Page 67 of Twisted Violet
“Feel that?” he murmurs, dragging his thumb across my slick seam. “That’s how bad you need me.”
He lifts me effortlessly, settling me into his lap so we’re sitting face to face.
His mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing skin that feels too hot, too exposed. I whimper when he sucks gently, leaving a mark.
My hips grind against his instinctively, and he groans low in his throat.
“Fuck, you feel so good already,” he mutters. “So warm. So perfect. I need to be inside of you.”
I tug his shirt up and over his head, and splay my hands across his golden chest, tracing the lines of muscle and heat.
His hands grip my waist, and he thrusts his hips, cock straining against his sweats beneath me.
My whole body aches from the feel of him.
He pulls off my shirt, leaving me in nothing but a bralette and boy shorts and his eyes rake over me like I’m a wish he’s finally been granted.
I reach for his waistband, and he lifts me off of his lap to help me free him.
He slips a condom on and then I feel him, thick, hard, andready.
I slide my panties off, climb on his lap again and sink onto him, inch by delicious inch.
Dallas groans as his head falls back.
“Fuck, V.”
My eyes flutter shut as I move. Slow at first. Grinding in steady waves until he’s moaning my name like it’s the only word he knows.
His hands tighten on my hips, guiding the pace. Not rushing, just… worshiping.
I brace my hands on his shoulders and ride him harder, chasing the heat building inside me.
“Look at me,” he says, voice hoarse. “I want to watch you when you come apart on my cock.”
I meet his eyes as the pressure explodes inside me, as my walls clench tight and my whole body trembles.
He follows me over the edge with a broken groan, holding me close as his own release rakes through him.
We don’t speak for a long time.
We just lie there on the couch, breathing slowly.
Eventually, the movie ends and the credits roll.
I curl into his side and press my cheek to his chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat.
The screen fades to black, and the room dims.
“I didn’t think the movie would end like that,” I whisper.
Dallas’s voice is low and tired. “I kinda did.”
I tilt my head to glance up at him. “Why?”
He shrugs, mouth curved in the faintest smile. “Damaged girl. Tragic love. It’s the kind of story people like to write.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But I still hoped.”
