The Probability of Violet and Luke

Chapter 8

Luke

I’ve never wanted to get into a fight more than I do right now. Someone threatening Violet like that is tearing me to shreds. Worse, there’s that stupid nagging voice in the back of my head, telling me it could be my mother. She’s crazy enough that if she’s somehow found out about Violet, she would do it.

I try to call her a few times as I’m waiting for my uncle to take us to The Warehouse, but of course the crazy woman doesn’t answer her phone. Sure, she can call me every fucking hour of the day, but when I actually need to talk to her, she won’t answer.

“Give me like a half an hour then we’ll head out,” my Uncle Cole says as I sit at the kitchen table, drinking another beer with Ryler, wishing for something harder but also wanting a clear head for what I’m about to do. Ryler has a notebook and pen in front of him, our form of communication, just like the last time we met. “You got front money, right?”

I nod, patting my pocket. “Yeah, about three thousand.”

Nodding, he starts for the stairway but then pauses in the doorway. “Luke, does your father know you’re here?”

I shake my head. “No. I mean I called him for your number, but didn’t tell him why. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.”

“Well, I don’t think that’ll be a problem since he’s pretty much disowned me,” Cole says. “Ever since he went on a do-gooder streak a while ago.”

“That would make two of us.” I raise the beer to my lips and take a large gulp. Yeah, definitely going to need something harder.

Cole looks about as uncomfortable as I feel. Usually, I don’t say that kind of shit aloud. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m off my game. “Um… yeah… Luke I’m sorry about that. You know he tried to see you sometimes, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, peeling the label off my beer bottle. “Look, just forget I said anything.

He nods, letting it go easily. “I’m going to run up and change before we head out.”

Is your girl going? Ryler writes then leans back to throw his empty beer bottle in the trash.

I should correct him that Violet isn’t mine, but as far as he’s concern she is. “I guess so. I’m not a fan of bringing her, but she’s pretty stubborn.”

The pen scratches across the paper again. She looks pretty hardcore, Ryler writes. I’m sure she’ll be just fine.

His words gets under my skin, probably because he’s noticed her and made assumptions about her solely based on her appearance. Yeah, Violet comes off as tough and she’ll tell you the same, but I’ve seen her break apart in my arms.

But I drop it and head upstairs to see if Violet’s ready, but when I enter the room, I instantly wish I would have never came up here. Violet is standing there with only a towel wrapped around her, the bathroom door attached to the room wide open making the air muggy. She has her attention on her bag, her hair damp, her skin dewed with water. My fantasy for the last two months right in front of me.

The sight of her makes me want to rip off the towel and lick every inch of her skin but I make myself hover back at the door with my fists clenched at my side, mentally telling myself to calm the fuck down. “We’re going to take off in like thirty minutes,” I say, my voice strained.

She nods, not looking up. “What does one wear to a,” she glances up at me, “I’m assuming illegal poker game?”

I offer her a tight smile. “Whatever you want. You can wear those jeans and that t-shirt you were wearing earlier.” That outfit that covers you up.

Her nose crinkles as she looks down at her bag. “Nah, it’s too hot for that.” She bends down and God dammit that towel rides up her thighs so high that if I was behind her, I know I’d be able to get a view of her perfect ass. “I’m assuming that most of the girls there will be dressed all slutty?” She looks up at me again. “I mean, that is the general theme at these things, right?”

“Yeah, but I’d rather you don’t,” I tell her, growing the balls to step inside the room and shut the door. She raises her eyebrow with speculation. Sighing, I cross the room and crouch down in front of her, trying to ignore her near nakedness and the scent flowing off her, something fruity that makes me want to taste her. “What are your choices?”

“Well, I have that dress I had on yesterday.” She digs around in her bag. “But it smells kind of gross.” She pauses, grinning as she grabs a piece of fabric. “Oh wait, I have this.” She holds up a short, black dress that’s completely see through.

I frown. “You can see through the entire thing.” I’m not even sure why I’m being so territorial. It’s not in my nature, but the fact that she’s not mine and I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my entire life makes me want to be sure that no one else can have her. I blame it on my need for control. Violet has never been one to let me control her, which was what partly drew me to her. Although, I’d still like to control her in some ways.

She grabs another article of clothing, an even shorter dress, but it isn’t see through. “I’ll put this on underneath it.”

“I still think you should go with the jeans and t-shirt.” I straighten my legs and stand up, telling myself to take a chill pill.

“I’m sure you do,” she remarks as she stands up herself, the towel getting stuck on her thigh so she’s even more exposed.

I wait for her to ask me to step out so she can get dressed, but instead she just stares at me, nibbling on her lip as she holds onto the top of the towel as if she’s deliberating something deeply.

“Do you want me to step out?” I should just do it, but I don’t want to, so I need her to make me.

Her gaze deliberately scrolls up my body. “I don’t know.”

Be a fucking good guy for once and turn around. “I should probably go.”

“Maybe.”

“Violet…”

She releases her hold on the towel, a unsteady breath escaping her lips as it falls from her body and onto the floor. “I don’t even know what I’m doing,” she says almost horrified. “Just that I want to do it.”

I’m fighting to breathe normal at the sight of her; long legs, smooth skin, that fucking sexy as hell tattoo that curves up her side, the way her wet hair drips water down her body, beads rolling down her flesh and across her nipples. I haven’t been with anyone in two months and with her in front of me, I lose it. Snap apart. Break. Shattered. So many different things I’ve never felt before.

