Chapter 21 #2
But my brain was unrelenting. In my head, Rowan’s eyes watched me as I touched myself.
I imagined the slow curve of his smile as he made me beg.
I spread my legs wider—both in fantasy and reality—desperate for his touch.
For him to slide his fingers inside me and curve them exactly the way that would bring me to orgasm.
My body’s heat built again, and within minutes I was sweat-soaked, biting the sheet to muffle the moans threatening to escape. He’s right outside the door.
I used my other hand to slide fingers inside myself, moving them in a frenzy. Can he hear me? Does he know what I’m doing?
Of course he does.
The thought brought another wave of pleasure that left me shaking, but it wasn’t enough for release. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, but something was stopping me from falling over. I needed more. So much more.
And I was afraid to admit I knew exactly what that more was.
The sheets against my skin began to hurt, fabric abrading hypersensitive flesh. My stomach twisted in painful knots, the orgasm hovering just out of reach but unable to break.
“Goddammit. . .” I let out a pained moan, unable to hold it in anymore.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t come, but I had a sinking feeling Rowan might. I sat up and ripped the sheet from my body, frustrated beyond reason. The nightstand held a glass of water and my phone. I reached for the water, but in my attempt, I lost my balance and tumbled to the floor.
I cried out in frustration as the door burst open. Rowan filled the doorway, his eyes wild with concern. “Violet, are you okay?”
My heart sank because I knew—instinctively, bone-deep—that I wanted him. Needed him. And if I voiced it, he would feel obligated. Duty-bound.
That was something I would never do to someone. To have the freedom to choose who you shared your body with ripped away, to be forced into something you didn’t truly want? I knew that horror intimately.
Tears pricked my eyes as he crouched beside me and helped me up, his hands gentle but firm. “I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m fine. I just fell.”
He was quiet, but I watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled deeply. The room reeked of my arousal—musky and obvious and mortifying.
“Rowan, I am so sorry.” My voice sounded hoarse even to my own ears.
I needed relief, but not at the cost of his agency. Not at the cost of his choice.
“Shh, it is fine, Violet. Let us get you back to bed.” He stopped then and stared at the mattress.
Dead center, there was a large wet spot where I’d been lying—clear evidence of exactly what I’d been doing. Shame burned through me, hot and acidic.
“Rowan, I—"
“I will grab you a towel.” He moved to the bathroom, and my fear slithered through my chest, coiling tight. I was suddenly self-conscious about how my body must look to him—desperate, wanton, out of control.
“Rowan,” I called after him, but he’d already returned.
He didn’t comment on the wet spot. Simply laid the towel over it, then turned to me. “Here. Lie down.”
I hugged myself and complied, curling into a ball on my side. He pulled another smaller towel from where he’d tucked it behind his back and began wiping the sweat from my body with careful, methodical strokes.
I began to quiver again. “It’s b-better if you don’t touch—"
The cloth brushed my nipple, and I let out a strangled cry, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain shooting straight to my core.
Rowan jerked back like he’d been burned. “Fuck, Violet. Are you okay?”
“Please.” I was grasping at the last threads of my restraint, ready to beg just to feel him. But it’s not fair to him! The warning burned through my mind even as my body screamed for his touch. His scent enveloped me, both heightening my desire while also making me feel inexplicably safe.
“I can’t. . . Rowan, I need something.”
Rowan’s eyes were shadowed, but I could sense the tension radiating from his body like heat shimmer off summer pavement. “I have. . . I have a toy. Would that help?”
My cunt clenched at the thought.
“Yes,” I said, my voice rough and hungry. “Please.”
He disappeared into his closet, and I heard rustling before he returned. The toy was small, silicone, and purple—my favorite color, though I doubt he knew that. It was a basic cordless massager, something easily purchased online. Discreet. It might be enough.
Or not, I thought, when all I wanted was to feel him deep inside me.
Consent, I chided myself viciously.
He handed it to me, carefully avoiding touching my fingers. “It is new.”
“Thank you,” the words came out shakier than I intended.
He turned to leave, and my traitorous mouth betrayed me. “Do you want to stay?”
I nearly regretted the words until I saw the way he stared at me. His entire demeanor darkened, his presence suddenly heavier, more dangerous. It was thrilling and terrifying, and so unbearably erotic I nearly came undone from his gaze alone.
But I knew it was only adding fuel to the inferno already consuming me.
