She chewed on her lip when he mentioned coming twice: hell, she hadn’t even come once in her life. Her own fingers weren’t long enough to reach any good parts inside of her, and she was far too embarrassed to stick anything else up there. But at the same time, she was immensely flattered that he wanted her to feel as good as she wanted him to feel. All her life, she’d been taught that women were there to serve men, but there Vance was: breaking all barriers for her. God damn it: how could she just leave in a couple of days? Why would she ever do something like that after meeting someone like Vance?
The only thing that could’ve stopped him at this point was a knife to the back, and Vance was pretty sure that he’d still try to finish them both off before succumbing to the pain. “Don’t worry,” he purred, “I’m not going to be satisfied until I make you come at least twice.” It was another point of pride for him; most guys didn’t give a shit whether their partners got off, but watching whoever he was fucking come hard got him off, so it was almost a necessity.
He leaned back slowly, taking Violet with him and moving her legs into position; she’d straddled him before but Vance assumed it was an entirely different maneuver now that she had a dick inside of her. With that accomplished, he moved his hands to her hips to steady her, hands wrapping completely around them from front to back, thumbs pressing into the prominent hipbones.
"Now move," he whispered, head tilted back and eyes blown out with lust. His tongue moved in a slow sweep across his lips; how had they gotten so dry? He made a mental note to pull her down on top of him and kiss her senseless as soon as she’d gotten used to the sensation. In the meantime, he was focused on their current positioning; he wasn’t picky about her movements. Grinding and bouncing were equally acceptable, and at the moment, he was more curious about what she’d do than how she did it.
When he began to change positions, her eyes widened a bit, shit, shit, what was he doing? Oh — he was put her in control. And she liked it, she loved being in control even though, in essence, he was the one that had decided it. At his whispered command, she shivered, before experimenting a little. She wasn’t sure where to put her hands, so she settled for on his shoulders, hunched over so that she could still keep eye contact. Her body rolled against his, her hipbones creating friction between his. In the new position, she could feel him even more, but she wasn’t sure if he liked what she was doing.
“Is this good?” She asked in a whisper, her grip tightening on his shoulders. His praise and approval was all she really wanted at this point: she didn’t want to disappoint an experienced man with her…well, inexperience. She brushed his hair back and leaned down over his body, slightly quickening her pace. He was so close, she couldn’t count his eyelashes, but she wanted to tease him, so she stayed right there, merely centimeters away.
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“Well, I mean, you’re not bad looking, but the whole psycho business kinda throws a rut into the whole system…I’ll eight-point-five, ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous.”
Violet’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and she thought with a tiny little snort, Thank god Jack brought the Jack. Drink to forget, don’t forget to drink: that was her motto, and the only thing going through her mind as she screwed off the cap and tools swig of the liquor straight from the bottle. Jack didn’t care if she was ‘ladylike’ or ‘proper’: another thing he admired immensely about him. Supposedly, Violet was only brought into the world to be a housewife, a copy of each and every one of the other young women in her town. And that was what drove her to run away in the first place. It was only by luck that she’d met Jack on the way.
At the mere question of it, Jack couldn’t help but roll his eyes again. He found his discarded jacket on the floor, fishing for the small bottle of whiskey tucked inside one of the pockets. “Never leave without one,” he reminded her, tossing the bottle her way. It may have already been half-empty, but Jack had remembered to pick an extra one up this time. The first empty was in the backseat of his car.
Once his face was all clean and his neck was rid of dirt, he made his way back into the room, throwing himself onto the mattress. Jack laced his fingers behind his head. The idea of France was one he could get behind. He’d always wondered what the Eiffel Tower looked like when one was standing right beneath it, always wondered how it felt to be bombarded with people trying to sell you key chains and shit. That was living, Jack supposed, among other things.
“Can’t tell a snail from a slug, but whatever gets ya’ in the mood.” He cast a lopsided smile over at Violet. “Would be nice, though. Dining like you live at the damn Versailles.”
She followed him into his room, grasping the bottle in one hand as she leaned her head on the doorway. At his smirk, she rolled her eyes playfully, pretending to be unimpressed with his antics. For two people who were on the run from some pretty damn serious crimes, they sure had a sense of humor. “We should do that one of these days. Go somewhere wicked fancy, buy a ton of expensive shit, and either simply dash, or hold up the place. And if you wanted, you could even hold me hostage to ensure the money.”
If there was one thing Violet prided herself in, it was being a convincing damsel in distress. Her big brown for eyes, and small stature made her appear as though she were some helpless little girl. But in reality, if she wanted to, she could knock out at least one tooth from a grown man.
She needed to be distracted or they’d be here all night, his Lo vomiting until blood started to come up and she died just because of the thoughts that were popping off in her brain. Vance secretly cursed pizza, delicious as it was, and focused on making her feel better. “It was those fucking pineapples,” he mumbled into her shoulder with a little laugh. Okay, one joke, and then he’d be completely focused on making her feel better.
"Of course I know how to braid hair,” he drawled with a haughty snort. “Julia forced me to do hers all the time. And the twins here taught me how to do all sorts of useless, fancy shit…the long fingers, you know. They’re about as good as knitting needles.”
He hummed softly to himself as he tried to figure out what might make her feel better. “Hey, Miss Lo, how about a nice warm bubble bath and being read to in the tub, followed by fluffy pajamas?” He was treating her like a sick child, which was probably weird, but he had no idea what else to do in this situation except spoil her with as many creature comforts as possible.
As much as she liked to put up the whole tough as nails front, his offer sounded really, really fucking tempting. A good break from the chaos that was going around in the house with just him reading something to her, and then getting some shut eye, before being able to spend yet another day with him. Plus, her back had been screwed up ever since she was spooning him: it was hard to be the big spoon when the little spoon was a foot taller than you.
"That’s sounds…much needed right now. I would kiss you, but y’know," she teased herself, smiling to herself. That was one thing she was good at: making fun out of serious/bad situations to distract herself from the reality of it. Slowly, she lifted herself to her feet, head a tad bit dazed. She had to hold onto the sink counter for support, not trusting her weak knees to hold her body weight.
Turning on the sink, she took some water and swished it around a couple of times, before spitting it out and looking for some sort of mouthwash. “My throat feels like hell,” she mumbled agitatedly, though in retrospect, it was all her fault for her own situation. She was the one who wanted pizza. She was the one who had forgotten about their homemade pizza in the oven. “It must’ve been those fuckin’ pineapples ‘cause only I’m sick: not you.”