It’s a crime against humanity.
“Fine, we’ll start at the wedding.” His beefy arm rises, clicking the remote toward the television, flying through the menu selection until he arrives at Outlander. Chooses season one. Chooses episode: The Wedding.
Click, click, click goes the remote.
“Obviously I watch a lot of TV.” He chuckles. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”
“That’s surprising. When do you have time with your busy social schedule?”
“My busy social schedule? Goddamn you’re cute.” He gives me a sidelong glance, still pointing the remote control at the TV. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m the last person people think of when they hear the word social.”
“I-I—”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t just insult me. Let’s just watch the show, although, I should warn you—spoiler alert!—there’s some tits and ass.”
“T-Tits and ass?” I repeat, blushing. I mean, what’s worse than stuttering out the word tits in front of a handsome boy? Nothing.
Nothing is worse.
“Nudity,” he clarifies. “You okay with that?”
“Okay with nudity? Sure.”
Zeke
I have a hard-on.
Not the soft, chubby promise of one or the tingling stirrings—this is a raging boner.
My grip on Violet’s plaid blanket tightens when the Scotsman Jamie Frasier and his wife Claire begin fucking on screen. She’s on top, riding him—you know, because he’s a virgin—in a chair, sinking down onto his erection, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.
I chance a glance at Violet; I’ve never seen her face so flush, and I’ve embarrassed her plenty in the few weeks we’ve been hanging out.
“I-Is it hot in here?” she mutters under her breath, fanning herself by yanking on the collar of her black t-shirt.
“Yeah it’s fucking hot in here.” And getting warmer with every passing second.
“Should I open a window?” I volunteer, half off the couch and walking to the bank of windows at the front of the room before she can reply. I adjust the stiff dick in my pants, easing it to the side of my thigh before unlatching the lock and sliding my hands under the frame, pulling upward.
I crack the window a good nine inches—the length of my throbbing cock—wipe a set of sweaty palms over my pants, and yank my shirt down over my crotch.
Violet misses me gimping it back to the couch because her eyes are glued to the horny Highlanders banging on the television, in high def and Technicolor.
I ease myself back down, and despite the rising temperature in the room, grapple for the blanket and spread it across my lap, adding a throw pillow on top like a teenage boy afraid to be caught whacking it by his mother.
Normally I wouldn’t give a shit if some chick saw my boner, but this is Violet—I don’t want her to feel violated or whatever. I want her to feel safe with me, not like I’m going to fucking jump her with my giant cock.
On screen, Claire Frasier has just spread herself wide on the bed, and the Highland ginger Jamie is slowly scaling lower on her body. Nipples pointy and wet from his mouth. Head tipped back. Lips parted, sounds coming out of them both while he goes down on her.
This was such a bad idea.
I fucking knew the wedding episode had sex in it; I just didn’t remember it being this graphic.
The actress’s tits are right fucking there.
“Do you want to turn this off and watch something else?” I hear myself croak out, realizing just then that when I sat down on the couch, I grossly miscalculated the distance between us. Instead of giving her inches of berth, our legs and thighs and hips are touching.
“No,” comes Violet’s soft whisper. “It’s okay.”
“No?”
I shift in my seat, the heat from her denim-clad thigh only making the tension worse.
“No. We’re good.”
I know I shouldn’t react—I do—and yet, when Violet’s soft hand finds mine beneath the blanket and slides into mine, and fits…I move, body inching closer like a magnet is drawing me nearer.
Our fingers entwine, her other hand runs along the top of my thigh, patting it, seemingly unaware of the raging war inside my underwear, my body losing an intense battle with itself.
Fucking traitor.
She innocently lays her head on my shoulder.
The blonde hair on the top of her head tickles my nose, sending an odd twitch straight from my spine to my already pulsing dick. The little terror strains against the fabric of my jeans.
“This is snuggling,” she informs me just as Claire Frasier has an orgasm not ten feet in front of us. Violet’s pretty face tips up so she can look into my eyes.
Her body leans, fingers finding the bulk of my bicep and landing there, all the while clutching my other hand. It must be uncomfortable.
So I move.
Shift my body, slide my newly free hand around her narrow waist, pulling her in.
I groan, head hitting the back of the couch, counting one, two, three, four in a piss-poor attempt at some semblance of self control.
Four.
That’s as high as my brain can count because I stop breathing when her smooth lips find the pulse in my throat. Give it the tiniest, barest whisper of a kiss.
Soft, exploratory kisses, up and down the column of my thick neck, gentle nuzzles beneath my ear. “You’re not so bad at it,” Violet says, lips just inches from mine.
Whoa, what the fuck.
There is no fucking way she’s trying to seduce me right now. No. Way. She’s too na?ve and gentle. In my gut, I know she’s just being affectionate. No way is she trying to get laid.
So what the hell is she doing, kissing the side of my neck and whispering flirty shit into my ear? She might as well be whispering lines from a porno. My brain works in overtime, trying to sort it out but coming up with nothing.
I sit ramrod straight, afraid to move. Not wanting to lead her on, or worse yet—take advantage.
Is this what being noble feels like?
If it is, being noble fucking sucks.
Am I attracted to Violet? Yes.
Do I want to bang Violet? Yes.
Would I screw her if she threw herself at me? Yes.
Her head hits my shoulder again, whole body relaxes into me, vibrant and warm. Buzzing. The hum of electricity circling is deafening, and when she tips her face to smile up at me?
I lower mine.
Give in, just this once.
Lips grazing.
Again.
Again. And again.
Faint. Tantalizing.
Small, teasing kisses I didn’t know I was capable of.