Without even processing what I’m doing, I stride toward her, stealing any space left between us. Her lips part as she starts to reach for me, thinking I’m going to kiss her, but instead I drop down on my knees in front of her and press my lip to her breast, sucking her nipple into my mouth. I don’t even know what overcomes me. Foreplay was never my thing. I’m a taker not a giver, but enough people have stolen from Violet that I want to give to her—I’d give everything to her if I could.

I half expect her to pull away, but instead her fingers find my hair and she lets out a moan, causing my cock to instantly get hard. I have to fight the instinct to push her back on the bed and fuck the shit out of her, instead nibbling and grazing my teeth along her skin, making a path to her other breast. I trace slow circles across her nipple with my tongue, glancing up at her face, as my fingers wander up the back of her thighs to cup her ass. I’m surprised when I find that she’s looking down at me, biting her lip, her eyes glossed over with sheer ecstasy.

“That feels so good,” she gasps, her fingers running through my hair, pushing my face closer.

Good God… I’m not even sure what the hell to do with myself. I’ve never been down on my knees in front of a girl. I’ve always liked to fuck, but seeing that look on her face, the one I’ve desperately been missing for the last two months, I want to bring it out more.

My instincts overtake me, ones I didn’t think I had, and moving one of my hands to her stomach, I gently push her back until she’s leaning against the wall, then I grip her thigh and lift her leg over my shoulder, putting my face between her legs.

I know Violet’s not very sexually experienced and it makes me wonder if she’s ever done this before. I sure as hell haven’t done this—the only oral sex I’ve gotten is on the receiving end. The twisted part of me hopes she hasn’t because it means just one more experience she’s only shared with me.

God, I want her to be mine so badly it’s almost torture.

I just wish when it was all over, I could still have her.

Violet

There have been many times where I’m in a moment and I’m wondering how in the hell I got there. Like I can’t even backtrack to the second where I made the decision that led me here.

It was like one moment I was standing in the towel, tripping out over life, and how I need to find a way to settle myself down. There are a ton of tall buildings in Vegas and I was wondering how hard it would be to get to the top of one of them but then Luke comes walking into the room and was looking at me with that hunger in his eyes that actually makes me feel want instead of disgust like I do with most guys. I started thinking of how the last guy that touched me was Preston, how he made me get down on my knees, shoving me so hard that I bumped my leg on the side of the bed. Then he grabbed my hair and made me suck his dick. I want to erase the memory, not let it be so fresh in my mind, so I dropped the towel, hoping for… well, I wasn’t sure, but definitely nothing as amazing as this.

Luke’s face is between my thighs, one of my legs hitched over his shoulder, his mouth licking and pulling and sucking and nibbling, making tingles and sweltering heat shoot throughout my body. Never has a guy touched me like this. The guys I’ve known were always takers. Luke seemed like one of these guys when I first met him, but I learned quickly that his rough exterior was very misleading. He’s not the guy everyone thinks he is, at least when he’s with me.

I let go, relaxing against the wall, as he continues to work wonders on me with his mouth, his fingers digging into my thighs, pressing into my bruises, but I don’t feel the pain. All I feel is that wonderful sensation of freedom as heat builds inside of me and I grip onto Luke as I fall into the center of it. I end up pulling on his hair roughly, but I’m too incoherent to release my hold. But it doesn’t seem to bother him as his tongue and mouth continue to take me all the way to the end, until I’m coming down and breathing profusely. Then he starts to pull back, but pauses, his fingers grazing one of the bruises on my knee.

“What happened here?” he asks, his voice so low and husky that it causes vibrations across my skin, almost to the point that I think I’m going to orgasm again.

“I fell,” I lie, bringing my leg off his shoulder, feeling bad for not telling the truth, but the truth will only hurt both of us and we’ve shared enough pain to last a lifetime.

He catches me as I’m starting to walk away, then delicately traces the bruise pattern down my skin. “You know, I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Please don’t ruin this,” I say softly. “Please just drop it… I can’t tell you… not right now.” God, how wrong would that be. Right after he gives me oral sex for the first time, I say oh, hey, by the way, I gave Preston a blowjob, so recently that I still have the bruises.

He wants to argue with me to tell him, because that’s what we do—argue, banter, and most of the time I enjoy it—but instead he gets up, his lips still wet from me as he leans in to kiss me, giving me the rush I so desperately needed from the naughtiness of the whole thing.

His tongue slides deeply into my mouth and our tongues briefly tangle before he pulls away. He tucks a strand of my damp hair behind my ear and looks me directly in the eye, as if he’s about to say something important.

“If I ever find out that he hurt you, he’s going to pay,” he says firmly. I don’t have to ask who he is. I know who he’s talking about just like he probably knows where the bruises came from—well from Preston, maybe not the blowjob part—even though I didn’t tell him. It gives me insight to him. I mean, before I took off, we’d only known each other for like a couple of months and barely were together for a few weeks. I only saw this protective side of him twice—once with Preston and once with the reporter, Stan. I’m learning, though, that it might be his thing and I both love and hate it. Hate because I don’t want to rely on anyone to protect me like that. I’m too strong for that and relying on people will only break me and make me weak when they become unreliable. And love, well, because I’ve never had anyone do that for me.

It’s always been me against the world. But part of me wonders, if I could ever, possibly, maybe, let go of the past enough to really be with Luke if it could be me and him against the world.

But that might be me just wanting to stay in the land of make believe.