Chapter 15 Violet
VIOLET
I wake up with a start, the edge of the dream still floating around me. It takes a second for my head to clear enough to realize that I’m actually awake now, and not still back in the memory of my night with Lennox.
My body hums with arousal, the same way it did in the dream, and I let out a soft moan, just to vocalize the feeling. My nipples are peaked, and it’s like there’s a separate pulse between my legs, keeping time with my racing heart from how turned on I am right now.
I haven’t thought of that night so vividly in a while, but it makes sense that it would be on my mind, with Lennox so close these days.
I tried to stop thinking about it after it seemed like Lennox either didn’t remember or wanted to pretend like it never happened.
That seemed like the safer way to go about it.
He left a few days afterward, shipping out again, and we never spoke of it. A few years later, I ended up dating Andrew, and it seemed like bad manners to talk about it when I was with Lennox’s brother.
But to this day it remains the hottest night of my life. The way he touched me, the way he talked to me, the way he made me feel… it was like he knew my body so well. Like it had been designed for him, and he could pluck reactions out of me like it was nothing.
Just thinking about it has my arousal spiking all over again. There’s some lingering pain from my period, the dull ache that always comes after a night of heavy cramps, but it’s getting better.
I bite my lip, letting one hand trail down my body. I skim over my curves, fingers gliding over my chest and down my stomach. My body tightens in anticipation, the wetness between my legs growing even more at the thought of being touched.
“It’s fine,” I whisper to myself, turning my face into the pillow. “Orgasms are good for cramps. I’m just helping myself.”
There’s no one here to convince but myself, and I let out a huff at the silliness of trying to reason with myself about masturbating in my own room.
The heat in my body is insistent though, so I give in to it, sliding my hand between my legs.
My legs part automatically, the memory of Lennox coaxing me to spread myself for him right there in the front of my mind.
I press my fingers against my clit, gasping softly at the sensation that drives through me.
It’s all too easy to guide my fingers against my folds, dipping and swirling the way Lennox did with his tongue.
When I close my eyes, I can still see it all. It’s hazier than it was in my dream, less like I’m right there in it again, but that’s okay. The feelings are still real. The sensation of it.
I think about him eating me out, his fingers so tight on my thighs, his other hand delving inside me.
I think about the way he coaxed me through it, his voice husky and deep and raw with his own desire. Desire he didn’t even try to hide from me. He wanted me in that moment—wanted me just as badly as I wanted him, probably, and that was one of the hottest things about it.
His lips were on mine, kissing me deeply, and for a split second I think about the kiss from my parents’ house the other night.
The two images layer over each other in my head, and I gasp in surprise at my own mind for doing this.
I haven’t fantasized about Lennox for years, really.
Not since I was pretty sure he regretted our night together.
It felt wrong to think about it if he wasn’t happy about it or didn’t remember.
But now that I know that’s not the case, it’s hard not to put the Lennox of now in the role his past self played back then.
He wasn’t inexperienced then, clearly knowing how to touch and kiss and fuck a woman, but I can only imagine he’s gotten better with age.
His voice is a bit deeper, a bit lower and more gravelly sometimes, and I picture him saying the things he said to me that night. Calling me a good girl, telling me how good I taste.
I bite back a moan at that thought, working my clit faster.
I wish I could fuck myself with my fingers the way he fucked me with his cock, but with the tampon in the way, I’ll just have to imagine it.
It’s not everything I need in this moment, but it’s enough to have me panting as I imagine him holding himself over me, looking down at me with those serious eyes.
He holds himself so stiffly these days, either because of his injury or because he’s just more closed off, so the thought of him opening up to fuck me is enough to have my pussy clenching tightly as I circle my clit.
“Yes,” I whisper shakily. “Fuck yes, Lennox, please.”
I tease my opening with my fingers, whimpering at the fact that I can’t slide them inside—but something about the frustration helps, in a way.
It lets the fantasy shift to the thought of Lennox coming in to help me. To take care of me. The look on his face as he takes in the sight of me working my clit so desperately and the way he’d come closer, filling up the room with his presence.
