The Probability of Violet & Luke

  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 swel
tering 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.

  Chapter 9

  Luke

  Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. The night started that way, but the moment of elation being with Violet quickly dissipates the moment we leave that room and I realize I’m not nearly drunk enough for what lies ahead for the night. Before we take off to The Warehouse, my Uncle Cole pulls me aside to remind me of the rules, which reminds me of the risks I’m taking. It’s kind of stupid when I think about it. I fucked up by cheating while gambling and now I have to cheat again while gambling to make up for it. If I mess up, I’ll be right back where I started only I’ll owe two assholes money.

  For this very reason, I try to keep Violet out of the loop of what the plans are, but the problem is the girl knows her shit.

  It’s nearing eight o’clock, but the sky is still bright, the sun blaring it’s heat down on the city and desert land that surrounds it. We have the windows rolled down, but it still doesn’t help with the sweating factor, but part of that might be because I’m in the backseat with Violet, trying not to be so damn nervous about the entire situation.

  “So what’s up with this The Warehouse place?” Violet asks from the backseat of Cole’s 1970 Dodge Challenger. She’s wearing that short dress I didn’t want her wearing and it hugs her body perfectly and leaves little to the imagination. “Because it sounds like a place where the mafia would hide dead bodies.”

  Cole glances at her in the rearview mirror inquisitively while Ryler smiles, rolling his window all the way down. “Well, if it was, I’d think you’d be a little worried that we’re taking you there, wouldn’t you?” my uncle jokes as he retrieves a pack of cigarettes from the dash.

  “You would think so,” Violet says amused, the hot breeze flowing through the cab blows stray strands of her hair into her face. “But if you guys are in the mafia, you’re not very scary, nor are you packing a gun so escape seems possible.”

  “And how do you know we’re not packing any weapons?” Cole asks, his gaze landing on me and I can tell he approves of Violet, which would be just great except that she doesn’t approve of me.

  “Well, you’re both wearing tank tops and there’s no place to hide them in there. None of your pant or short pockets look bulky and I made a mental note that neither of you had one in the back of your pants.” She relaxes back in the seat, folding her arms, restraining a smile.

  “Smart girl,” Cole remarks as he slows the car at a stoplight. The busy sidewalks are buzzing with excitement, neon lights flashing on every building, and I can practically smell the slot machines on the inside of them. “Luke, I like this one. You should keep her around.”

  So do I, I want to tell him but instead say, “Yeah, she’s not so bad, I guess.” I nudge her in the side with my elbow so she knows I’m messing around.

  “What can I say, I like to prepare myself,” Violet says, not moving away when I rest my shoulder against hers. “You never know who the crazies are.”

  My body stiffens, wondering if she meant it how I took it. But she seems calm and content, so I’m guessing she’s just chatting and didn’t really think much of it. Still, it reminds me that one of those ‘crazies’ she’s referring to is my mother and what one of those ‘crazies’ did was murder her parents, which led to her spending most of her childhood in foster homes, which led her to Preston’s and her messed up life. All because of my mother and some unknown guy.

  Ryler rotates in his seat to look at us and signs something to Violet, something amusing I’m guessing with the way Violet laughs and he smiles.

  Violet shrugs. “Knives aren’t scary. You can run from knives.”

  Ryler’s brow arches as he rests his arm on the back of the seat, still signing.

  “It sounds like I’m speaking from experience, huh?” Violet muses as Ryler nods. Then Violet shrugs again, not willing to divulge any of her past, something I’m used to. But I know enough about her and she had a shitty childhood, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran from someone with a knife. Fuck, what if it was my mother. I never did get the details of what exactly happened that night.

  “You’re a pretty tough chick,” Cole remarks then looks at me. “You know, we could use her tonight.”

  “No,” I say sharply. “She’s not here to get involved in this.”

  “Well she’s here,” Cole says, getting a little annoyed. “So technically she’s already involved.”

  “She’s just here to watch,” I argue, balling my hands into fist. “Nothing else.”

  Violet’s eyes are on me, not necessarily glaring, but she doesn’t look happy either. “What’s up with you and the whole protective thing?” she says it quietly, but Ryler still hears her and sensing a fight, turns back around in his seat and proceeds to smoke.

  “I just don’t want you getting hurt,” I tell her with a shrug. “It’s not like this is som
e new fucking revelation. I was the same way while we were…” I want to say dating, but where we really ever officially dating? Yeah, we went out on one or two dates, but our relationship was so brief—too brief.

  “I don’t need protection,” she promises in a firm tone. “And if there’s some way I can help then I want to. Trust me, manipulation is my gift.”

  “I don’t want to be the Preston in your life,” I utter it so quietly it can barely be heard.

  She sucks in a slow breath while her hand absentmindedly wanders to the bruises on her legs, pretty much confirming my suspicions that the bastard put them on her. It makes me see red again like when Preston kissed her in the parking lot of the University, my anger blinding me to the point that if Preston was around, I’d do something irrational and probably irreversible and not even think twice. I remember when my best friend Kayden Owens beat the shit out of this guy Cameron—the same guy who raped my sister Amy right before she committed suicide by jumping off a roof—because he’d hurt his girlfriend, Callie, probably in the same way he hurt my sister. At the time, I sort of understood why he did it, protecting the people you care about. But he’d only been with Callie for a little while so there was still some confusion how he could get so passionate about defending her. But I get now, why he did it, how the rage can consume you to the point that you can’t see or think clearly, if you care about someone that much. I’d have beaten the shit out of Cameron too, if I ever found him—still would—for Amy. And I’d hurt Preston just as equally if not more for what he’s done to Violet. Because I care about Violet that much, in a way that I’d ruin my own life if it meant she’d have to carry less pain in hers.