ARDS is short for acute respiratory distress syndrome.
“And it worked. He showed up in record time and the patient was treated and discharged the next day.”
“Did he write you up?”
“Oh, yeah.” Connor smirks. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
I’m pretty sure I actually sigh out loud. And start to look up at him like the hero he is—until I notice the sign above the darkened store behind him.
Retro Records Coming Soon
“Oh wow!” I keep hold of Connor’s hand, bringing him with me as I move to the big picture window to peek at the rows of boxes inside. “I didn’t know a new record store was opening here.”
“You listen to records? Like, actual records? Aren’t you kind of young for that?”
“Good taste has no age, Connor.”
“Fair enough.” Connor checks the sign on the door. “It says their grand opening is in three weeks. We can come back then, if you like.”
And it’s such a simple thing to say, but it rocks my world. Because that’s when it really sinks in. That this thing with Connor isn’t a daydream or a wish, it’s not the result of a concussion or a coma, it’s not a friendship or a casual fuck.
It’s solid, real, it’s happening . . . and this is only the beginning.
My throat tightens with so much excitement and emotion, my voice goes reedy.
“I would love that.”
* * *
Connor
Holy shit, this girl.
It’s crazy how into her I am. How fast and hard I can feel myself falling for her.
Violet Leigh Robinson.
You get to a certain age, a certain point in your life, when you just don’t think that’s possible anymore. You’re too adult, too cynical. You’ve experienced life and lust, love and loss. You have too much control over what you want, what you feel, what you know.
And then . . . kapow.
All those expectations are obliterated.
It’s not a tumble or slide—it’s a plummet, straight down—like falling into a well you never knew was right in front of you. One minute you’re standing on solid ground, thinking you know exactly where you are, where you’re going, and then you take a step and you’re gone.
Consumed in one single, swift drop.
And yet it makes perfect sense—because she’s amazing. Smart and funny, so fucking gorgeous, so fucking sweet.
“Connor . . . hmmm.”
Violet’s ragged little moan slips from her mouth into mine. We’re in my truck, in her driveway, parked behind her cute powder-blue car—making out like teenagers frantic to get off before curfew.
She’s straddling my lap, wriggling around in the tight confines between my chest and the steering wheel, making me so hard my vision blurs.
I palm Vi’s breast over her dress, the stiff point of her needy nipple poking my palm, taunting me. I lick her throat, tasting strawberry-flavored skin, dying to get my mouth on the rest of her.
I can’t even bring myself to break away long enough to get us in the house.
She’s too enticing—she feels too goddamn good.
All I can think about is laying her back on these leather seats, lifting her dress, and eating her out until her screams puncture my eardrums.
It was explosive that first night. I thought I’d be calmer this time—less desperate. But I was wrong. Now that I’ve had her, the way I want her is even more raw and incessant. And I’m not even a little freaked out about it—never again. It may be a full-on cliché but it’s true . . . nothing this fantastic could ever be wrong.
“Connor, Connor, God . . . ”
Violet chants as she writhes, her hips swiveling as much as she can—driving me crazy—her tight little pussy so hot and ready I can feel the heat of her seeping through my jeans. I suck harder on her neck, probably marking her with hickeys but not giving a shit.
She yanks at the collar of my shirt to slide a hand in, gliding her silky touch over my chest, wickedly scratching at my pecs.
And then our lips are molded, mouths fused, trying to consume each other.
Christ, I need to bring her in the house.
I need more room, more light. I want to lay her down on the bed and strip her slowly. I want to see Vi’s lips parted and glistening as she gasps, watch her perfect tits bounce while I fuck her, gaze deep into her endless eyes when she comes.
And I will. I swear to God, I will.
But first . . .
I shove my hand between us, lifting her dress above her waist and slipping my hand down her panties, where she’s smooth and warm and soaked. I push two fingers up inside her and she keens low and long. Her pussy squeezing my fingers so tight it almost hurts.
My other hand goes to the back of her neck, guiding Vi’s mouth to mine—because the truck is filled with her scent and sounds and I need to taste her tongue or I’m going to lose it.