I was a heavy heart to carry
My beloved was weighed down
My arms around his neck
My fingers laced to crown
I was a heavy heart to carry
But he never let me down
When he had me in his arms
My feet never touched the ground
Florence + the Machine, ‘Heavy In Your Arms’
The gurgle of the drain was heavy in her ears as the still silence danced between them. Violet felt her breath catch in her throat and a sudden, overwhelming heat burn between her thighs. It was like a classic movie moment, the two lovers looking into each others eyes, the raw sexual tension finally reaching its crescendo in the quiet between them before the passionate kiss. Tate’s eyes bore holes into hers and she could feel the reality of the situation dripping into her nerves.
Violet almost wanted him to repeat what he said, pretend she didn’t hear it or didn’t believe it, but the words were ringing in her head ever since they passed through his wonderful lips. He wanted to absorb her essence, become one with her, and prove his love to her. It was what her basic, animalistic instincts were crying out for, what her heart yearned for, and any logical thought was pushed aside in her brain.
“Tate…” What was there to say? Words failed her in this situation.
Tate held Violet closer, as close as he could without absorbing her. “Please Violet. I want to show you how much you mean to me.”
Tate B was clearly acting as the man behind the curtain. Tate A was on standby, which he hated passionately, but that Tate knew handling virgins was his better half’s business.
It was so ridiculously schmaltzy and goopy to the lovers, but it was the way it had to be done. They wanted to burst out laughing and go at it like two cats in heat but there was no room for mistakes to be made. And as Tate watched Violet nod and reach her arms up to latch around his neck, the heaviness of the moment finally sank into him. Every fantasy he had dreamt was about to become a possibility, and his spine tingled at the prospect.
As they left the bathroom and traveled down the hall, Tate’s heartbeat pounded harder against his chest to the point that he wanted to ask Violet if it was hurting her. She bruises easy, the poor girl. How would she survive having his dick thrust into her? Virgins were tight and needed to be handled with care, like expensive china. He promised he would never hurt her, but virgins bled. Violet would bleed for him, tear for him, stretch beyond her limits to make room for him inside of her. A part of Tate found fascination in the prospect of blood dripping between her legs, and he had to swallow the urge back down. He’d restrain himself and avoid the sinful temptation of releasing all that raw sexual power into Violet at once, as it would surely drown her. He couldn’t promise it wouldn’t hurt, and it broke his heart that he even felt a shred of fascination in hurting her for the power of love. The irony sucked.
They were sure to keep quiet as Vivien was asleep just down the hall. However, as soon as the door to Violet’s room was closed behind them, everything was fair game. Tate attacked Violet’s mouth with his with hungry desire. The kiss was wet and needy, with tongues dragging across teeth and lips sucked and nursed. Their faces were hot and their breathing was languid as Tate brought her to the bed. Parting their lips was somewhat of a struggle, but Tate couldn’t lie Violet down on the mattress if they were connected at the mouths, as he would sure stumble and drop her and thus ruin the smoothness the situation called for.
The towel loosened from its fold across Violet’s chest as she was placed down on the bed, wanting to open like an oyster and display its pearl for others to envy. But that was Tate’s job, and as he climbed on top of her he made sure to clutch the top edges of the white fabric to keep it from falling away before its time. Besides, there was something he wanted to try first.
Without a word, Tate lifted Violet’s left arm, cradling it in his hand. There were so many scars. There were fresh ones that were still red and irritated. There were ones where blood had coagulated. There were others that were now silver stripes of tissue over the smooth skin. He felt a sharp pang in his heart, it hurt him to even look at all the damage she had done to herself. The day he had met Violet, caught her dragging that dreaded razor blade across her wrist, he wanted so badly to take her by the arm and tell her that he understood everything. Instead he just pulled a jerk off comment about how she was doing it wrong out of his ass, and the way she looked at her, like a starved animal interrupted during its meal, only served to heighten his interest. It was the moment he fell in love with her and the scars, all of her.
