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Just one.
Not super important. Just something they threw together the very moment I laid down on this bed and Knox realized how fucking quiet the room got as all three of them stared at me spread out on their fresh, clean blankets.
House Rule Number One:
DO NOT FUCK VIOLET DEMURE
It’s a real tasteful list. Subtlety is their forte.
And it’s that one little rule that holds our friendship together by fraying threads.
With the lightest touch he trails lower and my lashes close, my breaths halting while my heartbeat works overtime. The faintest caress follows the curve of my breast, dipping beneath my tank top for the shortest moment before sliding down, meeting my lower stomach and stopping quickly when he feels the lace of my panties at my hips.
“White?” his thumb brushes back and forth along the thin material.
I choke on air when he asks that one word question that has fire burning up my chest and cheeks.
“Black,” I whisper to him, my thighs shifting hard against the black lace.
His breath is heavier this time and he only makes it worse when he leans into me, his chest pressing hard against my breasts, his hand shoved between us, teasing that line of fabric just above my pubic bone.
Back and forth his steady hand skims over my sensitive flesh until I can almost imagine his touch lower, harder, faster.
But he never moves lower. Not an inch.
He made the rule.
It was his rule.
And he, unfortunately, follows it.
Even if he does skim the line between friendship and fucking very, very closely.
“Goodnight, Violet.” His dark, rasping voice alone is a command.
We’re nothing. He and I are just two friends.
Who happen to share a house.
And a bed.
Two
Dee
The blissful days of summer are fleeing. Each day is being ripped off the calendar faster than I can enjoy them. Yet, Knox and his friends have enjoyed every passing second. So much so that my ears are still ringing with the howls of the women they’ve enjoyed it with.
My senior year is about to start at a brand new school and I just want to completely own this last beautiful day as much as they have the whole summer. No, not as much. More. That’s right, I’m going to do it better than them.
Somehow.
I’ve seen and heard so much sex lately that it’s all I think about.
Makes breakfast a little awkward but I honestly can’t get the thoughts out of my head.
And it’s their fault.
They've all given me a manual of what not to do at least. Don't drink too much or you'll throw up on your date. Repeatedly. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Don't let your date drink too much or the guy won't be able to even do the deed. And most importantly, do not, I repeat, do not call your date by a former date's name.
