Chapter Fifteen Violet #2
“Well?” I ask, my voice tight. “Should I be worried?"
He folds the pieces of paper and slips them into his pocket.
“Worrying is my job. Yours is to wait for the closing ceremonies.” He tucks his device and phone back into his jeans pocket, checking his watch.
“Tommy saw a scarf he thought would look ‘devastating’ on you. Consider it part of your cover.” His eyes do a final sweep of the room.
“I’ll handle this note, nothing that invites escalation just yet. ”
“Thank you, Michel. Really.” I toy with my fingers in front of me. “Tell Tommy I’m sorry.”
A flicker of something that isn’t quite a smile touches his mouth. “He’ll bill you for the interrupted aperitivo.” He gives me a short, efficient nod. “Don’t open the door for anyone.”
And with that, he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving me with the scent of almond pastries and the faint reassurance that for now, the walls are still holding.
Violet: Are you back at your room?
I shoot Skye a text, not knowing if she’s done with practice. With the quarterfinals tomorrow, she’s probably swamped. It’s a shame. I’m buzzing with wild, reckless energy, and all I want is to harness it and get on my knees to taste her before my courage flickers out.
Skye: I am. Just got out of the shower.
Okay, I need to hold onto that courage. Now that it’s a real possibility, I can feel my tail trying to tuck itself between my legs.
Violet: Are you up for some company?
Skye: Sure am, baby girl.
My heart is a drum against my ribs as I stare at the screen.
Baby girl.
Two words. I’ve never been called anything but Violet. Or Solace. Or a problem.
And God, I love it.
I’m moving before I can think, a blur through the sterile halls, taking the stairs two at a time until I hit her floor. There, I force myself to slow, to breathe, to not look like a complete maniac.
The questions swarm. Will she let me? Is this against some unspoken rule? Our contract outlines my submissions, my surrender. But it says nothing about me giving pleasure. Nothing about me taking her apart.
Only one way to find out.
I raise my hand to knock, but the door clicks open before my knuckles connect. She’s there, leaning against the frame, and her smile is warm, a little wicked, and it steals the air from my lungs.
I don’t hesitate. I walk right into her space, throwing my arms around her neck, burying my face against her shoulder.
Her arms close around me, solid and immediate, and I squeeze like I’m clinging to a cliff’s edge.
It feels more than good. Like a sanctuary.
In the circle of her arms, the world shrinks to nothing more than her strength, her scent, and the steady beat of her heart against mine.
She makes the dread dissolve while she’s holding me. Nothing can get me here.
They can’t get me.
“Everything okay?” Her voice is a low rumble against my ear.
I realize how this must look. Me racing here and launching myself at her.
I chuckle, trying to keep the heat from rising in my cheeks.
“Yes. Really good.” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my courage still a live wire in my chest. “I need to discuss something with you, and I need to get it all out before you give me an answer.”
Her brows furrow like I’m crossing a line here, but I don’t care. I need to be able to be myself, and if that means I come barreling into her hotel room and tell her what I want to do with her body, then so be it.
“I want to touch you,” I finally admit.
Skye’s gaze flicks over my shoulder. I follow it and wince. The door is still wide open.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
She reaches past me, pushing it shut with a firm click, and shakes her head with a soft rumble of laughter.
“You want to touch me?” she repeats like she needs to confirm a translation of a foreign language.
“Yes. I know it sounds crazy because I’m not supposed to be ordering you around. And I know we did some new things this morning with toys and safe words, but I need to know what it’s like to feel you." I swallow hard. "And to please you.”
Her expression softens at those last words, and I wonder how many times she’s been taken into consideration in the bedroom.
No, I don’t. That’s an awful thought, and I don’t want to know what she's done with other women.
“I see.” Intrigue coats her eyes. “And you want to do that now?”
I look around the hotel room to make sure it isn’t filled with her teammates because when I came in, flung myself into her arms, and confessed my urges to her, I never thought to make sure she didn’t have company.
Thankfully, it’s empty. Imagine the looks I’d get.
“I want to do that now.” I keep my voice steady as my eyes trail down the front of her.
She’s fresh from the shower. Her dark hair is piled in a damp, messy knot on top of her head, her face clean of makeup.
The sage-green tee she threw on over her athletic shorts is clinging, and a dark waterline streaks the fabric at her chest. Proof she put it on before she even bothered with a towel.
The green of her eyes fixates on me, and I keep waiting for her to say something, but she remains still. I’m not sure if she’s confused or if she’s trying to think of a way out of this.
“The contract said we needed to be clear about our intentions,” I add.
“And communication is key. So, I’m here.
Standing in your hotel room, admitting that I want to explore you.
I’m not a female dominant, and I’m far from experienced.
” My words soften, betraying me. I clear my throat. “But I want to know your body.”
Her jaw tightens. Then, her hand comes up, not in an offer but a command. I grab it, my fingers threading through hers. She doesn’t lead me so much as pull me toward the bedroom. Her steps are decisive, leaving no room for retreat.
My palms are damp and my heartbeat is loud enough that I’m sure half of Milan can hear it.
Before Skye lay on her bed only seconds ago, it was untouched and perfectly made. Her duffel bag was open on the bench at the foot of it, her gear laid out with the intention of a surgeon.
Now, she’s lying in front of me, naked and on full display, giving me exactly what I asked for. And I have no idea where to start. She’s fit. Layers and layers of muscles that I’m sure took years to build at practices and conditioning events.
Her legs are long, dark, and bent, with her knees pointing toward the ceiling. There are bruises on her thighs in different shades, some darker and some lighter. Proof she doesn’t just talk about taking hits; her body is keeping record.
Her flat stomach is shining with a jewel that dangles from her navel. And, in typical Skye fashion, it matches the two that gleam from her nipples.
Why does that make me want to lick them?
My eyes trail over her body from bottom to top, only to see she’s watching me look at her.
“Sorry,” I whisper, fidgeting with my fingers. “I guess I just don’t know where to start.”
She gives me an easy smile and puts her hands behind her head, propping herself up a bit more on the pillow.
“Anywhere you want. This is nothing more than you getting comfortable with my body and learning what we both like.” Her hand touches her thigh and glides toward her center. “For instance, I know you like this.”
When I finally manage to break my stare from her fingertips, I notice she’s biting her lip.
She’s already enjoying this. That eases my anxiety, and I take a deep breath.
“There’s no right or wrong in the bedroom. As long as it’s consensual and boundaries are established. We’ve covered those bases, so do what you please. I am your toy for the evening.”
That sends a shock straight to my core, and I can’t tell if it's from fear or excitement, but I'm not going to waste the burst of courage I have.
I climb onto the bed and lie beside her on my stomach, so close that I can smell the body wash she used in the shower.
Am I out of my mind for doing this?