27. Chord
twenty-seven
Chord
62 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I knock on Violet’s not-quite-closed bedroom door right at seven p.m. When she doesn’t answer, I knock louder and hard enough for the door to swing open a little. She’s exactly where I knew she’d be: pretty in her purple silk lingerie and propped up against the pillows on her bed, chunky headphones over her ears, sketchbook on her knees, and all her attention on the lines of her pencil skating over the white page.
I watch her for several minutes. She’s so damn beautiful like this. The graceful slope of her neck. The braid of dark hair over one shoulder. The concentration creasing her brow, and the way she rolls her lips whenever her pencil isn’t moving. The unconscious sexiness of her wearing those vibrant, lacey panties and camis to bed.
I lean against the doorway and take a long breath in, then out. I’d stand here forever just to memorize the way she looks right now, but I’ve got dinner in my hand—and why should I only look when I can touch?
I clear my throat and step into the room, the sound and movement finally catching her attention. Violet’s eyes land on me and brighten instantly, and my body lights up in response. The way she looks at me… It’s different from how fans watch me when I play, or the way people stare when they recognize me in the street. It’s not the same as women ogling me in bars. It’s more real, and I want to be looked at like this.
Violet drags off her headphones and tosses them aside, removes her glasses, then sets her open sketchbook and pencil on the end of the bed. “Whatever that is, it smells amazing. And I’m starving.”
“Me too.” I pull the boxes out of the delivery bag and arrange them on the bed covers. “Dylan sent over two kinds of pasta. Three kinds of salad. Freshly baked bread and a bottle of Silver Leaf olive oil to go with it.”
Violet moans with hungry appreciation as she curls her legs underneath her and presses her hands together under her chin. “Your brother is a culinary genius. Everything that comes out of his kitchen is a masterpiece.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” I reply, setting down the last container and then taking my usual spot next to Violet on the bed. I lift my shirt and smack my hard stomach. “Not sure my nutritionist would approve of all this indulgence. I’m pretty sure Dylan’s secret ingredient is butter.”
Violet’s gaze drops to my abs, and she doesn’t look away until I pull my shirt down to cover them. I smirk at the spots on her cheeks as she drags her eyes up to my face.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
I wink. “Noted.”
Violet selects a dish and starts to eat, and like we’ve done every night this week, we trade boxes back and forth while we talk.
“How is your dad settling in?” I ask.
Violet smiles, and she’s so freaking pretty I have to blink to clear my head.
“He’s happy here. He doesn’t want to get in my way, and I appreciate that, but he’s been coming by the house for an hour every morning and again every afternoon so we can spend some time together.” She shakes her head in disbelief as she trades a salad for a bottle of water. “He was fifteen minutes late today, and it didn’t even bother him. I get the impression that Charlie is keeping him busy—in a good way—and he’s thriving with this new independence. I need to thank her.”
I need to thank her, too. She really stepped up when I asked her for this favor. Didn’t even make me beg. I explained the situation and alluded to Violet’s distress and Luke’s need for support, and she was immediately on board with finding him accommodation for as long as he needed it. I didn’t acknowledge Charlie’s miraculous discovery of an empty cabin, and neither did she, though she offered to find one for Violet, too, if she wanted one.
I shut that down real quick.
“I’m glad it’s working out,” I reply.
“It is.” Violet shifts to her hands and knees, leans over, and kisses me softly. “Thank you again.”
I lick my lips to capture the salt she left behind and sink into her grateful gaze. “You’re welcome again.”
Her eyes drop like she’s embarrassed about initiating a kiss, and she settles back into her seat. I love that I make her nervous.
I smile to myself as I peek into the nearest boxes, find them empty, and start tidying up. Everything goes into a bag on the floor, except the open bottle of olive oil. I can’t find the cap, so I set it carefully on the side table just as anticipation settles over us.
Dinner is just the first step in what has become a nightly ritual. We eat together. We fool around. I make her come. She puts on my jersey, and then I hold her in my arms until morning.
And I know she feels how hard she makes me. The wait for her to touch me is torture, but the pain is worth it. Violet is worth waiting for.
I scoop up the last of the takeout boxes and set them aside, eyeing her closed sketchbook the whole time. She’s never offered to show me what’s inside, but she hasn’t gone out of her way to hide it either. So, I pick it up.
She doesn’t protest, so I turn it over in my hands and run my fingers over the worn leather binding. “Have you ever shared your work with anyone?”
Violet smooths her palms over the tops of her bare thighs. “Only the designs I did in college, and a handful of sketches on my social media pages, but in real life…” She shrugs and shakes her head. “No. Nobody’s ever seen my designs.”
“Is there a reason?”
She captures her bottom lip with her teeth, and I’m distracted by the way she nibbles it while she thinks. “I’ve never felt close enough to anyone to share them. It’s always been private. My sketchbook is my safe place.”
