34. Violet
thirty-four
Violet
Chord practically drags me from the room, his long legs speeding down the corridor and out to the foyer. I work hard to keep up, hiking my skirt up so I don’t trip on the hem, and all but running in my pumps. He pulls his phone from his pocket without losing speed, calls our driver, and when he arranges to meet him at a side entrance, Chord changes direction without pausing, leading me down another corridor and around a corner.
My heart flies, not from the pace he’s setting but from the thrill of this moment and the words he just said.
I love you.
When we reach the exit at the side of the building and Chord throws open the door, the limo is waiting for us. Chord helps me into the car first, then slides in after me.
His mouth is on mine before the driver closes the door.
Our tongues collide as I tear at his jacket, dragging it off his shoulders while he dips a hand into the corset of my dress and squeezes my breast. Our mouths work furiously, slipping and tugging, lips sliding against each other as Chord cradles my head, fingertips pushing into my curls and pulling them wilder about my face. I yank at his bow tie and then fumble at the buttons on his shirt as he blindly reaches for the control to raise the privacy screen, but as it slides into place, Chord pulls away, eyes feverish and panting heavily.
“I want you to know that I plan on making you come at least six different ways tonight, but the first time I make love to you isn’t going to be in the back of a limo.”
He slides a hand under my skirts and up my inner thigh, then presses a firm thumb to my clit, rubbing me in tiny circles that make me moan and spread my knees. “But the ranch feels far away right now.” He swirls his tongue around the hollow in my throat because he knows how much I love it. “I’d take us to a hotel, but you’re too good for that. I can’t do it, so we’re just going to have to wait.”
“No hotel,” I agree between whimpers. I drop my head back and bite back a groan as the pressure on my clit brings me closer to orgasm. “But I can’t wait. Let’s— Let’s— Let’s— Oh, my God! Chord!”
I release a wordless cry as my pussy pulses around nothing, and euphoria flares in every nerve of my body. I moan with release and fall across the long seat, shuddering as my climax ebbs from my system.
“Let’s… what, baby?” Chord strokes my hair as he stretches over me and covers one shoulder with open-mouthed kisses. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go to my place,” I mumble, unable to force my eyes open. “It’s not far.”
“Do you have a key?”
I nod slowly and only once. “I keep an emergency spare tucked into my phone case.”
Chord snatches up the intercom handset and asks, “Remind me again—what’s the address?”
Once the driver has our destination, Chord pulls me upright before dropping to his knees on the floor of the limo. I whimper at the image of him undoing his cuffs, then again at the panty-melting picture of him rolling his sleeves up over his tanned, muscled forearms.
I bite my lip and dig my fingers into the leather seat as he gathers the fine, soft layers of my dress in his hands and shoves them up over my hips in a pool of silk that takes up most of the long limousine seat. Chord looks up at me with his wild hair and wilder eyes, his gaze sweeping over me like he can’t quite believe we’re here, like this.
I can’t believe it either. I feel so beautiful, so sexy, so powerful, even though my hair is destroyed, my makeup must be all over my face, and my breasts are heaving over the top of my bodice. It’s all so heady. The dress and the diamonds and the champagne and the I love you …
Chord Davenport on his knees between my thighs.
I gasp as he roughly tugs at my panties, dragging them down my legs and stuffing them into his pocket. A rumble sounds deep in his chest at the first glimpse of my bare pussy, and he sets one leg over his shoulder before wrapping his hand all the way around my other ankle.
“I’ve been dying to taste you,” he says as he sets my foot up on the limo’s long back seat and spreads me as wide as I can go. “I’ve been dreaming about your pussy on my lips, and I knew you’d be the sweetest thing I ever tasted, but I never could have imagined a moment like this. I’m about to tongue-fuck a fairy princess, and I’m so fucking into it.”
My whimpering laugh turns into a strangled cry as Chord dives between my thighs, burying his face in my swollen and sensitive center so fast and so hungrily that I cry out as the pleasure edges into pain. His tongue laps at me with excruciating languor. When I twist my fingers into his hair and tug with frustration, he stares up at me, not letting me look away as he applies his mouth to my clit and sucks hard.