Violet watched as Tate grazed his finger tips across the healed over and abused flesh on her arm, somewhat disturbed but also curious to see where he was going with it. What she didn’t expect was for him to whisper, “I’m sorry” and begin kissing her cuts. Her breath became stuck in her lungs and she looked on in awe at his careful ministrations. His lips were still chapped and dry, but soft and gentle as they traveled up and down her forearm. All the while he kept an eye on her face, taking note of the changes in her expression. At first she had questioned, then hesitated, and now she was fully relinquishing herself over to him. It felt nice to be cared about she supposed.
She’s once again surprised by how warm Tate’s skin felt against hers, which placed another point in the ‘reconsider the whole dead thing’ argument. Those were living, blood filled hands and lips that were caressing her sliced up arm. But he’s finished with her arm now and gently places it back at her side like a beloved antique. She missed that closely concentrated heat already.
Tate moved to kiss and suck on Violet’s neck, which she has so nicely presented to him. She tastes sweet and warm from the bath, and her skin smells so delectable that the sudden urge to sink his teeth into her crosses his mind. But he can’t and he won’t. He does, however, compromise and uses his teeth to nibble and roll the skin around in his mouth. Violet quietly gasps at the sensation and clutches at Tate’s hair to keep him there.
When he was satisfied with the pretty rogue mark he created that marked her as his, he looked up at Violet once again, pleading with her because the time for the big reveal had finally come. Violet understood him and she felt the time as well. Her skin felt like it was burning, the heat around her was so oppressive and she needs him to remove the last layer or she’ll have a stroke. The pride she held up so well in the bathroom was but a memory, as the heart had finally stolen the controls from the brain. Violet nods and Tate’s eyes light up like retro Christmas lights. He was quick at removing the offending article, and as soon as he threw it across the room he wasted no time in sitting up to admire the nude body laid out for him.
So this was what she kept hidden underneath all that too big clothing? There were the breasts, still just as wonderful and compact as they were earlier. There was the soft stomach and the curves leading to her hips. From hip bones on however, everything was new and even better than what he had seen already. Even with Violet’s legs kept close together, he could see the tuck of skin that lead to her most intimate area, which to no surprise to him, was cleanly shaven. He glided a hand down to a now bare thigh as he admired the special sight. Violet caught him looking, her face heating up with a blush, which she slaps a hand over to hide. She didn’t blush and she wasn’t about to allow for it now, like she was some pure white Princess with Daddy issues. Ok, the Daddy issues were there but she would knock the teeth out of whoever had the audacity to call her ‘Princess’.
Violet removed her hand from her face when she felt Tate’s mouth latch onto her breast again, but this time the sensation was accompanied by a hand ghosting closely to where she wanted him the most. It was so wet and hot there, and she just couldn’t hold her legs together anymore. The muscles in her thighs laxed and she opened herself to him in a quiet plea for him to touch her. But Tate was too happy to be playing with her breasts with his mouth and his other hand. He wanted to tease her a little more, and the ghost hand made moves to touch cunt, only to pull back with a childish laugh.
“Tate, I swear to God…” Violet wasn’t going to have the bullshit tonight. She wanted to be satisfied immediately and Tate’s clowning around was so not going to fly.
In Violet speak, she meant ‘Please Tate, oh please play with my pussy’ which was the green light he needed for his hand to place itself on her hot mound. Virgins did get wet easily, but he clearly underestimated it. He looked back up at Violet, who was breathing like she had just learned to fill her lungs with air. “Fuck Violet, fuck.”
Then Violet bucked up into him, trying to get his fingers to do something and she needed to feel pressure. By God, if she had to do it herself there will be hell to pay.
Thankfully Tate got it and his fingers began to explore. Aside from her cunt being wet, she was also hot and soft in his hand. His thumb lightly grazed over a raised nub, eliciting an “Oh fuck” and an arching back off the bed. Clearly, it was a pleasurable sensation Violet had just experienced, and Tate set to work at rubbing a steady rhythm onto her clit. Meanwhile his fingers drifted to find the entrance, and when he finally found it he traced a finger lightly around the source of all the wetness and heat, the place he would be burying his dick into before the night died away.
