Chapter 17
Ford
I could still feel Violet trembling in my arms, and the satisfaction that rolled through me was almost feral. My body was humming, every muscle tight with the effort of holding back from taking more when I’d already taken everything.
I hadn’t just fucked Violet, I’d wrecked her.
And the way she’d given herself to me, sweet and submissive, even while pretending she wasn’t, had damn near undone me.
She’d never admit it, not out loud, but I felt every silent concession in the way she opened up to me, the way her body obeyed before her bratty mouth could catch up.
It was the sweetest fucking surrender I’d ever tasted.
Her body sagged against the wall, shaking in the aftermath of her orgasm, water sluicing over her flushed skin. I stayed pressed to her, one arm firm around her waist, making sure she didn’t crumble completely.
I kissed her damp hair, then slowly eased my cock out of her, holding her steady when she whimpered. “Easy, baby,” I murmured, voice rough with gratification and something deeper. “I’ve got you.”
I turned her gently, bracing her against my chest as I reached for the soap and mesh scrubby thing that women preferred using instead of a washcloth.
Her eyes flicked up, suspicious, a little defiant, and I suspected she was attempting to rebuild those walls after I’d just stripped her down to something so raw and unguarded.
“What are you doing?” she asked, frowning at me.
I squirted liquid soap onto the mesh loofah. “Taking care of you.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yeah, you do.” My tone left no room for argument. For as much headway as we’d made that last time at the club, clearly she was back to pretending she didn’t need anyone, or anything.
She scowled but didn’t fight me when I lathered up and began sliding the loofah down her slick skin, washing her slow and thorough. I scrubbed the chlorine off her body, running my palms down her arms, over her back, lingering on her hips before kneeling to soap her legs.
She gave a little huff, like she was annoyed, but I knew better.
By the time I worked shampoo through her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp, her shoulders had dropped, her body softening against me despite herself.
She closed her eyes, lips parting on a little sigh that she probably didn’t even realize slipped out.
I held back my smile as I rinsed her off, carefully tilting her head back under the spray, keeping the suds from her eyes. When the last of the bubbles were gone, I pressed a kiss to her temple. She cracked one eye open to look at me, and this time I allowed my grin to appear.
“All clean, sweetheart,” I said, shutting off the water. “Let’s get you into bed.”
She made a token protest when I wrapped her in a towel, muttering about being able to dry herself on her own, but I ignored it and rubbed the water off her body then guided her back into her bedroom.
I switched on the light on her nightstand, while she slid beneath the covers, still damp and flushed.
I climbed in beside her, pulling her into my arms.
She stiffened, predictably. “I don’t do cuddling.”
I just tightened my grip, tucking her against my chest, lips brushing her hair. “Good thing I do. Consider it part of aftercare.”
Another huff of breath from her. Her silence stretched, but she didn’t move away and she didn’t protest or argue. Little by little, she melted against me until her cheek rested on my chest, her breath warm against my skin.
She wasn’t sleeping, just resting, which was fine. I kept my arm locked tight around her for now, one hand stroking absent circles along her hip, enjoying the feel of her soft and complacent in my arms.
Violet Corbin was a walking contradiction.
Sharp edges and soft curves, sarcasm and vulnerability all rolled into one irresistible package.
She swore she didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone holding her too close.
But I’d felt the way she leaned into me when she was too tired of fighting.
I’d seen the way her eyes softened for a split second before she threw those emotional walls back up.
That was the thing about Violet, those flashes of truth.
Most people never got past the bite of her tongue, the sarcasm meant to keep them at arm’s length.
But I did. Having lived with her for the past week, I’d seen the woman underneath: loyal, stubborn, fiery as hell, and so much stronger than she gave herself credit for.
And she was perfect for me in ways that scared the shit out of me.
Her independence, that wild refusal to bend, kept me on my toes.
She didn’t want a protector, but god help me, she brought out every protective instinct I had.
Her sass made me want to dominate her, shut her up with my mouth—or my cock—but at the same time I admired the hell out of her fight.
