Chapter 21
Violet
My skin was on fire, stretched too tight over bones that felt like they were trying to escape my body. I forced myself to wake, to claw my way up through layers of fever and delirium that dragged at me like quicksand.
I was sitting on the cold floor of an opulent bathroom—glossy white subway tile against black marble flooring with brushed gold fixtures that gleamed under recessed lighting.
A double vanity stretched along one wall, topped with matching mirrors framed in ornate gold.
A stack of plush cream towels sat folded beside twin sinks that looked like they’d never been used.
Water rushed somewhere nearby, the sound echoing off hard surfaces. I heard a string of expletives in a rough and frustrated voice that was achingly familiar.
“Rowan?” My voice came out barely above a whisper, my throat raw and parched.
My eyes searched for him, and his frame filled my vision.
He crouched to my level, his body outlined in a comforting blue haze reminiscent of the one I had seen around Jules.
He placed his hand on my forehead. The coolness of his palm against my burning skin felt glorious, like snow against sunburn.
“Feels good,” I managed, leaning into his touch despite myself.
Rowan’s concerned voice broke through the haze that had wrapped around my thoughts. “Violet, what hurts?”
Everything. I wanted to say it—to list every sensation tearing through my body—but I could barely force words past my swollen tongue. Sleep beckoned, sweet and dark, but an angry ache pulsed in my core, threatening to split me apart from the inside.
I groaned and wrapped my arms around my stomach, curling into myself. “It hurts.”
“Shh, I know. I know it does. I have you.” Rowan’s arms gently tugged at my clothes as he peeled off my shirt.
I felt my socks disappear next, then my pants, then my underwear sliding down my legs.
The marble was mercifully cold against my heated skin, and it was everything I’d ever wanted in that moment.
I was covered in sweat, and sticky everywhere—my back, my thighs, between my legs where arousal had slicked my skin.
“Rowan, please.” I didn’t even know what I was asking for anymore. Relief? Death?
Him.
Strong arms lifted me from the ground, and soon I felt my feet slowly dip into the freezing bathwater. It felt glorious against my burning soles. I started to shake, violent shivers tearing through my body.
“Is it too cold?” Fear colored his voice as Rowan pulled me back out, and I shook my head frantically.
“No. Please. It’s perfect.”
I felt his body tense, muscles coiling beneath my weight, and then we began our descent.
Water sloshed against his white shirt as he lowered us both in, soaking the fabric until it clung to the ridges of his chest and abdomen.
I couldn’t help but stare at the glorious lines of his body, his nipples taut against the chill, and the urge to bite them was nearly unbearable.
I wanted to taste him. Run my tongue from the hollow of his throat down the planes of his chest to where his navel dipped lower, following the trail of pale hair that disappeared beneath his waistband.
It felt like the only thing that could stop how dry and cottony my mouth had become.
I needed his skin, the salt of his sweat, the taste of him.
Rowan let out a low groan, the sound filling my ears like honey. “You are mumbling your thoughts aloud, Violet.”
His voice sounded strained, stretched thin.
I focused, realizing he was right. I’d been speaking without conscious thought. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing,” he said, clearly doing his best to keep me above water with his arms buried deep in the bath. “You are struggling with what someone gave you. Can you sit on your own?”
I nodded, the motion harder than it should have been, but I managed to stay upright when he withdrew his support. The water had already turned from feeling cold to lukewarm, but Rowan’s arms were covered in goosebumps.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He laid his arms over the tub’s rim and rested his head on them, his wet shirt dripping onto the bathroom floor. “Fine. How do you feel?”
“Hot? No, like an inferno.” I touched my own skin, then reached out to touch his, concerned. “I can’t tell what’s wrong, but I feel wrong. Like my body doesn’t fit right.” It was the only way I could describe the sensation—as if I’d been shoved into skin two sizes too small.
His eyes closed, worry etching lines into his brow. “Let us stay here for a while, and then I will take you to bed.”
I snorted at that, and even that simple gesture left me dizzy, the room tilting. “How very forward of you, Rowan.”
His eyes cracked open, and I could tell he was exhausted. Dark circles shadowed the skin beneath his pale eyes, and his jaw was tight with tension. “I hardly think you would forgive me if I tried anything when you have clearly been drugged.”