There was something he had to ask. “Have you ever stuck your fingers up here?” He asked the question with a mask of childlike wonderment, hiding the desire to get his cock to twitch again.
Violet sucked in another deep breath. Of course he would ask her something so blunt that he could possibly be convicted with assault for it. But the heart, not the brain, was in control. “Maybe once or twice…I don’t know…it feels weird when I do it…Tate for fuck’s sake…”
“You’re gonna be tight Violet. Allow me to make some room in there…” It’s such a vulgar thing to say but there’s no other way he can put it. Besides, his fingers desperately wanted to be buried in that hot, wet cavern.
Before Violet could even form what she wants to say to that Tate had slipped down between her legs. Those long limbs were then hoisted over his shoulders, causing her to splutter out a variety of profanities and insults. Heat rose into her cheeks from the raw sense of exposure that came with being spread wide for hungry eyes to admire. Her nerves burned as she watched him stare at her pussy, and Jesus butt-fucking Christ he’s cocking his head at it like some confusing Modernist painting.
“Ugh Tate, stop looking at it like that!” No, that surely wasn’t right. Had Tate Langdon just winked at her? If her body wasn’t so hot and heavy at the moment she would’ve launched a pillow at his face.
There’s a kiss to her bent knee and then a finger is inside of her. Violet squirmed at the new sensation, but it definitely felt better than when she tried doing it to herself. And by the way Tate’s face changed, the feeling around his finger was definitely interesting him rather than grossing him out. At first, he wiggled his finger a bit and felt along the spongy walls, but that clearly wasn’t getting him the reaction he wanted. Then he began pumping in and out, which was so easy because she was just so fucking wet. And God it’s such a pleasant new feeling that feels like a slow burn. Meanwhile, Tate’s other hand revived its use and started to rub delicious circles of pressure around her clit, resulting in more of those little hums of pleasure from her throat that sounded like music box melodies. And oh, she’s constricting his finger and sucking him in but he would loosen her up real nice and good.
Once the tightness begins to lessen his middle finger starts to creep in. It finally slides in to join its well accustomed partner and Violet’s voice breaks slightly. Tate pauses and looks up at her face. She’s biting her lip to keep from making too much noise and her body is taut with tension.
“You gotta relax for me. You’re so fucking tight Violet.”
She nods and releases the stiff hold of her muscles so he can finish sliding in the second finger. The pumping and the rubbing are delicious and her legs bounce with the rhythm of his fingers. How many times had she laid in bed with a cigarette and found herself thinking of this? Too many, but now that it was happening it was a completely foreign experience. But her body was so swimmingly on fire and Tate was applying just the right amount of pressure to her clit that she wanted more. Then there’s a third finger and she stiffens again because it’s a lot. Thankfully she’s so goddamn wet and wide open for him that her hole accepts to new recruit without much resistance. Violet realized she hasn’t looked at Tate for awhile, rather at her ceiling without much intention. When she casts her eyes back at him, he’s smirking and resting his head on her knee, all too happy about the way she’s convulsing and twitching and clenching around his fingers.
“Feeling good?” Stating the obvious ladies and gentlemen is Tate A. Hi, how are you?
Violet can’t say anything because her mouth is too lax to even attempt to shape itself for vowels and consonants. All she can do is make a noise in the back of her throat and continue to buck her hips into his hands.
Then, she’s empty again. It’s terrible, so fucking terrible. The fingers are gone and the pressure has left to attend to other matters. “Taaaaate…” Did she really just whine? That sounded an awful lot like a whine. Violet Harmon just whined because Tate Langdon stopped playing with her cunt. For the love of all things big and small, what the fuck?
He hated to make her wait, but he couldn’t have her coming before the main course. Her eyes were shiny and her breasts moved along with every deep breath she took. The sight was so fucking great that his cock started to scream at him. It wanted out now. No, no waiting. Now. It was just damn painful to keep it locked away, all stiff and hard with blood.