She wasn’t afraid to push back. And that made the surrender, those rare moments when she actually gave me her trust, sweeter than anything I’d ever known.
Most women I’d been with wanted something from me.
Safety, attention, maybe the thrill of danger without the commitment.
Violet didn’t want any of that. She didn’t really need me.
Convincing her of my intentions—real, steady, permanent—wasn’t going to be easy with a woman who had built her life on never depending on anyone but herself.
I sighed heavily, and she shifted beside me, subtly trying to move away. I loosened my hold and let her go, not wanting her to feel smothered, but once she had her own pillow, we both turned on our sides so that we were facing one another.
Her eyes were such a pretty shade of green, soft and vulnerable in a way I knew she’d hate me for noticing.
They gave away more than she realized. Every flicker of doubt, every second she let herself want me before shoving it down.
She’d glare and roll those eyes a hundred times a day at me, but lying here, stripped bare and trying so damn hard not to show it, they betrayed her, and I glimpsed the woman she didn’t want anyone else to see.
“Are you staying in here?” she asked quietly.
I took her question as a good sign, that maybe a part of her actually wanted me close, even if she’d never admit it.
“Would you mind if I did stay?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, even while I left the choice in her hands.
Then I added a little push, because I couldn’t help myself.
“I mean, we did have someone possibly following you today. Maybe I should sleep in your bed with you. Keep you extra safe.”
Violet grinned. “That’s one of the flimsiest excuses I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet,” I shot back playfully, “I don’t hear you telling me no.”
Her teeth grazed her bottom lip as she considered me being there for the night. “All right,” she said after a few moments, shocking me with her answer. “You can stay.”
Something twisted in my chest at that small victory, but another thought pressed harder. One I needed to clear with her. I shifted, bracing on an elbow so I could see her better. “I owe you an apology.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “What for?”
“I should have asked before fucking you without a condom.” The words were blunt, but I needed her to hear them.
Her brow arched. “I assume you’re clean, since everyone has to submit regular tests at the club?”
“I am,” I said without hesitation. “And yes, I get tested regularly.” What I didn’t tell her was that I hadn’t gone without a condom in years, that being inside her bare had been a compulsion I hadn’t been able to resist. She did things to me I hadn’t let anyone else close enough to do.
She nodded once. “Same. It’s…been a while since I’ve been with anyone. And I’m on the pill, so it’s all good.”
“Surprised you said it’s been a while,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual despite my curiosity. “You seem like the kind of woman who knows what she wants, and how to get it.”
Her gaze flicked away, then back, her teeth dragging at her lip again. “It’s not a lack of interest,” she said carefully. A beat passed before she added in a softer tone, “Part of me, well…so few men actually know how to handle someone like me.”
“A brat?” I asked, more gently than teasing.
She gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Yeah. That.”
I stayed silent, while something in her posture shifted. I watched her relax a fraction, her expression thoughtful, as if she was deciding if she could trust me with more. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost confessional.
“The men I’ve been with…” she began, fingers picking at the blanket covering her breasts. “Most of them thought they wanted someone like me. They liked the idea of me. But when it came down to actually handling me they didn’t want a strong, independent, rebellious woman. Not really.”
I propped my head on my hand, grateful for this glimpse into some of the things that had contributed to Violet’s mistrust of men. “They clearly didn’t know what they had.”
“No, they didn’t know what to do with it,” she corrected, her tone harsh. “With me. With the wall I’ve got up. With the fact that I won’t bend to their whims just because that’s what they expect, and for some men, it was about their ego.”
I let her talk, figuring the best thing I could do for her right now was not fill the air with platitudes or reassurances. She wasn’t looking to be placated or humored, and I didn’t want to trivialize her experience.
She rolled onto her back and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “My mother…”
She hesitated, and again I remained silent and just let her decide what she wanted to share with me, on her own terms.
“She died in a car crash,” she finally went on. “That’s why Christopher freaked out about mine. She was driving erratically, according to witnesses. She ran a red light and the vehicle that had the right of way slammed into the driver’s side of my mother’s car, killing her instantly.”