Something hitches in my chest when I realize the only thing to bring her joy in this world is a piece of paper and a pencil, and I can’t stop the irrational determination I feel to change that.
“I know I’m asking for a lot here, but I’d really love to see your designs. Would it be okay if I had a look?”
I wait, wanting so desperately to be welcomed into this part of her world. She hesitates, and I decide it’s not going to happen, but then she nods.
“Yes, that would be okay.”
My heart lurches because the significance of her permission is not lost on me. I settle back against the headboard, stretch out my legs, set the oversized book on my lap, and open it.
The first page shows the wedding dress I’ve already seen—the one that belonged to her mother—but I’m searching for something else. I leaf through the pages until I find something original, pause for a moment, then decide it’s not the one I’m looking for.
“These are beautiful, Wallflower. You’re talented. I hope you know that.”
She flushes as I turn the page to another incarnation of her mother’s wedding dress. This one has numbers scratched in the corner, and I brush my finger across them. “Do these mean anything?”
Violet fidgets a little. “They’re my measurements. I don’t know why I wrote them down.”
I do. She wants to wear this dress someday. And maybe the idea of getting involved with a woman who dreams about her wedding dress should freak me out, but it doesn’t.
I might have never thought about it in exactly these terms, or even consciously over the years, but I want a happily ever after too. That’s the reason I built this house in the first place. I want what my parents had. I want to build a life and provide for my family. I want to love another person more than I ever dreamed possible. One day when hockey isn’t my everything, I’ll make my wife my world.
“Do you have any favorites?” I ask.
“Um.” Violet relaxes against me, and I put my arm around her and kiss her temple. She snuggles in closer and thumbs through the book, considering one dress after another and rejecting them all. But then she hesitates and returns to a silhouette she initially dismissed. It’s a strapless gown with a bodice of intricate lace and floral detail in teal, silver and gold, threaded with beads and shimmering flowers. The long skirt is a flowing, ethereal mass of layered blue fabric that somehow has just enough transparency to show the shape of the legs underneath. It’s feminine and striking and sexy.
It’s perfect.
Violet runs her fingers over the lines of her design. “If I had to choose a favorite, it would be this one.”
“It’s beautiful,” I agree. “And you’d look beautiful in it.”
Her laugh is scandalized. “I design the dresses. I don’t wear them.”
I close the book and carefully set it aside before I turn to Violet and lift her chin. “Who says you can’t do both?”
Her plump pink lips are upturned and waiting, her lids heavy, so I kiss her before she can respond.
My hands are greedy for the soft texture of Violet’s hair as I push my fingers through her tresses. My tongue recalls the taste of her and anticipates the way she opens her mouth to welcome me. She tilts her head further, inviting more, and presses her body against mine, seeking contact and heat at her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs. A week of this, and it’s hard to remember a time when I wasn’t kissing her. I never want it to stop.
I trail my fingers down her arms, lift the hem of her camisole, and brush her hip bone lightly enough to leave goosebumps. She whimpers and kisses me harder, latching onto my shoulders like she can’t get close enough. My cock thickens.
I swipe a finger into the waist of her panties and a subtle rush of arousal colors her cheeks. She’s so fucking pretty like this that I want more.
I lean closer and whisper against her ear. “I love the way you blush for me, Wallflower.”
A flush of pink bursts underneath her collarbone, and I drag the tip of my nose across the swell of her breasts to inhale the gentle floral fragrance of her, then press my lips to her warmth.
“And you bloom prettiest when you come.”
I can feel the rush of blood pooling under her skin. It makes me think of heat rushing to other parts of her body, the way it’s rushing to my cock right now. I think of her swollen, wet and throbbing, and slide a hand up her inner thigh.
“Wait.”
Violet sets a hand over mine, and I immediately freeze. Her eyes are hot and wide, her lips pink and swollen, and her breath comes in fast little pants that drive me wild.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you uncomfortable?”
She shakes her head and closes her eyes like she’s gathering strength.
“I want…” Violet’s tongue darts out of her mouth, her eyes dropping to where our hands are locked together between us, and she expels a breath in a rush. “I want to touch you.”
My dick swells so hard and fast it’s painful. I growl and push a hand into her hair, gripping a handful of the strands and yanking her closer to me for a hard kiss. Fuck. I want her to touch me too.
She returns the kiss with enthusiasm, nails digging into my shoulders, before pushing on my chest and pulling back. There’s a small but pleased curl to her mouth, and I bite my own lip to stop from leaning in and nipping hers.
“I want to touch you,” she repeats, “but I want to do it right. You know exactly how to touch me, and I want to do the same for you.”
“Wallflower.” I run a thumb over the pink tinge on her cheekbones. “I’m ready to come just thinking about your hands on me. You couldn’t do it wrong. It’s impossible.”
The color in her cheeks brightens, and her eyes drop to my crotch before bouncing upward again. “Could you show me what you like? Please?”