Tate moved up to steal a quick kiss from her hot lips before leaning back to work on his pants. Who the fuck needed clothes? Jesus, he was stifling. Why had he worn so many layers? Why are there buttons and zippers on jeans? Too much work for his fingers. Hurry up Tate. And the pants are off! He threw them across the room to join the bath towel where they could start a conversation together on the floor and maybe fall in love. Violet guessed Tate was a boxers kind of guy, but those tented navy blue briefs proved her assumption false. There was dark spot where precum had latched onto the fabric and soaked through to announce its presence. Then Violet took another look at Tate’s straining cock in the confines. Shit, that looked big. Fuck, it was going to hurt but stopping now would surely kill her faster than his cock tearing her insides apart.
There was a moment of stillness in the moment before his fingers latched around the waistband of his underpants. Exposure of the body was like ripping a band-aid off; the anxiety before you even tore the thing off your skin was more excruciating than the split second sting of flesh parting from tape. Not that Tate was nervous or anything about whipping it out, it was just that a man’s pride lies in their manhood, and the mood for the rest of the night depend upon whether she gazed up at him in awe of his cock or gave a sinister laugh. Three, two, one, down.
Violet had seen pictures and diagrams, but not the real thing until just that moment. From what research had showed her, most dicks were just shriveled up, discolored pork swords. Relief washed over her when she saw that not only was his cock not rotting away but that it was actually pretty…cute? A nice cut length of smooth, hot flesh that was all too happy to see her as made clear by the glistening wetness at the head. Not shaven, but blonde wisps of hair were kept trimmed close to the base. There was nothing to worry about besides the fact that she had never stuck anything even close to that size into her in her life. No fugly decaying penis to prod around in her like in some video nasty gore fest.
Tate took a moment to look down at his straining length and then back to Violet’s hazy eyes. She was soaking the sight in, absorbing it into her memory for future nights when she was alone with her hand and a burning cigarette when he couldn’t be there to help. He cracked a small smile in appreciation of her kind eyes. But his shirt was still on, and his chest was stifling under the layers of tee and flannel that he had thrown on that morning. He was quick to shed the over-shirt of green plaid that smelled like sandalwood, smoke, and teen angst. That was thrown to the clothing orgy on the floor.
They were so close and the air smelled like warmth and pent up sexual energy. Violet locked eyes with Tate as he gripped the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head and throw it off the floor. Nothing to worry about, no surprises, nothing out of the ordinary would occur when he was finally finished stripping himself of the last boundary that stood between them and full skin to skin contact.
Oh how naïve she was.
Instead, as Tate slid the bunched up tee shirt up over his chest, Violet’s heart went still. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t speak. Her body simply went limp with fear and putrid sickness at the sight before her.
Tate’s chest was riddled with bullet holes, so deep and gaping that she could only see the silhouettes of ripped flesh descending into the darkness of his insides. No blood dripped from the horrendous punctures, for it was all coagulated around the edges of each wound. The skin around each gaping opening where ammunition had pierced through was translucent and ashen with death, showing off the black veins that stretched across his breast in wiry tangles.
At first, Violet tried to convince herself she was in the midst of a terrible nightmare, but Tate’s fingers gliding over her bare hips and the feel of air to naked skin were too well detailed to be fabricated by thought. So she blinked once, twice, three, four times in desperation to rid the horrific sight from her vision. But it wouldn’t go away. The chest of an embalmed corpse attached to the boy who was about to receive her virtue stayed planted in cold reality. Violet couldn’t say anything. What was there to say? The final proof that Tate Langdon was indeed a ghost was so gut wrenchingly brutal that she felt as if she were drowning. Stare was all she could do, stare and drown.
As Tate turned back from tossing the shirt onto the floor and looked at Violet, his heart sank as he saw the expression of fear cemented onto her face. She wasn’t looking at him, specifically his face, but between his nipples with such a look of fright that it seemed unreal. He looked down at that dead, holey chest of his and then back to Violet’s frozen face, a quizzical look arresting his features. “Violet, what’s wrong?”
