Chapter 20
Jason
Her breathing is still unsteady from the shower, from laughing against my mouth, from the way she blindly fumbled for my hand and then hauled me upstairs like patience was some mythical thing that only existed for other people.
God, she feels like fire in my arms, and the heat of her sinks into my skin, into my ribs, into every place that was cold without her.
Her damp hair sticks to my chest, her breath ghosts over my throat, and my pulse trips as it tries to keep up with hers.
There’s this wild, breathless energy buzzing between us—leftover laughter, leftover need, leftover desire—and it wraps around me tighter than her arms do.
I didn’t know a person could feel like this. I didn’t know being burned alive could be the sweetest goddamn thing in the world.
I lay her back on the bed, following her down, unable to stand even an inch of space between us.
Her body gives beneath my hands, pliable and trusting, and I kiss the water from her throat with slow, hungry drags of my mouth.
For a second, it feels like the world collapses to that small patch of skin.
Like nothing exists outside the rise of her breath or the way her pulse flutters against my lips.
The sheets are warm beneath us, but she’s warmer, pulling me in with every shift of her hips, every sigh, every trembling exhale.
Her hands roam over my shoulders, my jaw, my lower back.
Mapping me. Claiming me. Touching me like she’s trying to memorize the entire shape of me before I can disappear.
She moves under me, a seductive dance I don’t think she’s even aware of. Her hips rise to meet me, breath rushing in and out of her mouth, thighs trembling, and I haven’t even entered her yet.
“Jason,” she murmurs, voice husky, “wait.”
I freeze instantly, lifting my head. “Are you okay?”
She nods, breath trembling. “Yeah. Just one second.”
Her hand reaches out blindly toward her nightstand, fingers sweeping over the surface until she finds the drawer handle. She slides it open with a soft scrape, then starts feeling around inside for something.
There’s a muted rustle and when she draws her hand back, she’s holding a simple black blindfold. I pause.
The crease between my eyebrows deepen. Because for a heartbeat, all I can think is she’s already blind. She already moves through the world in darkness.
“Uh… ” I manage, half amused, half nervous. “Sweetheart… what exactly do you need that for?”
She lifts it, brushing her thumb over the black silk.
“I want you to try something,” she says, cheeks flushing. “Only if you’re willing.”
There’s so much trust in her voice that it nearly knocks the wind out of me.
“I’m willing,” I say immediately. “Tell me what you want.”
She takes a breath, as if she’s about to step off a ledge and fall right into a deep abyss.
“I want you,” she whispers, “to know what it’s like to experience the world like I do. To feel what I feel.”
Her words hit me like a second heartbeat under my skin, soft, then crushing.
This isn’t simply some kinky flourish she thought I’d enjoy. This is her. Her truth. Her vulnerability gift-wrapped in black fabric and placed in my hands.
She wants me to step into her darkness, for just a moment, because that’s the closest she can get to letting me all the way in.
To letting me see her the way she sees the world.
My chest pulls tight, like my ribs are trying to make room for something too big to fit.
God, she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me.
Or maybe she does.
Maybe that’s why her hands are trembling slightly, waiting for my reaction, waiting for me.
“Do it.” Two simple words that hold the weight of our trust for each other.
She ties the blindfold gently around my head, her fingers grazing my temples. Darkness folds over me instantly—not wolf-darkness, not night-running darkness, but a blunt, human kind. No edges, no distance, no shapes in motion.
I feel her breath. I smell her warm, sweet skin. Every sound is louder.
Every shift of the sheets feels amplified—too loud, too intimate, like the whole room is listening. Her knee brushes mine, and even that feels sharper, closer, as if my nerves have climbed to the surface of my skin.
“Violet…” My voice comes out rough, scraped from somewhere low in my chest. “This is… different.”
She goes still for a heartbeat. Then, softly, almost afraid to hope, she asks. “Good different?”
Her question punches right through me. She isn’t asking if I’m turned on. She’s asking if she’s crossed a line. If the thing she offered, the thing she is, is welcome here.
“Very good,” I breathe.
My heart is slamming against my ribs like it’s fighting to get to her first. My pulse climbs into my throat, making it hard to swallow, harder to speak.
Everything in me feels too big for my skin, too much feeling, too much wanting, too much of her, and the only thing stopping me from spilling all of it is the thin thread of control holding my voice together.
If I say anything else right now, it’ll break. I’ll break. Right open, right in front of her. So “very good” it is.
The air between us is fragile and charged, as if we’re standing on the edge of something neither of us has ever stepped into before.
She slides her hands up my chest, slow and exploring, like she’s guiding me through a world she knows better than anyone. It’s intimate. More intimate than anything I’ve ever done. More intimate than anything I thought existed.
I feel her fingertips. Her breath against my jaw. Her heartbeat, soft and steady under my palm.
And suddenly I am painfully aware of how much power she always gives away just to move through a room.
How much trust she must have in her surroundings.
How much courage. The blindfold steals my sight, but it gives me something else.
This is her trusting me with the way she experiences the world and asking me, silently, to meet her there.
“Jason,” she whispers again, pulling me closer.
