She’s sexy as hell. After all the talk I’ve heard about her being an ice queen, uptight, a horrible lay, I’m thinking they were wrong.
Or she was just with the wrong man, which doesn’t surprise me.
“Say my name, Violet,” I urge her as I withdraw my fingers from her mouth.
“Ryder,” she whispers.
“Ask me to make you come,” I demand.
“Make me come,” she says breathlessly. “Please?”
Hearing her say my name, making her beg, and not being able to see her heightens the vulnerability, the need in her trembling voice. I touch her, slide my fingers back inside her body and brush my thumb against her clit, her sharp gasp urging me on, making me touch her there again. And again. “You like that?”
“Yes,” she moans as I press my lips against her throat and kiss her there. Lick and nip at her sensitive skin while I plunge my fingers deep inside her pussy, circling her clit with my thumb over and over. “Feels so good.”
Pleasure rushes through me and I lift my head, brushing my lips against hers. “You’re close, aren’t you?” I can feel the way her body tenses against mine, her hand gripping my shoulder tight. Her clit swells against my thumb and I press it, my fingers buried deep as I devour her mouth with my own.
She falls apart within seconds, a little cry sounding from her that I swallow as I feel her inner walls contract around my fingers. Her entire body shakes as I slow my thrusts, my thumb still tight against her clit until she finally sags against me completely, overcome by her orgasm.
I press a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the wave of tenderness that I feel for her. I just made her come with my fingers in a dark closet while a party is happening in the room next to us. This isn’t a moment for tender, sweet feelings.
This is straight fucking around and making Violet Fowler addicted to me.
“That was …” She releases a shuddery breath. “Oh my God.”
Her praise isn’t necessary. It’s making me uncomfortable and I’m thankful for the darkness so I can hide from it. What the fuck did we just do? It’s like I see her and all I want to do is tear her clothes off. My thoughts are consumed with her. I don’t even remember why I’m pursuing her in the first place beyond my wanting her. There’s another purpose, work-related, I know. But hell.
I can’t worry about that. All I can think about is Violet. The taste of her, the sounds she makes, kissing her, touching her, being with her …
“If we had more time I’d make you suck my cock.” My voice is harsh, but I don’t care. I have to remember there’s no place for emotion here. None.
A shuddery gasp escapes her but she doesn’t say anything else.
Withdrawing my hand from her body, I push her skirt back into place as best I can, considering I still can’t really see. “But you need to get back out to your party.”
“You … you’re not going to join me?” She sounds sad and I almost fall for it.
Almost.
“You have your sister. And Lawrence is out there, too, begging you to come back to him.” The words sound bitter and hell, I feel bitter saying them.
I need distance so I can gather my jumbled thoughts. I never wanted to give her any power. That was never part of my plan. I was going to own her, and I believe I’m almost there.
But I never counted on her trying to own me.
“I don’t want Zachary.” I want you. The unsaid words linger between us, heavy and foreboding, and suddenly I’m dying to get away from her. I haven’t even fucked her properly yet beyond with my fingers and my mouth, and she’s already twisting herself around me. Invading my thoughts at the oddest times. Making me seek her out when normally I’d be focused on something else. Anything else but Violet.
“You should go back out there.” Unable to help it, I grab hold of her shoulders and lean in, dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead. She stills, I hear her breath leave her in a shaky exhale, and I immediately feel like an asshole.
“I want to see you again,” she murmurs, her voice so low I almost don’t hear her.
“Why?” My callousness knows no bounds. Pilar would be proud of me. Yet all I can feel is shame.
Shame at giving this woman so much pleasure and then treating her like shit, all in the space of about five minutes.
Violet remains quiet for so long I could almost believe she’d left. I start to say something but she moves just as I’m about to speak, wrenching the closet door open with a sharp turn of the handle, allowing a stream of light to hit us both. My gaze falls on her and my heart aches with how beautiful she looks. Everything perfect but her lipstick, which is completely gone thanks to me. Her mouth is swollen, her gaze full of hurt. Hurt I put there.
Pain I’m responsible for.
“I asked for this,” she says quietly, perfectly composed as usual. “But maybe I’m not prepared for it.”
I meet her gaze steadily, ignoring the panic that threatens me. Is she trying to end it already? Is this somehow my fault? And why do I even care?
“Are you saying you don’t want to … pursue this any longer?” I ask, my voice cold. Hard.
“I don’t know if I can,” she admits.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” I say steadily, my thoughts anything but. What the hell am I doing? I don’t want to end this.
But here I am, screwing it up.
She lifts her chin, defiance written all over her. I expect her to argue, to tell me to fuck off, but she doesn’t say a word.