Oh God, it feels so freaking good.
“Damn, Wallflower,” Chord says between licks and flicks and pulls. “If I knew you tasted this freaking sweet, I never would have waited so long to eat your perfect pussy.”
I come again before we get to my apartment.
We’re at least respectable when the limo pulls to a stop, and though I should be embarrassed when the driver calls to ask if we’re ready for him to open our door, I’m not. I’m too aroused and too satisfied to care, which is an intoxicating mix. My muscles are soft and limp enough that Chord wraps a hard arm around my waist to help me walk, but my thighs are sticky with my own wetness, and I’m throbbing with the need to be filled.
The limo pulls away as we enter my apartment building, and I move toward the staircase, then squeal as he sweeps me up into his arms without warning.
I loop my arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”
“This is a walk-up,” Chord says like I don’t know it.
“Yes, but we’re only on the second floor.”
His arms tighten, and his smile turns smug. “I made you come so hard you can barely stand. What makes you think you’ll make it?”
He carries me up the two flights and straight down the narrow hallway, stopping at the door with a silver “1” and “B” still attached, the “4” in the middle just a faded imprint where the chrome number used to be.
A flush of embarrassment creeps up my neck as it only just occurs to me that Chord already saw where I lived when he drove out to get my father, and my small, plain home is nothing like what he’s used to at his house on the ranch.
Chord scans my face, tracing the crease in my forehead and my down-turned mouth, my eyes stinging with insecurity. But before I can apologize for where I live, he stops me with a hard, hot kiss like he knows what I was about to say.
“This moment is already perfect,” he says, his stare burning into mine, “but the only way it’s going to get better is if you open this door.”
He sets me down so I can retrieve my phone—and the key—from my purse, and I open the door. Like I haven’t been gone for nearly two months, I drop the key in the ceramic bowl on the hall table, put my phone down next to it, and move inside.
The apartment feels so small and dark compared to Chord’s open, light-filled house, and standing here now, in this dress I designed and with a man I love, it feels like I don’t belong here anymore. These walls are a time capsule for a life I haven’t thought about in weeks, and I’m a different person than the Violet James who walked out of here with a suitcase and a sketchbook and a stomach full of butterflies.
Chord moves closer behind me, kissing the side of my neck as he tickles my arms with light, warm touches. I shiver as he brushes his fingertips across my shoulders and down my spine, finds the zipper on the corset of the dress, and pulls it down with painful slowness.
I bite my lip as his cock digs into my hip, then inhale sharply as my dress comes loose and drops in a pool of teal silk organza at my feet.
“Where’s your room?” he asks in a low, husky voice.
I step out of my dress and walk toward my bedroom in nothing but my heels and a quarter of a million dollars-worth of diamonds. “It’s over here.”
I glance over my shoulder, and Chord chokes back a strangled moan as he watches me walk away. I stop at the door to my bedroom, turning to stare and whimper at the sudden appearance of his hard, muscled body as he stalks toward me, peeling off his shirt and dropping it on the floor.
Chord scoops me up again and crosses to the bed in three long strides, depositing me in the middle of the mattress and pushing my knees apart with firm, gentle hands.
He switches on the bedside light, and my room bursts with light. My felt boards and sketches are now clearly visible on the walls—Mom’s dress and my faceless groom repeated on every surface. The fabric samples and photographs of other people’s dresses on red carpets and runways. The dressmaker’s dummy in the corner, next to my sewing machine and measuring tape, scissors, needles and pins, spools of thread and scraps of discarded lace. The shelves of sketchbooks filled with failed designs. This is the boneyard of my dreams.
Chord doesn’t seem to notice any of it, but I see it all, and I instinctively try to close my legs and hide the most vulnerable part of me.
“Oh, no, Wallflower.” Chord kneels on the edge of the mattress and covers each of my knees with a large hand, spreading me open and then pushing my heeled feet back to my ass so I’m on full display. His eyes drop to my pussy, wet and pulsing, and they widen with hunger. “This pussy is too pretty to hide.”
