Chapter 34 Violet
Violet
What the fuck was I doing?
Taking a long drag from my cigarette, I held it in my lungs until it burned. Then I exhaled slow, like that would somehow clear the mess in my head.
It didn’t.
Violet was finally asleep, but not until after I made her come another time. But this time it was on my fingers, so I could watch her break for me.
Then rather than sleep like a normal person, she’d sat there and drew pictures.
For hours, because apparently her brain couldn’t simply just shut off.
Now it was past midnight, and I’d pulled the chair to sit beside her bed, watching her sleep like some creep, but only after she scolded me for fucking her raw.
Jesus Christ, like, I understood the concern. I never fucked without a condom. Ever. It was a non-negotiable rule, and like every other line I thought I’d never cross,Violet shattered it without even trying.
A soft light glowed from the far side of the room, casting a faint halo over the second bed. Reluctantly, I forced myself to stand from the armchair, leaning in for a closer look.
The Russian Prick:
Внизу.
Rolling my eyes, I pressed down on the word and translated it. Downstairs.
Roman had been insistent I learn Russian. Less for practicality, more to train me into becoming his personal bitch. I was entertaining it mostly because he was my best friend, and I needed him for his connections more than he needed me for my sarcasm.
Me:
On my way.
I gave Violet one last look, and something in me itched to touch her. To run my fingers across her skin. To count every freckle, not because it meant anything, but because it would give me an excuse to stay when all I usually did was leave.
Shit.
The glow of my cigarette flared between my lips, casting faint shadows where her lashes kissed her cheeks.
Inhale for the burn, exhale the smoke.
In… and out.
Over and over.
I may have gone through more than a few cigarettes, but that wasn’t my problem. Not really. My problem was her.
I’d always hated addiction, or anything that stripped away control. I’d never touched drugs. Never understood the kind of weakness that led someone to need them, even though I’d witnessed it firsthand for years. I didn’t even drink to excess, and while I smoked, I could quit anytime I wanted.
But Violet tasted like an addiction. Something I’d crave like my next breath. And the only way to kill an addiction like that is to cut it off cold.
Violet
Heat consumed me, blooming from between my thighs and forcing a moan from my lips. Something slick and insistent stroked over my core, and my hand flew down on instinct, tangling in hair. The low vibration against my clit had my back arching off the bed.
Ryder’s grip only tightened, his arms caging my hips, pinning me to his mouth. His licks were ruthless, the flat of his tongue lapping deliberate strokes that had me gasping.
My body was already on the edge, and I had no idea how long he’d been going down on me in my sleep. “Ryder?” I groaned, caught between the agony of too much sensation and the desperate need for more.
Of course the bastard didn’t stop, instead doubling his efforts. One hand shot up to clamp down on my breast, fingers pinching my nipple hard enough to sting while the other plunged inside me with no hesitation.
My walls clamped around the intrusion, my orgasm teetering so violently it left me breathless, choking on his name.
He pushed me through it, dragging me higher, tearing the release out of me until it bordered on pain. But still Ryder wasn’t done, lapping at me as if I was his last meal. He devoured me like a punishment, like he wouldn’t be satisfied until I was wrecked, trembling, and begging for mercy.
“Five to two, blondie,” he chuckled, giving me a final lick across my oversensitive pussy. “Don’t ever tell me I don’t treat you.”
I took a moment to catch my breath, my body sticky with sweat. “I was asleep.”
“Yes, and I was hungry.” Rolling over to the side so his back pressed against the headboard, Ryder pulled me onto his lap, my legs automatically spreading to each side of his hips, barely able to fit.
“I was asleep, Ryder,” I reiterated, shaking my head as if it was obvious why I was annoyed. “As in not conscious.”
“And yet you still came on my tongue.” He gently placed my palms on his chest, holding them there when I went to push away. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”
I felt my cheeks flush red, because frustratingly I did enjoy it. More than I should.
“What are you doing?” I asked stiffly, trying to pull my hands back once more. “What happened to the whole ‘no touching’ thing?”
“I’m testing a theory.”
“A theory?”
His cock was hard against his jeans, but he didn’t do anything besides brush his fingertips over my hands slowly. Only when he was satisfied I wouldn’t move did he cup my jaw, his thumb smoothing over my bottom lip. “To see whether you set off my fucked-up brain.”
I was at a loss for words.
Ryder had this way of dragging reactions out of me I didn’t even know existed, touching me with that edge of violence, taking what he wanted and making me want it too. And the worst part was how easily my body betrayed me, melting beneath his rough, possessive hands.
But right now, he held me as if I was fragile, and somehow, my hands on his chest didn’t seem to unsettle him.
“Well?” I asked after a moment, my fingers itching to trace the frown tugging at his brows. Ryder rarely frowned, always hiding behind that cocky attitude. Some selfish part of me hoped I was destabilising him as much as he was affecting me. “What’s the result?”
Instead of answering, he leaned forward and closed the distance between us.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me again, his mouth hovering just above mine, as if he was fighting with himself.
Then, instead, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to my shoulder.