He moved closer, clearly hesitant but unable to stay away. “Violet, I do not think you can truly consent right now—"
“I’m clearheaded enough to know what I’m asking, Rowan.” I snapped, unable to help the urgency threading through my words. “I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to force you into anything you don’t want.”
He stood inches from the bed now, and I saw the growing length of him straining against his gray sweats.
Oh my god, he does want me. That realization sent warm curls of pleasure straight to my core. I pushed further, begging him to hear the truth in my words.
“I don’t want you to accept out of some messed-up sense of duty. I’ll manage if needed.” Despite the strength of my words, my body tightened with anticipation, desire flooding through me so intensely I felt dizzy and weak at how delicious his cock looked.
Yes. I want that. You. Everything.
I must have spoken aloud without realizing, because his eyes widened slightly.
“Is that what you really want? Everything?” His voice had gone rough, scraped raw. “This?” His hand reached down, touching himself through his sweats, and I nearly lost control right then.
God, yes. I nodded. “Only if you want to.”
He closed his eyes, pain and desire warring across his features. I watched his jaw clench, watched him wage whatever internal battle was tearing him apart. Finally, his restraint cracked. “Of course I want to, Violet. But I will not fuck you. Is that alright with you?”
I scooted farther into the bed, making room for him. “Yes,” I whispered.
He climbed in—gray sweats, crisp white shirt, and all—and the mattress dipped beneath his weight. I caught his scent again, and my body reacted immediately, fresh arousal dripping between my legs.
We settled against each other, his chest to my back. I reached out tentatively, touching his forearm where it rested near my hip. He made no move to reciprocate, letting me lead.
“You can touch me,” I said softly. “I’ve been. . . coerced before. Touch is usually hard for me.” The admission cost me, scraping against pride and shame in equal measure. “But I want you to.”
Rowan was quiet for a long moment. “Violet—"
I shook my head, a rising tide of shame and guilt masked by the unrelenting desire threatening to shatter me.
“Don’t, Rowan. I just needed you to understand.
I feel safe with you. Only you. I want you to touch me.
” And I meant it, with every scarred shred of my soul.
Being held by him was like aloe on a burn, soothing despite the pain I knew would come later.
I needed him to understand that this was my choice.
He let out a pained groan that vibrated through his chest and into my back. “When you talk like that, Violet, I cannot help but want to give you everything.”
His arms wrapped around my ribs, warm and strong, creating a cage that felt like safety rather than confinement. Comforting.
When his hands trailed up to cup my breasts, I couldn’t help the way my body arched into him, my ass grinding into his pelvis. The contact pulled moans from both of us, the sound harmonizing in the quiet room.
He kissed my shoulder then, a gentle press of lips against sweat-dampened skin, before his fingers found my nipples. He rolled the piercings between his thumbs and forefingers, the metal barbells shifting and tugging in a way that straddled the line between pain and pleasure.
“If you want to stop at any point, just say it,” he murmured against my skin.
“Never,” I whispered, reaching down to touch myself.
My fingers slipped between my folds, and I felt how drenched I was. The wetness was excessive, coating my inner thighs. “Shit, this doesn’t feel normal.”
“How wet you are?” Rowan’s voice held no judgement, only warmth. “Everything about you is normal, Violet.”
The words settled over me like a blessing, soothing insecurities I hadn’t realized I was carrying. I circled my clit with shaking fingers while Rowan peppered kisses along my throat and shoulder, his fingers twisting my nipples until I was a whimpering mess.
“Fuck, don’t stop, Rowan. That feels so good.”
He made an approving noise, a rumbling purr I’d never heard from him before. “That is it, volchok. Bring yourself to pleasure.”
He palmed my breasts, pulling my nipples taut as pain and pleasure surged through my core in alternating waves. “Oh my god.” I cried out, bucking my hips against his.
“Use the toy, volchok,” he commanded, and I shuddered in compliance, sinking deeper into his embrace.
His damp shirt rubbed against my overstimulated skin, the fabric too much and not enough simultaneously.
“Can you take off your shirt first?” I begged. “Please?”
Distantly, I registered him pulling away to comply. Fabric rustled, and then he returned—bare chest to my back, skin against skin. It was glorious.
“The toy. . .” he reminded me gently.
“Am I too heavy—" I started to ask, suddenly self-conscious about lying across one of his arms.