I swallow, arousal and expectation whipping through my blood. “You don’t have to beg me for anything. Whatever you want is yours.”
She rolls her lips, and I can see nervousness behind her eyes, but then she lifts the hem of my shirt like she wants to remove it. I oblige, reaching around to the back of my neck and slipping it off over my head. Violet blinks rapidly, eyes tracing the lines of my pecs, arms, and abs, and when her focus reaches the waist of my jeans, she swallows and fumbles at the fly.
“Relax,” I tell her, taking her hands as I lie back on the pillows, stretch out, and unbutton my pants. “We can go as slow as you want to go.”
Violet nods and kneels on the mattress beside me, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and I watch her reaction as I slowly push my jeans over my hips, taking my underwear with them and letting my cock spring free. The slight widening of her eyes and the tiny gasp she tries to hide makes my blood pulse and my dick jump.
With a fiery blush, she lowers her gaze, and I lift her chin. “You okay?”
Her tongue darts out again, and I picture it circling the crown of my cock. It twitches again, and Violet nods as she stares and whispers, “I’m good.”
“Give me your hand,” I order, my voice cracking with anticipation.
Violet extends her arm, and I turn her hand over. I pick up the olive oil on the nightstand, drizzle a little of the golden liquid into her open palm, and set the bottle aside. I massage the oil into her skin, both of us unable to look away as our fingers slip and slide against each other. I don’t stop until her skin is slick and the oil is warm.
I guide her hand toward my cock, moving slowly so she can pull back if she wants to, but Violet just bites her lip and stares at her small hand cupped inside my much larger one.
With my fingers framing hers, I start with a light brush of her fingertips. I almost jump out of my skin at the first touch, squeezing my eyes closed and breathing through the torturous sensation of her touch sweeping along my length from root to tip. I swirl her thumb over the crown of my cock, dragging it through the bead of precum balancing in the slit, then curl her hot hand around me and guide her grip up and down. It sounds like sex and feels so wet, so tight, but I move slowly, slipping my dick through her oily fingers as I settle into the feel of her.
I open my eyes when she moans quietly in the back of her throat, and it’s near impossible not to blow at the mere sight of her—bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, aroused by my cock in her hand.
Violet shifts forward, her gaze moving from my dick to my face and back again, like she’s not sure where to focus, and I know exactly what she’s feeling. I don’t know where to look either. The wonder and lust on her face are breathtaking. Her hand around my dick is fucking everything.
I breathe harder as I watch her slender hand move beneath mine. I pump her grip up and down and circle her palm over the crown. I squeeze her hand to indicate more pressure, my abs get hard, and my ass clenches as I thrust into her grip, and I reach over to guide her other hand to my balls. I curl her fingers around and underneath so she’s cupping me, then groan with need as I give a little tug.
Violet breathes almost as hard as me, and I grunt as I fight the urge to explode. I work her hand firm and fast, playing with the tip, concentrating on the base, until I just want to see her fingers wrapped around me and nothing else, so I let her go.
She doesn’t falter as she takes over the rhythm I’ve set. My cock slips in and out of her tight fist, and I claw at the sheets as she brings me to the edge.
“That feels incredible,” I pant through fast, heavy breaths. “You’re doing it just right. Keep doing it like that. Just—like—that. Ah… fuuuuuck !”
My orgasm hits me hard, my cock pulsing in her hand as cum shoots across my stomach and over her fingers in thick, sticky ropes. Every muscle in my body contracts with the intensity of my climax, but then I wrap my hand around Violet’s again, slowing the pace of her pumps into something smoother and slower to ease me out of it, coating her fingers and mine in my cum.
Finally, my orgasm ebbs away, and I release Violet’s hand. She holds me for a second longer before freeing my dick, and I slide my clean hand up her spine so I can wrap my fingers around the back of her neck.
“You did so good, Wallflower.” I pull her mouth to mine. “That was really fucking hot.”
“Yeah.” She glances at my stomach and then her fingers, both covered in my orgasm and a sweet, disbelieving chuckle tumbles from her lips. “It really was.”
“Did it make you wet?” I know it’s a question that’ll make her blush, which is why I ask it.
She rewards me with a downcast glance and red-hot heat burning all the way to her hairline. “Yes.”
“Good.” I swipe up a couple of discarded napkins and clean Violet’s hands before wiping up what I can from my stomach. “Give me a minute to tidy up while you get ready for bed. When I get back, I’m going to make you come, but tonight you’ll be wearing my jersey when I do it.” I lift her chin so she’s looking at me. “I want you wearing my name while you moan it like a prayer. How does that sound?”
Fresh color floods her cheeks. “Really fucking hot.”
“Goddamn, Wallflower.” I kiss her again, my dick already rallying at the sound of the curse word on her tongue, then climb to my feet. I hike my pants up around my hips and hurry to the door before stopping and looking back. She’s a vision.
“Skip the panties and be ready in sixty seconds,” I command. “I can’t stay away longer than that.”