The second the words left his mouth, Violet realized he hadn’t looked down at the same chest she was staring so horrified at. He couldn’t see his chest was littered with bullet holes. He didn’t see the deep punctures, the coagulated blood, the dead skin, or the black veins. They didn’t exist to him because he didn’t know he was dead. In his head he was alive and perfect, not dead and full of seventeen year old holes. Tate had seen smooth, unblemished skin between his pectorals, not the calling card wounds of a SWAT raid. Her heart sank into an abyss. He was wearing the same expression of ignorance as he wore on Halloween when his undead victims had come back, demanding an explanation for the bullets through their skulls. He really didn’t know he had been long dead for almost two decades. All there was to him was their naked bodies, nothing more, nothing less.
The flurry of thoughts shut down her senses for a moment, and she only realized Tate was in a complete panic when he began shaking her against his tragic chest.
“Violet! Violet what’s wrong? Please tell me what’s wrong!”
Thank fast. Don’t think about your breasts up against that dead abdomen. Don’t think about your nipples in those terrible mouth like holes.
“I’m fine Tate. I just lost my mind for a moment.” Violet brought her hands up so she could lightly hold into his shoulders, which were warm, unlike the cold skin her breasts were up against.
Tate began to pet her blonde hair in quick but gentle strokes. “Are you sure? You look freaked out. Do you want to stop?”
Stop now? It was impossible to stop here. The heat and wetness between her legs was too oppressive to ignore and only Tate could remedy those feelings. He and that awful corpse chest would have to finish what they started. She just felt heavy.
“No, keep going. I’m fine, I swear. I trust you.” Violet did trust Tate, no matter how dead he was, and that wasn’t going to change. Alive or not, he had proven his worth the moment she awoke to find his fingers jammed down her throat to make her throw up all those pills she swallowed. If giving her virginity to his ghost was the ultimate way to prove her love to him then she would do it.
Tate pulled her away from his chest, which Violet refused to look down at. His face was soft and his eyes were brimmed with genuine concern. “Just tell me if you want to stop Violet. I promised I would never hurt you and I would never forgive myself if I did.”
She silently nodded as he laid her back against the pillows, trying hard to clear her mind as Tate reached for one of the condoms that laid by her leg. Her eyes directed themselves back to the ceiling to avoid coming into contact with all those bullet holes again. The sound of a wrapper tearing hit her ears and she realized the moment was serious business and not just some lighthearted teenage milestone.
Tate had tried on a few condoms before when he was a Freshman, and the practice finally proved to be useful as he squeezed the tip and rolled it on with ease. Good, it was lubricated. His cock would need all the help it could get tonight if he wanted to successfully fuck Violet’s virginity away without too much pain. He looked back down at Violet. She was staring up at the ceiling with an unreadable look in her eyes. It worried him, but at the same time he felt an aura of calmness. She wasn’t judging or apprehensive. Her legs were spread wide for him and only him. The time had come.
He leaned back in to cover Violet with his body, resting his head against her shoulder and burying his nose in her wheat colored locks, his hot breath tickling her neck. “Are you ready?”
There were her eyes again to meet his. Violet released the deep breath she had kept in her lungs like a good high and threaded a hand back into Tate’s soft hair. For that moment there were no ghosts, no embalmed chests, no bottles of pills, no bricks through the window, no cheating spouses or dead babies. It was just the two of them.
She nodded and let a ‘yeah’ slip from her lips. Tate pressed his lips to her neck again and trailed down her collar bone and past her right breast, giving a nipple a quick suck before sitting back up to align his length to her hole.
They kept their eyes fixated on each other in the moments leading up to it. Tate braced his hands onto Violet’s hips and sighed. “I’ll go slow. Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”
She nodded and took a deep breath as his cock touched her slick opening. Just suck in some air and push it out. Easy.
The moment he pushed the head in, Violet felt tightness. No resistance, no pain, just discomfort as he was definitely bigger than any tampon.
“Fuck Violet, you’re fucking tight. Ah.” Tate was slow, pushing in slowly inch by inch and careful to watch for any signs of pain. But God it was so hot and wet, and the pressure around his cock was so perfect that it was becoming hard not to give into savage desires and pound into her body without control. She was squeezing him wonderfully and he had to bite his lip to the point that he tasted blood.
