lips over to the sweet spot below my ear sends tingles down my spine. His fingers lightly dance down my neck, brushing at stray strands of hair, caressing my flushed skin. I grip his wrists.
“Cullen,” I whisper.
He brings his lips back to mine for a full on, bone-liquefying kiss. Our tongues tangle, our skin heats, and our hearts pound against each other’s flesh. Blood roars in my ears as Cullen backs us under the canopy, beneath the twinkle lights, and into the shade of the canopy. While wrapped around me and nuzzling my neck, Cullen releases the ties holding back the fabric walls and suddenly we’re surrounded by our own white cocoon, lit from above.
Cullen
Egging Violet on when she’s clearly buzzing is not smart. Playful Violet turns into Stone-Cold Violet with a quickness that can be classified as pure talent. Of course, I’m kind of an asshole for needling her in the first place.
She pushes off the loveseat, her irises going nearly black with anger in the process. Her movements must scare the crickets because even they have fallen silent, probably in retreat.
“I don’t wanna play anymore,” she stomps off towards the stairs, but there’s an odd sway in her step.
I think the lemonade hit her harder than it should have. She’ll fall either before she gets there or on the way down. I don’t even know where she thinks she’s going. There’s nothing out here but grass and lightning bugs.
I jump up, rush after her, and catch her before she gets past the last post of the pergola. She keeps blinking as if she’s staring into a light and trying to see through it. Regardless of what she’s trying to focus on though, Violet won’t look at me. That’s what stings the most.
“I’m suffocating!” she screams at me.
I almost jolt back. Her words hit me like a slap in the face. Is that how I’m making her feel? Like she’s being smothered?
Desperation to make the panic go away has me smoothing her satiny skin—brushing over her face and hair. The resistance I first felt from her when I captured her arms is waning; she’s becoming more pliable the longer I touch her, more like My Violet.
“I’m so sorry. It’s my fault,” I tell her. “Come back with me.” I’ll carry you if I have to.
She sighs. She’s tormented.
“Kiss me.”
I know I’m forgiven for my stupid game and my stupid probing and my stupid statements.
Everything besides her sugary essence and scent of stewing lilacs fades into nothingness when I nuzzle into her neck and caress the flushing skin I find there. I hold back, meaning to take my time slowly warming her inside and out, but my name flutters out of her sweet, parted lips on an escaped breath and I start to unravel. The beast in me wants to haul her up over my shoulder and toss her over the couch. My dick’s on board with that idea and strains against my shorts chanting, “Yes! Yes!” Since I’m not trying to scare the ever-loving shit out of her, though, I give a low growl and meld my mouth to hers instead.
I manage to whisk her into the pergola without taking us down to the deck flooring. Her lithe little body is smashed into mine, heating me beyond imagination. That white hot flare just burns and burns deep and low in my guts. Reaching out to the side, I loosen one, then the other tieback to the fabric walls so we can have the illusion of our own private escape. Without letting Violet go, I take the cushions off the furniture and toss them on the floor.
Violet
I’m in Cullen’s arms, collapsed into his chest with him stroking my bare back. Cushions from all the furniture padded our bodies from the hard deck floor as we made love with the crickets chirping and lightning bugs flashing nearby. I think about the slow, liquid movements of Cullen’s body on mine, the care he took in savoring my skin like he had all the time in the world and nothing else he’d rather do. Just as I’d start to peak, he’d change his pace, bringing me back down, only to work me back up again. We were on a winding road of pleasure.
I smile into the base of his neck, breathing in his scent, recalling the firm smoothness of his skin under my fingers as I caressed and played with the curves and peaks of all that definition.
A shiver ripples through me.
“Are you cold?” Cullen’s lips brush my hair.
“No, just thinking. I’m good.”
I lean up on my arms and just look at him. His beauty still makes my head spin now as much as it did the first day he walked into my room at Vista. Hair so dark, jaw square and strong, eyelashes perfectly thick.
“You’re smiling. Are you still a little fuzzy?” He’s playing with the ends of my hair, trying to tickle me with them, but all he’s doing is sending satisfying tingles down my spine.
“Nope. All cleared up. Are you good?”
“Always,” he kisses the tip of my nose. “We didn’t start Season 7 and now it’s late.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I respond after shifting up over him lengthwise. His skin is incredibly hot and taut next to mine, quite different from the cushions we’ve been occupying. A breeze wafts over my backside and it’s chilly except for where Cullen’s hands are.
“I have to go home,” I nibble along the line of hair below his chin.
His body shifts at my hip, while his fingers paint up and down my lower back, “I know, but I want you to stay.”
“I know,” I echo, “but I can’t.” I work on his ear lobe.
Cullen hisses. “You know, it wouldn’t be terrible, for these kinds of situations, if you had a few things here.”
I pause at his ear. All the different ways this situation could go badly rush through my mind at once. Neither of us stays over—ever. We go back home. Sleeping together all night is either the next step towards forever or the final undoing before one of us walks out the door for good. Both make us nervous, neither one we’re ready for.
I try to control my breathing and not give away that I’m silently at odds. It could be natural to have, say, at least a toothbrush here, hmm?
I give the best response, and dismissal, I can think of—“Ok.”
Cullen turns his head to the side and captures my lips with his. I settle into it, calming down within seconds as nothing’s been decided. I focus on his powerful lips and roaming hands, the warmth creeping up through my thighs and—
“Alright,” he reluctantly agrees, “I know you have to go. At least we have work tomorrow.”
“Dammit,” I drop my head down on his chest and grumble while Cullen’s chuckle vibrates through me.