Page 44 of She Was Made for Me

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. He has a tattoo.God, that’s hot. Everything about him is so freaking hot and I think I might be losing my mind a little bit over here.

He doesn’t notice, though, because his gaze has found me—slowly working its way up my legs, over the soaking wet dress stuck to my thighs, and when I glance down I notice you can see my underwear through the fabric—lacy red panties and a matching bra.

I should feel sorry about that, but given the expression on Kyle’s face, I’m not sorry one little bit.

His gaze finally meets mine and his breath comes out as a hard rasp. His eyes are dark pools of desire, his face intense with want, and I could be wrong, but I swear there’s a bulge in his jeans that wasn’t there before.

I’ve never felt so damn good about myself as I do in this moment.

I know he doesn’t want to hurt Dad. I don’t either. But we’re adults, we both want this. Do we have to fight it so hard?

“Violet,” he says, his voice rough in a way I’ve never heard. It sends heat shooting through me and I press my legs together, itching for his touch.

Come here, I silently plead.Come here and kiss me, take me to bed. Please.

But he stays where he is, curling his fist into a tight ball at his side. He swallows, his jaw clenched. Now I can’t tell if he’s angry or turned on. Maybe both.

“I’m going up to my room,” he grits out, turning from me and stalking upstairs before I can protest. My heart falls as he plods up the steps.

“Thanks for a great evening.” My voice is hoarse as I call after him, and I’m not sure he hears me.

I sigh, traipsing downstairs, and peeling off my clothes. I take a long hot shower, hoping it will soothe me, but when I climb into bed I’m too agitated to sleep.

I can’t stop thinking about Kyle, how vulnerable he looked when he apologized, the gentle way he brushed my hair from my face, the way his body looked in the entry hall, all hard lines and firm muscle under glistening raindrops.

Fuck, I’ll never sleep now. Not like this.

I snake a hand under the covers, into my panties. I’m not surprised to find I’m already wet, thinking about the way his voice sounded when he said my name. I wonder what sounds he makes in bed. I wonder how he likes to fuck. Does he take control or let the woman take the lead? I wonder what his face looks like when he comes.

Oh, God.Yes.

Thinking about Kyle, I orgasm in three seconds flat.

17

Kyle

Ipace the top floor of the house, feeling like a live wire, restless and dangerous. I heard the shower turn on in the basement as I climbed the stairs, and knowing Violet is down there, naked under a stream of hot water, is driving me fucking crazy.

Why the hell did I let my guard down with her tonight? Laughing and talking over dinner, apologizing for the past few weeks, and then admitting that I was going to ask her out… What was I thinking? All that has done is turn the heat up on this pressure cooker.

I replay what she told me tonight—about having a panic attack in class, how worried she is about letting her father down. I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her I understand, that we’re more similar than I realized. I wanted to press my mouth to hers and erase any pain she’s ever felt.

I think of the way the wind blew across her face as she looked at me on the Promenade, the husky catch to her voice when she told me she wished I had asked her out, the sad look of resignation when I made it clear nothing could happen.

I hadn’t meant to grab her hand as we rushed home through the pelting rain, but I needed to make sure she was safe beside me. And I certainly hadn’t meant to undress her with my eyes in the entry hall, but that wet, see-through dress left very little to the imagination. From the flare of her wide hips to her narrow waist, and her perfect, round breasts heaving with her rapid breathing… I’ve never wanted someone so badly in my life. And then there was the red underwear I could see under it all…

Fu-u-uck.

My cock hardens remembering the way she looked at me with pure, unrestrained lust. She wants this as badly as I do, and the thought makes me dizzy. Harder.

“No,” I mutter, stripping off my wet jeans and trying to ignore the way my cock throbs as I brush past it. It knows what it wants. The only thing separating us is four floors and my own dwindling self-restraint, but that is going to have to do. I will not fuck my friend’s daughter in the basement of his house, no matter how much her eyes were begging me to do just that.

I let out an agonized groan as I stalk across the floor to the bathroom, locking the door. This room was re-tiled in an emerald-colored subway tile last week, perfectly matching with the brass fixtures Violet suggested. After meeting with an interior decorator, she finalized the color scheme for the house—a mix of dark green, navy blue, and apricot, offset with neutral creams. The bathroom looks really good, but I barely notice as I peel my wet underwear off.

I glance at my erection, an angry red-purple, aching for release. I lift my fist, then hesitate. Jerking off while thinking of Violet isn’t much better, is it? I’ve resisted since we met, knowing that once I fantasized about her sucking me off, about being inside her, about the sounds she might make as she comes, it would be almost impossible to look her in the eye.

Still, I reason, doing this might be the only way I can keep my hands to myself. As much as I want my hands onherinstead of on my dick, they can’t be.

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