I find her lips blindly, and when our mouths meet, the heat spikes so fast I forget every rule I’ve ever made for myself. My sense of smell explodes with the scent of her skin, her shampoo, the faint sweetness at the base of her throat that pulls me in like a tide.
She arches under me, and the sound she makes… God, that sound sears my spine like a live wire. My hands slide along her waist, guided by instinct alone, and she trembles beautifully when I lower my mouth to her neck.
“Thank you,” she breathes. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
Her hands frame my face, and she kisses me with a tenderness that ruins me completely.
Our tender kiss ignites, slow warmth flashing into something deeper, something hungry, something I don’t have a word for. It rises too fast, too big, swelling in my chest until it feels like my ribs can’t hold it. Until I’m sure I’m going to break open from the inside out.
Then Violet pulls back, breath brushing my lips, her palms pressed against my chest.
“I want to be on top.”
For a beat, I forget how to breathe. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the certainty in them. The confidence. The trust. She’s not asking for control. She’s asking for closeness. For connection on her terms.
And in that moment, I realize she could ask me for anything and I’d give it to her. Gladly. Without hesitation.
I ease back, giving her space, guiding her with gentle hands but letting her lead every movement. She shifts beneath me, knees brushing my hips, fingers gliding down my ribs as she feels for where she wants to be. Every touch is deliberate. Anchored. Hers.
My back hits the sheets, and she shimmies forward, then it’s all heat radiating off her in waves that melt straight into my bones. She trails her fingers down my abs, slow enough to wreck me, lower until her touch grazes my cock.
A sharp breath punches out of me.
She wraps her hand around me, confident and sure, guiding me, pressing me against her heat. And then, slowly, achingly slowly, she sinks down onto me, inch by inch, until she’s taken all of me.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” I choke out, voice wrecked. “You take me so good.”
I sit up because I need her skin, her warmth, her breath, need to feel her chest against mine, need to hold her like I might come apart if I don’t.
I need her. Being with Violet this way, sharing her world this way, is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
And nothing, nothing, will ever be the same after this.
She rocks her hips into me, a slow grind that tears a groan straight from my throat. I fight to let her set the pace, to follow her rhythm instead of driving mine, because instinct tells me this is what she needs. My hands glide up her spine, urging her gently, supporting her as she moves.
Fuck, she feels so good.
So fucking good. Like she was made to fit me. Like something in me has been starving for this, and I just never knew it.
Her fingernails dig into my shoulders, sharp little crescents of need, and her breaths turn fast and ragged, each one breaking across my mouth like she’s forgetting how to breathe properly.
“Jason… I… I’m—”
She cuts off with a strangled sound, her body clamping down around me in tight, pulsing waves that nearly knock the air out of my lungs. She picks up her pace, rocking onto me with reckless, beautiful abandon, chasing her climax like she’s falling into it headfirst.
God, she’s stunning like this. Even though I can’t see her, she’s more beautiful in this moment than she’s ever been. Wild. Unfiltered. Completely in the moment with me.
I grit my teeth, every muscle in my body pulling tight as a bowstring as I hold back my own release because I don’t want to miss a single second of this, of her, of the way she clenches around my cock, pulling me deeper, drawing me into every shudder rolling through her.
I want to feel all of it. I want to witness her falling apart in my arms before I even think about letting go.
And fuck, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to hold back from.
She collapses against me with a small, contented sound that I feel more than hear. I wrap my arms around her and roll us sideways so I’m on top of her.
She takes my hand and places my fingers on her mouth. I feel her lips stretch into a smile.
“Sweetheart, you’re so beautiful.”
“Jason, make me come again. Please.”
She reaches up and slides the blindfold down. “This time I want you to see what you do to me.”
Her legs tighten around my waist, as I move inside her. I take my time because I don’t want to rush being with her.
I let the moment stretch, let the heat build naturally, memorizing the way her breath changes, the way her body responds not to speed but to intention. To the patience I’m offering her.
I stay close, forehead resting against hers, listening to the soft sounds she makes when I move just enough to remind her I’m there and that I’m not going anywhere.
This isn’t about getting lost in the feeling.
It’s about staying with it.
With her.
I feel her pulse, then clench.
“Jason… I…I’m going to come.”
She squeezes me tighter. Her nails rake down my back as her walls tighten around my cock, a long moan shuddering out of her. And I come seconds after she does, undone by the way she holds me like she doesn’t want to let go.
I slide the blindfold off my neck and toss it on the bed beside us, then settle back, pulling her close to me. She snuggles into me, resting her cheek over my heart.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, stroking her damp hair.
She hums. “More than okay.”
I kiss her forehead as I pull the blanket up around us. This, this quiet after, this is the part that rips me open. Because I want it. I want this life. This woman. This bed. This peace. And I know I can’t stay. The alphas won’t stop. The danger won’t fade.
Bringing her into my world puts a target on her back the size of a continent.
But as her breathing evens out and she wiggles closer, her fingers curling loosely against my stomach, her scent wrapping around me like something that could be home, I feel the truth settle deep inside me.
I can’t let her go. Selfish as it is, I just can’t.