“Have I?” The words came out sharper than intended. “I don’t feel drugged. I’m just hot, in pain, and I’m—"
Horny.
My mouth snapped shut as that realization slammed into me.
I’m not just horny. I’m on fire. The thought sent a jolt through my body.
Pain and pleasure were often two sides of the same coin—I’d learned that in my previous life, learned it in ways that still made my stomach turn.
But there, in that moment with Rowan, I felt the pull of delicious temptation.
We sat together in the tub in silence for a long while.
I could tell Rowan was worried by how often he reached over and placed the back of his hand on my forehead.
Whenever he touched me, I felt as if I could melt into him; each time felt even more sensual than the last. As my fever eased, the intense pain radiating throughout my core intensified.
“Violet, how are you feeling now?”
Fucking feral, I wanted to moan. Instead, I bit my lip, clenched my thighs together, and said, “I think I’m fine.”
But even I didn’t sound convinced.
He checked my temperature again. “You are a little cooler now. It seems the cold bath brought your fever down. Let us get you dried off and into bed.”
I moved to stand, and he gently pushed against my chest, stopping me. The pressure of his palm so close to my breasts sent a wave of pleasure crashing through me so intense I gasped. The cold water lapping at my nipples only intensified the sensation.
“Nyet, wait.” He grabbed one of the plush towels hanging on the side of the tub, helped me stand, and wrapped it around me like a cocoon. “I have you.”
I whimpered and accepted his help, watching him guide each leg over the tub’s rim, his hands steering my hips with care. Everywhere he touched left trails of fire that stoked the inferno raging between my thighs. The urge to touch myself was getting stronger, nearly overwhelming.
“Rowan, what was I given?” I could guess, but I needed to hear him say it.
Rowan hesitated, and I knew I was right before he even spoke. “An aphrodisiac. But a very potent one. Your body is struggling to process it.”
I accepted the information as panic prickled up my spine, sharp and cold despite the heat consuming me. “That’s. . . inconvenient.”
Rowan chuckled in agreement. “Yes. It is. It is also offensive.”
I waited patiently as Rowan emptied the tub, the water swirling down the drain in a miniature whirlpool.
He helped me dry off with brisk, efficient movements, then disappeared into the walk-in closet.
My vision felt clearer then, noting he was no longer hazed in blue.
I felt weak, yes, but no longer dizzy. He emerged moments later in gray sweats and a fresh, crisp white shirt.
After a long moment of silence where he seemed to be gathering courage, he spoke. “Can I trust you to walk, or will you trust me to carry you to the bed?”
My arms reached for him in answer. He gently pulled me against his chest and lifted me off my feet.
I decided I could get used to this, feeling like the princess he teased me for being.
He carried me to his bedroom and laid me on crisp white sheets.
I slid into them with a sigh that was half relief, half frustration.
All of my thoughts were slow and fuzzy, but I wasn’t nearly as feverish as before. My horniness, however, had only gotten more ferocious. Unfinished desire coiled taut within me like a hungry snake. Angry. Insistent. Demanding.
I can’t masturbate in Rowan’s bed. Can I? I flushed at the thought, caught between shame and arousal.
Rowan tucked the sheets around me and checked my forehead one more time, muttering something that sounded close to approval.
“Rowan—" I started, then looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Do you mind if I. . .”
He went rigid as a statue, and I watched his eyes dart over me, assessing. “If you. . . what?”
“I just need a few minutes alone. Please.” The plea escaped before I could stop it.
Realization dawned on him then, his expression shifting from concern to something darker. He nodded and stepped towards the door. “Call me if you need me.”
I need you right now, I nearly said. “Okay.”
The door closed behind him, casting the room in shadow, broken only by ambient light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I slid my fingers between my legs immediately, desperate for relief from the ache that threatened to consume me.
I was swollen and wet, my body responding to the drug with a ferocity I’d never experienced. My fingers circled my clit as images rose unbidden: Rowan’s face buried between my legs, his steel eyes watching me as he devoured me.
It’s just the drug, I told myself even as a moan slipped free. Totally normal to imagine your childhood friend tongue-fucking you.
My arousal coated my fingers and dripped onto the pristine white sheets beneath me. I should have been embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop. My heart beat faster than it ever had, a frantic rhythm that bordered on painful.
Just imagine whatever you need to get off and move on.