Then, room had to be made. As Tate achieved three fourths of inserted cock, Violet felt herself tear. Her hymen had stretched and finally ripped from the swell of his cock. Her hand shot up to muffle a scream between gritted teeth. The pain was so red hot that her eyes squeezed tight. Blood trickled from the wound down the inside of her thigh and fuck it hurt.
Tate was there in a second, stopping and leaning in to wrap his arms around Violet. He had done it, he had torn her. The smell of blood invaded his senses and filtered around in his brain. The demons were back and they desired a taste of that virgin blood to keep them alive. They wanted him to fuck her deeply and then lick the blood from between her legs, then devour her pussy for a fulfilling meal. But Tate beat them down, beat them down until they were nothing but a hum in his ears.
His lips kissed her scrunched up face, soothing the tears that had escaped her tightly closed eyes and her stiffly clenched mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra between each kiss. Virgins tore and bled, resulting in pain, pain that he had caused although he had tried so hard to prevent it. She was trembling and her fingernails were digging holes into the backs of his shoulders.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity until the pain had dulled to a bearable throbbing. Violet’s breathing returned to normal as she felt the thickness and heat from Tate’s cock putting a hard pressure against her once virginal walls. A deep breath was released and her nails stopped tearing into his skin. “Move Tate.”
But she still had her eyes closed. The tension had left but the lids were still shut. He couldn’t do it, not without Violet’s eyes.
“No Violet. No, not until you look at me. I need you to look at me Violet. Please look at me.”
But she was afraid. What if when she opened her eyes it wasn’t Tate, but some rotting corpse or incubus violating her? What if that dead chest had spread and now Tate’s beautiful face was covered with bullet holes so deep she could see his brain? What would she do then?
But she felt warmth. Every inch of her body was covered with warmth. There was no coldness and no foreign feelings. Be brave Violet, open your eyes.
There was Tate, his eyes wide and filled with pain for hurting her. His palm rested against her cheek and he was so warm and alive for something so dead. “I’m going to make you feel so good Violet, I promise.”
There was a passionate kiss. So many feelings and so many issues, but it was just them again. It always came down to the both of them.
Lips parted once again and Violet watched carefully as Tate leaned back to look at his cock’s positioning and the damage he had caused.
As Tate commented about the blood, Violet’s heart stopped again. But this time, it was not out of fear.
Tate’s chest was alive and bare of bullet holes. No translucent skin, no black veins, no coagulated blood, not dark insides; just pale, smooth, healthy skin. Was Violet growing crazy? Were here eyes playing more tricks on here? What was real and what was fantasy? Her hand moved to place itself between his pectorals. There was warmth and the steady beating of a living heart against her spread palm.
Tate looked down, his expression of sadness at the blood that he spilt turning into a loving smile as he saw the hand place over his heart and Violet’s upturned, beautiful mouth. The world brightened from the feeling of that small hand and he felt an overwhelming sense of goodness. The demonic hums in his ear had stopped and Tate A and B were quiet. He was just Tate Langdon, a not so normal boy about to make love to a beautiful girl.
He held that hand against him for another moment before deciding it was time to finally get to it. Hands grasped hips once again and deep breaths were inhaled as he moved to pull out.
Violet gasped as his hot cock slid out, feeling only a slight tinge of discomfort and pain but such a wonderful pressure that hit all the right spots. Then Tate was sliding back in again, sliding in deeper and it felt more nice than not. She was lucky she supposed, some girls felt nothing but pain the first few times they had sex, but Violet had gotten it out in one tear of the hymen.
Tate was in a state of bliss, careful to keep focused and not cum before Violet as he began to pump in and out. “Oh God Violet you feel so good around my cock. Ah, so hot.” The words came out sounding parched and clenched in his vocal chords, but who cared? The pace began to pick up as Violet began to respond more favorably. She placed her knuckled between her teeth and bit down to keep from moaning too loud at the wonderful new sensation of Tate’s cock fucking her cunt. Vivien didn’t need to know she was already putting those condoms to use.