I inhale sharply as Chord unbuckles his belt and jerks it free of the loops with one hard, firm tug that cracks through the air like a whip. He shoves off his pants and underwear with a frantic speed that has me hoping he’ll give me his cock in one hard, feral thrust, but he puts his mouth on me instead, pushing hard on my knees to open me wide, licking me greedily and sucking so rabidly on my clit that I come again in just a few seconds.
My muscles ripple around nothing again, and I thrash on the bed as tonight’s third orgasm pushes me closer to the edge of insanity. I need to come with Chord inside me. I can’t take it anymore.
I open my eyes, and Chord’s kneeling over me with his towering cock slipping in and out of his fist. His heavy thighs are tight, his muscled forearms hard, his blue eyes hazy and hooded, his jaw feathered with restraint.
I nibble my lip as I watch him play, the crown of him tight and dark, and veins throbbing between his fingers. Then he retrieves a condom from the pocket of his pants. I hold my breath and follow the path of his nimble fingers as he rolls it on, fighting the tight rubber to the base like it might not fit.
“You want this, Wallflower?” he asks in a throaty voice.
I nod as a single tear leaks down my face. “Please.”
“Don’t you remember?” he asks as he moves over me, his powerful shoulder muscles flexing as he balances on one elbow and lines himself up with my soft, swollen center. “You never have to beg me for anything.”
He drives home so hard and fast that I cry out and arch toward him. His fingers thread into my hair as he holds still, sweat beading on his forehead, and I dig my fingers into his arms as I adjust to his size.
My hips begin to rock without me realizing it, slowly at first, then with a frenzy I’ve never known. Chord grunts and curls into me, sweating and still as I take what I need.
“That’s it,” Chord grunts. “Use me. Use my cock. Use what I have to get what you need.”
It doesn’t take long. He’s so deep and so hard, and my clit is hitting the base of his cock just right, that in no time at all, I’ve brought myself to the most glorious orgasm I’ve ever had. Moisture soaks us both, and I moan as my body turns limp.
Chord starts to move his hips in long, slow, excruciatingly delicious thrusts. I’m already breathless, but as the rhythm of his hips gets faster and more forceful, my oversensitive clit aches with every contact. I claw at his firm, round ass and wrap my legs around his waist, doing my best to keep him close.
“Good fucking girl,” he whispers, voice strained and cock slamming inside me, hitting something I’ve never felt before. “Let me give you what you want. Let me make you happy.”
“Yes!” I pant as another orgasm builds deep inside my core. “Yes! Oh God! Chord! Yes!”
“And if that’s the only thing I do right for the rest of my life,” he grunts, sweat slicking his entire body so his hot skin slides against mine so beautifully, “I’ll be the happiest man in the whole— damn— world. Ah, fuuuuuck !”
Our climaxes crash over us at the same time, mine a full-body wave that saps the last of my strength. Above me, Chord groans and rocks, and I find the energy to kiss the line of his shoulder, the salty moisture of his skin dancing on my tongue.
Chord carefully pulls out and rolls away, then drags me against him so we don’t lose contact longer than we need to. With his arm under my head, I snuggle against his side, both of us glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with deep, shallow breaths.
“Holy hell, Wallflower.” He curls his arm to bring my head to his lips, and he kisses my forehead. “I—”
“Shh.” I set my fingers on his lips to stop him from talking, and he raises his scarred eyebrow with a question.
I blink back more tears because even though I never knew to dream of a night like this, all my hopes for a happy life were about this feeling . Maybe it doesn’t matter what it looks like. Maybe it only matters that it makes you happy. Hopeful. Content.
Chord’s brows draw together, and behind my fingers, his lips turn down with worry, but I press on them harder to stop him from speaking, then draw them away and move in for a soft, romantic kiss.
I rest my head on his chest and smile around a deep, joyful breath. This is it. Chord is it. A life filled with moments like this is all I’ll ever want.
And finally, I say it.
“I love you, too.”