Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Darius
My hands grip the steering wheel so tight, the leather squeaks.
Her taste lingers—a flavor so sweet and indefinably Violet that I’ll never forget it. My lips still burn where hers pressed against them, desperate and hungry and completely inexperienced.
God, she kissed like someone discovering fire for the first time—clumsy and uncertain, but burning.
I could tell in the way she moved against me at first, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands or her mouth. But what she lacked in skill she made up for in raw, unfiltered desperation.
The way she attacked me. Pushed me against that door. Tore at my sweater with shaking fingers. The little sounds she made in the back of her throat when I touched her.
Heat floods through me at the memory, and I have to adjust myself in my jeans, still half hard despite bolting out of there like I did.
Her breast fit perfectly in my palm. Soft, heavy, and warm through the thin material of her bra. I wanted to rip it off. Wanted to take her nipple in my mouth and suck until she screamed. Wanted to mark every inch of that perfect skin, leave evidence of my claim where everyone could see it.
I wanted her under me. Spread out and willing and mine.
There’s a primal surge beneath my skin, demanding I turn around. Demanding I go back and finish what we started.
But I can’t.
The mere idea should terrify me. It should fill me with guilt and shame and all the things a rational person would feel after kissing their stepsister.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I want to. God, I want to. Want to feel the appropriate level of horror at what I’ve done, at the line I’ve crossed. But all I feel is satisfaction. Bone-deep, primal satisfaction.
And hunger for more.
The beast inside me claws at my ribs, desperate and frantic. We left our mate. We walked away when we should have stayed.
I had to. My father’s call was a command, one I couldn’t ignore without raising questions I can’t afford to answer.
I went home first. Stripped off my clothes that were saturated with her scent. Stood under scalding water until my skin turned red, scrubbing away every trace of her perfume, her arousal, the evidence of what we’d done.
It felt like sacrilege. Like washing away something sacred. But it was necessary. Because if my father caught even a whiff of what had happened earlier tonight, if he sensed the desperation coiled beneath my skin, if he saw the marks her nails left on my abdomen…
I can’t think about that.
The meeting was brief. Some territorial dispute that needed my attention, paperwork that required my signature. I handled it mechanically, my mind still in her penthouse, my back still pressed against the door with her hands pulling at my clothes.
My father didn’t notice anything amiss. Didn’t question why I showed up so late smelling of soap and nothing else.
Small mercies.
Now I’m driving through empty streets, my hands flexing on the wheel, my body still humming with need.
The human side of me wants her just as badly as the animal does.
That’s the part that terrifies me. Because I could control the beast. Chain it down and force it to behave. After all, I’ve been doing that for six years.
But now, my human side wants her, too. Wants to claim her and keep her and make her mine in every possible way.
The control I’ve built is crumbling. And I don’t know how to rebuild it.
Maybe I should talk to her. Tell her the truth. Explain what she is to me, what the mate bond means, why my body reacts to hers like a magnet to steel.
But how do I explain that? How do I tell her that fate decided we’re meant to be together when every social rule says we can’t be?
She already doesn’t trust me. If I tell her now, she’ll think it’s just another manipulation. Another lie to control her.
I need time. Need to figure out how to make her understand without pushing her away completely.
The problem is, I don’t have time. Not anymore. Not after that kiss. Not after feeling her come alive in my arms.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Almost midnight.
The party is probably still going; Sarah mentioned the plan was for it to run late. With music and laughter and people celebrating Violet’s new home.
The home I gave her.
I bang my head back against the car seat at the thought. She found out. She knows I bought the building, arranged the furniture discounts, orchestrated everything. And she was furious about it. About the secrets, the lies, the way I took away her agency.
But she was also confused. I saw it in her eyes before I kissed her. That desperate need to understand why I’d do all this for her.
Because you’re mine, I wanted to say. Because taking care of you is my right as your mate. Because I can’t stand the thought of you suffering when I have the means to make things better.
But I couldn’t say any of it. So, I kissed her instead.
Smart, Darius. Really fucking smart.
I realize I’ve been driving without conscious thought, my hands steering automatically while my mind spirals.