“No, I want to hear you moan for me. Don’t keep yourself quiet if it feels good.” Tate grasped her wrist and pulled it from her mouth as he leaned in to share another passionate kiss. Violet obeyed and turned to releasing her moans into the cavern of his mouth, which he gladly swallowed up.
As the moans increased and Violet began to shake and buck up to meet his slow thrusts, Tate began to fully realize the wonder of the situation, and mischief flashed across his youthful face. Violet wanted more and he was the only one who could give it to her. He moved down to nibble at her neck, deciding she wasn’t marked enough because such beautiful white skin should be taken advantage of.
“One of these days Violet I’m going to fuck you all over this house,” He laughed sinisterly and Violet whined in response. He was teasing her again not only with words but with movement. He was slow and she was going to lose it if he didn’t build up to an orgasm. There was a particularly hard bite to the top of her tit and she groaned. “I’m going to make a mess of you Violet. I’m going to possess you and devour you but all you’ll want is more. I’m going to be gentle with you this time but after this you’re going to be at my mercy.” His voice wasn’t cold or teasing, but full of love despite the perverted statements.
“Tate, come on…”
He chuckled and teased a nipple with his tongue. “Hmm?”
Dickhead, dickhead, dickhead. “Tate hurry up and just fuck me like you don’t have a broken hip.”
Still snarky even with his cock shoved into her cunt. Naughty girl. “You’ll have to ask nicer than that Violet or else I’m going to take my sweet ass time with your pussy.”
Violet groaned and tried to buck harder into Tate’s snail paced thrusts. He wasn’t having it though and he kept her planted to the mattress, much to her extreme frustration. She wanted to throw a tantrum, but she was sixteen, not six. And fuck that hot cock had all but taken away her steel backbone.
“Please go faster Tate, please.”
A green light courtesy of Violet Harmon. And Tate was all but happy to oblige with increasing the pace of thrusts, as his orgasm was building and the coil in his stomach needed to come undone or he’d have blue balls. Violet was in a similar situation. She gave a pleased sigh of relief as his dick thrust in faster and deeper.
Within a few more thrusts that cock hit her in just the right spot and she saw galaxies before her eyes. The pleasure was so red hot that her moans came out wispy and strangled. Taking the reaction as ‘I think I found a way to make you come before I do’ clue, Tate aimed all of his thrusts at that particular spot. He had to plant his lips against Violet’s mouth to keep her from screaming loud enough to wake the whole God damn neighborhood. Constance would be pissed off if she learned he was finally giving it to Violet, and not like all those meaningless fucks she gave men all the time. He was doing it right.
As the minutes increased and the thrusts became faster, Violet’s orgasm neared its forte. It was so damn close and Tate was just so good with that cock and those filthy little words he whispered in her ear. What luck that on her first try he was successfully going to make her cum? The coil in her stomach tightened and tightened until she was teetering on the edge.
“Do have to cum Violet?” Tate said, his words punctuated with a deep thrust and a grunt as the clenching and pulling around his cock was so fucking blissful. “Tell me you have to cum and I’ll make you cum Violet.”
She was almost there. So close. “P-please Taaaa-te. I h-have to cuuuum.”
The thrusts became harder and quicker. “Cum for me Violet.”
With a shaky, strangled gasp and the tightening of hips, Violet came hard and hot, spasming around Tate’s cock like an animal twitching with death. Her body went taut to prolong the blissful feeling that melted her muscles and deafened her senses so all she could feel was the powerful heat spreading throughout her body like the sun. Life and death didn’t exist on this plane of pleasure, and for a fraction of a second Violet had seen God. When the feeling had dissolved back into a dull throb her body went limp on the bed with exhaustion.
The orgasm was so powerful, squeezing him so tightly that his own orgasm depended on several more thrusts into the hot cavern. He sang her name like a paean as he fell off the edge and into the brilliant feeling of his climax, milking his cock for all it was worth as he grunted out his orgasm. The moment completed, Tate fell satisfied into Violet’s tired body, warm and tired. His cock shrunk out of its hardness but the heat of her sex was so good and wet that he didn’t want to pull out just yet. They merely lay there in the perfect afterglow of their first time.