My chest had no right to ache from something as fleeting as his brief show of tenderness.
I searched his eyes when he leaned back, not sure what I expected to find. Ryder was an enigma, cold beneath the charm he wore like armour, yet his fingers traced idle patterns over my bare skin, tightening only when he sensed I might pull away.
In all honesty, I expected to wake up alone, so the fact he was here was… confusing.
When I finally pushed against him, his grip tightened on me. “I need to get up,” I mumbled, not sounding convincing in the least.
He leaned closer, caging me in. “Do you, though?” His mouth grazed my ear, his voice deliciously husky. “We could stay here all day. Order food. Introduce my cock to some other holes. Seems only fair.”
Seriously, he was like a walking whiplash.
“Do you ever think about anything besides sex?” I pushed harder against his chest, trying to create space that he refused to give.
“Sometimes.” He began to play with my hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. “I’m not going to apologise for enjoying sex.”
“But it’s not just sex with you though, is it? It’s about power.”
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
“No,” I said softly, searching his face. “Not really.”
He just watched me, that unreadable look passing behind his eyes. I wanted to push, to peel back the small, guarded pieces of him he’d started to let slip. To understand what he was hiding beneath those easy smirks and need for control.
“You like it when I take,” he said finally, his voice rough, sending shivers over my skin. “You get wet thinking about surrendering. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear, his breath hot and steady.
“I see it in you. The way your body softens when I tell you what to do. The way you hold your breath like you’re waiting to be fucked.
” His tone lowered, each word deliberate, cutting through the small space between us like a blade.
“If I flipped you over right now, you’d part those pretty thighs again without a word.
You’d let me. Christ, you’d even beg me. ”
I swallowed, my pulse fluttering against his fingers where they brushed my throat. “And what if I wanted control?” I whispered.
Something dark flickered in his expression as the air suddenly shifted, his fingers stilling against my skin. For a moment his jaw tightened, his eyes hardening to stone. “It’s not going to happen.”
I frowned, wanting to understand. “Why?”
His eyes met mine, unblinking. “No is the only answer you’ll ever get.”
Hands on my hips, he gently moved me to the side so he could stand. I sat up a little more in bed, suddenly feeling exposed as I tugged the sheet to cover myself.
This man was a walking contradiction, so hot and cold that it was the perfect reminder that I didn’t know him. He was nothing more than a stranger whose path had tangled up with mine.
“You left last night,” I pointed out, clutching the sheets tighter to my breasts. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“I usually don’t.” The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he turned, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Then why did you come back?”
Why did you leave in the first place?
He turned to look out the window, and I caught the faint pale circles ghosting across his skin. The scars were so subtle, only noticeably because of how the light had hit him and likely decades old. Most had been hidden beneath those tattoos, but up close you could see the ridges.
I wanted to trace them with my fingertips, paint across those memories in splashes of colour. I knew there were more scars beneath his snake tattoo, having felt them hiding amongst the ink.
Strange circles that puckered the skin.
Like cigarette burns.
After a moment, he turned back. It was still dark outside, the early morning city a silhouette behind him.
He touched the sketches I’d left on the table, the flowers I couldn’t get out of my head last night, lingering until exhaustion finally dragged me under. They were a mess of tangled lines, scattered in my failed attempt to make sense of it all.
Scrunching the sheet around me, I stood, moving closer. “I think I need to speak to mum. She’ll tell us they’re after the wrong person and this was all a mistake.”
That the flowers were just flowers.
That the articles and photographs were nothing more than a strange fixation, just another symptom of her condition.
Ryder’s gaze skimmed the scattered drawings before fixing on me. “It’s not a mistake. You already know that.”
“You don’t know her.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t take it back. “She—”
“She hid an entire life, Violet.” His voice dropped, no longer dark and rich but something far more dangerous. “She lied and—”
“And you haven’t?” I snapped, my knuckles white from how hard I gripped the sheets.
Ryder stilled, turning slowly.
“God, what are you even still doing here?” My chest burned as the words kept spilling out. “You could run, disappear.”
Ryder took a step towards me. “Violet—”
“The price on your head would vanish, and—”
“Am I even allowed—”
“You can be free of all of this. Ryder, you’re—”
“Christ, it’s like you have word vomit. You don’t stop, do you?” Ryder reached forward to brush his fingers through my hair, tangling in the length so he could tip my head to the side. “Once you get hold of something, you can’t let it go. You just keep digging and digging until you force the hand.”
Moving to stand behind me, his nose came next, nuzzling the length of my throat.
And I let him.
“Do you really believe that if I run, the price would just simply disappear? You really have no idea how things work, do you? It’s almost sad. Pathetic, even.”
His words hit me like ice water, and I went to shove away, but he pulled me tight against him.
“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he whispered, and I despised the way my body betrayed me, melting under the weight of his voice. “It almost makes me sorry.”
I frowned, confusion flickering through the haze of adrenaline. “Sorry for what?”
Something cold and sharp pressed against my face, a cloth smelling faintly chemical.
I jerked back, but his grip only tightened, holding me still as the scent filled my lungs.
“For this.”