The car comes to a stop. I look up, and I freeze.
I’m parked in front of her apartment complex.
What the hell?
I don’t remember deciding to come here. Don’t remember making the turn onto her street or pulling into this spot.
But here I am. Sitting in my car outside her building like some lovesick idiot.
I should leave. Turn around, go home, and pretend this lapse in judgment never happened.
But the pull is already dragging me forward, demanding I check on our mate.
It’s midnight now. I could just go see if the party is still happening. Make sure she’s okay. Make sure no one’s giving her trouble.
That’s all. Just checking.
Am I so gullible that I believe my own lies?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m exiting the car and heading for the entrance.
The elevator ride up feels endless. Each floor ticks by while my heart pounds against my ribs.
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
The doors open on the penthouse level, and I force myself to walk down the hallway. Each step feels heavier than the last.
I reach her door and pause, my hand hovering over the wood.
Music drifts from inside. Muffled laughter. Doesn’t sound like many people, though.
I knock before I can lose my nerve.
Footsteps approach. The door swings open.
Sienna stands there, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright from alcohol. She blinks at me in surprise, then grins.
“Darius!” She laughs, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check on Violet.” I say, then pause to clear my throat. “Make sure everything’s going well.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.” Sienna’s grin widens, and I can smell the wine on her breath. “Big brother checking in?”
My jaw clenches. “Something like that.”
“She’s passed out on the couch. Girl went hard on the wine.” Sienna giggles. “First real party, I think.”
“She’s not used to drinking.” The protective edge in my voice makes Sienna’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Wow, you really do care about her.” She studies me, swaying slightly. “That’s actually really nice. She needs people looking out for her.”
If she only knew how much I care. How I have to restrain myself from pushing past her and going to Violet. How the thought of my mate drunk and vulnerable makes ferocity surge through me.
Anne appears behind Sienna, equally flushed, equally tipsy. “Is that Darius? What’s he doing here? Party’s over!”
“Checking on Violet,” Sienna says, still grinning.
“You two can go home,” I say, my voice taking on that alpha edge. “I’ll take it from here.”
“You sure?” Anne asks, her words slightly slurred. “We don’t mind staying…”
“Order a taxi. Put it on the company account.” I pull out my phone and show them the number in the app. “I’ll handle things here.”
They exchange glances, then burst into giggles.
“Okay, okay.” Sienna holds up her hands. “We’re going. But you better take good care of her.”
“Always.” The word comes out before I can stop it.
They gather their things, still giggling and whispering to each other as they head for the door. I hear Anne say the words “protective big brother,” and they both laugh harder.
If they only knew.
I close the door behind them and lean against it, taking in the apartment.
Cups everywhere. Empty bottles on the counter. Plates with half-eaten snacks scattered across the coffee table. The remnants of a successful party.
And there, asleep on the couch, is Violet.
My breath catches.
She is curled on her side, one arm tucked under her head.
Her hair fans across her face in messy waves; I can see individual strands catching the light of the moon through the window.
The dress she is now wearing is wrinkled, twisted around her thighs.
She smells like wine and her own scent, the unnatural perfume finally faded.
When I move closer, she makes a small, sleepy sound that goes straight to my chest.
I crouch beside her and just look.
Beautiful.
But even in sleep, there’s tension in her shoulders. Worry creasing her forehead. Like she can’t fully relax, even now.
Carefully, so carefully, I slide onto the couch, lifting her head and settling it in my lap.
She makes an almost inaudible sound of protest, then nestles closer to my warmth. Her cheek, soft and warm, presses against my thigh. A possessive need settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like it’s been waiting six years to find its home.
My hand moves to her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. “Did you have a good time?”
I don’t expect an answer. She’s completely out, her breathing deep and even.
But then, she smiles.
Just a little curve of her lips in her sleep. She presses closer to me, like she knows I’m safe. Like I’m soothing her.
The ache in my heart is so intense, I have to close my eyes against it.
This. This, right here. This is what I want.
Violet, relaxed and happy and safe. Seeking comfort from me without walls or fear or anger between us.