“You need a hand there?” he would say, his eyes flickering over every inch of me. “Or something bigger?”
And I’d beg for his cock, too far gone to care about seeming desperate or needy. He liked when I was needy back then, when I begged for more.
He would come in and shuck off his clothes, letting me see every inch of him for the first time in years. That cock would still be hard and heavy, and my body would welcome it as he pressed in, taking him all the way to the hilt.
I gasp at the thought, my body clenching hard. My fingers move faster and faster, the other hand coming up to pluck at my nipples.
I lose track of myself, grinding against my own touch, mouth open as heat races down my spine to fill me up.
It doesn’t take long before I’m coming undone, falling over the edge with a breathless gasp, arching my back and murmuring Lennox’s name softly as I come so hard that my vision whites out around the edges.
I lie there, trembling with the aftershocks of one of the best orgasms of my life, when there’s a knock on the door. My heart skips a beat, my eyes flying open wide, and it takes me a second to steady myself enough to call out.
“Who is it?”
“Rhett,” comes the sleep gruff voice from the other side.
I slide out of bed, smoothing down my pajamas enough that it’s hopefully not super obvious what I was just doing.
There are knots in my stomach, wondering if Rhett is about to ask me to keep it down.
Did he hear me moaning? Was I that loud?
I’m not used to having other people in my house, not after adjusting to living alone once I split with Andrew, so maybe I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was.
Rhett is standing there looking rumpled when I open the door. “Good morning,” I say, going for casual.
“Morning. Your alarm was going off.” He hands me my phone, and I realize I must have left it in my coat pocket.
“Oh, thanks. And sorry if it woke you up.”
“No big deal,” he replies.
He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t call me out for being loud, but there’s a look in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. Maybe I’m reading into it or maybe he knows what I was up to.
There’s no way I can ask, so I just close the bedroom door and start getting ready to head out to the bakery.
I’m showered and dressed in record time, pulling my shoes on as I step out of my bedroom and walk through the house. The door to the office is still closed, but Rhett and Sawyer are both up in the living room.
“Hey,” Sawyer says as I pass by the door. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” I tell him. “I think yesterday was the worst of it.”
“Good. See you later then?”
I nod, fetch my keys, and step out into the early morning.
It’s kind of a relief to fall back into the familiar motions of morning prep.
I make dough, bake cookies, stock the cases, with the same rhythm I always use.
It takes my mind off… everything, which is good because day dreaming about the dream I had last night won’t get me anywhere.
I don’t have time to burn things because I’m not focused.
There’s some lingering pain from my cramps, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday, so I didn’t exactly lie to Sawyer when he asked. It’s not so bad that I’m doubled over, and after a cup of tea, a pastry, and some painkillers, I can push through easily enough.
The bakery opens at the usual time, and the morning rush hits.
People come in, eager for breakfast or treats to take to work, and I try to keep up as best I can.
The pain makes itself known about halfway through, and I make a face as I count out change for a woman in a business suit, grateful she’s too busy talking on her phone to notice.
When the chimes over the door signal someone else walking in, I groan internally, but then notice that it’s not a regular customer.
It’s Sawyer. He’s got a scarf wrapped around his neck and his leather jacket on, and everyone in the line looks at him as he sidles past and up to the counter.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a crooked grin.
“Hi. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know, is it?” He gives me a look, and I just stare back, blankly. Sawyer laughs, shaking his head. “I know we haven’t seen each other all that much since we were younger, but I like to think I still know you pretty well.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means I know you were just pushing through this morning, and you’re actually still in pain.” He glances back at the line of people who are starting to look a little impatient while we talk. “So I came to help.”
“Oh.” I stand there for a solid few seconds, surprised and touched. I honestly can’t remember the last time someone just showed up to help me because they knew I’d need it.
Sawyer shrugs off his jacket and comes behind the counter, throwing himself into the work of taking orders and accepting payments. He leaves me to fetch people’s baked goods, and it’s so much easier to wrap things up and pass them to him while he handles the customers.