The next couple of minutes were quiet aside from the sounds of their languid breathing and beating hearts. When coldness finally began to creep over their naked skin, Tate pulled out and rolled off of Violet to tug the covers up and over them, an awkward grunt coming from both of their throats as neither had wanted to part from the other. Violet smiled as he pulled her close to his chest, which was still alive and beautiful for they had become one being that day. His soul had shined through and he would stay that way for as long as she would love him. Of course, neither knew that. With a quick mutter of ‘Ew’, he unrolled the condom and tossed it into the garbage pail. Violet told him that the cum bag better be fished out in morning or else.
Tate planted a soft kiss to her crown as she snuggled in closure to his warm skin to hear the wonderful beating of his heart. “Hey Violet?”
“Yeah?”
His fingertips lightly stroked the soft skin where neck met shoulder. “I love you.”
Violet was tired. Her eyes wanted nothing more than to close so she could fade away into the darkness of sleep wrapped in Tate’s warm arms. “I love you too.” She thought she would be the type to reach for a cigarette after a good fuck, but yet again, experience proved her wrong.
Violet thought for a second. The lingering question crossed her mind once again. There was no way she was going to ruin the moment and inquire about the whole ‘So are you dead or what?’ issue. That would be like dropping a grand piano on a group of preschoolers. Not good. They were fine right where they were. As long as Tate was happy, there was no reason to spoil the moment. The thought went off down the road of her brain to hitch a ride to some distant town and start anew with a new name. It would never be gone forever, which she knew, since Constance was still vying for getting her to help Tate cross over. To where, she wondered? And why when he was quite content to being a ghost without actually being a ghost?
Then the question of selling the house entered her mind. Now that she knew the truth behind the Tiffany windows, the creepy old basement that went bump in the night, and the boy who was holding her close and dear in his arms, she couldn’t really blame anyone for wanted to leave this house behind and forget about it. However, through all the death and destruction that painted the walls of the house, Violet felt a ray of goodness in the heart of it all. The house came with Tate Langdon, so they were an exclusive deal as he was a permanent resident. There was no way in hell she could leave him or the house behind. It was filled with lost souls of murder victims and murderers but in the end, they were lost in the confusion of evil. Tate was the sparkling gem in the sea of darkness, a boy with so much potential in life who had been driven mad by the evil of the house and committed an unspeakable crime. In death, he was reborn back into an ignorant childlike wonder, ball and chained to the house for the remainder of time. He wasn’t going anywhere and neither would she.
“Hey Tate?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m not going to let my parents sell this house if it’s the last thing I do.”
Violet’s eyes were heavy and her mind was finally settling down. She felt soreness between her legs, and it would surely be more profound in the morning to the point that she’d end up walking around the house like the fucking Tin Man in need of the oil can. There was probably a big old spot of blood on her sheets, the XOXO of the swiping of the V-card. She’d worry about it in the morning.
Tate nuzzled into Violet’s hair, feeling her body grow heavier and heavier with the desire to sleep. Never in his life had he felt so understood and so important. Violet was his life now and the thought of parting from her was unbearable to comprehend. He would never let her disappear or stray from him again. He should get her to stop cutting. She could cut him if that helped, he would do anything for her, absolutely anything. Violet Harmon was a special soul that had reached out and grabbed him by the hand. The world may be a fucking lousy place most of the time, full of death, greed, and destruction, but Violet was like a single flower growing in a mass grave. She was living amongst a sea of death and he to embody that more than anything on Earth. And now Violet was a part of him. She had seeped into his bones and made herself comfortable. He had possessed her entire existence and would live and breathe for her. They were one being now.
Romeo couldn’t live without his Juliet, Sid couldn’t live without his Nancy, and Tate Langdon certainly couldn’t live without his Violet Harmon.
“Hey Violet?”
“Hmm?” She was quickly losing consciousness.
“Can I keep you?”
“Mmhmm.”
All was well.
