Chapter 15 #3
But I’ve barely taken a step before Darius’s hand catches mine. He pulls me back against his chest, solid and warm behind me.
“Not you, little troublemaker,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “You’re coming with me.”
“I want to go with my friends.”
He ignores me, already shrugging out of his suit jacket. He wraps it around my shoulders; it smells like him.
I glance at Anne and see her watching us, studying the way Darius holds me, the way his hand rests possessively on my lower back. A look of understanding flickers across her face before she gives me a small nod, turns away, and leaves with Sienna and Ethan.
“I don’t want to go with you, Darius.”
“Too bad.” His hand tightens on my waist as he grabs my coat and guides me toward the exit.
The cool night air hits my face, and I stumble. Darius catches me easily, his arm still around my waist, keeping me upright.
“I can walk.”
“Clearly.”
His SUV is parked nearby. He opens the passenger door and plops me in the seat.
The soft leather greets me nicely as I slump against it.
Darius closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side.
The interior of the car smells like him, and I pull his jacket snugly around myself without thinking.
He slides behind the wheel, starts the engine, and drives away.
“I’m hungry,” I announce, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
“Of course you are.” Amusement colors his voice now, the rage from earlier having faded.
A fast-food drive-through appears, and he orders me a burger and fries without asking what I want. When the bag comes, I tear into it immediately, and grease is soon dripping onto the wrapper in my lap.
“This is so good,” I mumble around a mouthful of burger.
Darius glances at me, and I catch the hint of a smile on his lips. “Slow down before you choke.”
I take another huge bite just to spite him.
The drive to my apartment building passes in a blur. The food disappears, and I slump against the window. Everything feels distant and vague, like I’m watching the world through frosted glass.
Once we pull into the parking lot, Darius comes around and opens my door. Standing seems like a good idea until my legs prove uncooperative. He mutters something under his breath and picks me up like I weigh nothing.
“Put me down,” I protest weakly, but I don’t actually struggle.
“No.”
He carries me inside, into the elevator, and to my door, somehow managing to unlock it while still holding me. Cinnamon barks from inside, her tail wagging furiously when we enter.
Darius puts me down long enough to let me pet her, then scoops me back up and carries me to my bedroom.
“I can walk.”
“Sure you can.”
The edge of my bed is there when he sets me down. I immediately start to flop backward, but his hand catches my shoulder, keeping me upright. The walls are swirling around and around.
“Look at me.”
Blinking up at him through the haze, I try to focus. A darkness burns in his gaze, making heat grow low in my stomach.
“This dress,” he says, looking me over slowly, deliberately. “You wore this out. In public. Around other men.”
“So what?” My words come out sounding rather defiant. “I can wear whatever I want.”
“Can you?”
Before I have a chance to respond, his hand slides up my throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, his fingers warm against my pulse. The touch sends electricity skittering across my skin.
“Do you have any idea,” he says softly, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, “how many men were looking at you tonight?”
“I don’t care about them.”
“No?” His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make me gasp. “Then who do you care about, Violet?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with meaning I’m too drunk to process fully.
In the silence, Darius’s thumb brushes over my bottom lip.
I want to bite it. I want to pull him down and make him lose his control the way he makes me lose mine. I want to feel his weight pressing me into the mattress until there’s nothing between us but skin and heat and desperation.
The thought sends a flush across my skin that I can’t hide.
“You can’t tell me what to wear.”
“Can’t I?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting across my lips. “Because I’m telling you right now, if I ever see you in something like this again, around anyone but me, I will put you over my knee and spank that pretty ass of yours until you learn better.”
Fire crawls through me, especially between my thighs. I should be angry. I should tell him to leave. Instead, I stare up at him, my pulse racing beneath his fingers.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
His smile is dark, promising. “Try me, little wolf. See what happens.”
The endearment makes my heart clench. “Little wolf.” Like I’m actually one of them. Like he sees me in a way no one else does.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” His hand slides off my throat to cup my face, his touch gentle now. “You wish you did. But you don’t.”
Arguments pile up in my throat. I want to push him away and prove that I don’t need him, don’t want him, don’t crave his touch like oxygen. But the words won’t come.
He releases me and steps back, leaving me cold and aching. “You smell like other people. Like that bar. Like strangers who have no right to be near you.”
“So?”
“I don’t like it.”
Before I can process what he means, he disappears into my bathroom. Water runs, and then he’s back with a warm, damp towel.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you up.”
He starts with my face, wiping away smudged makeup with careful strokes. His touch is methodical and focused. When he moves to my arms, I try to pull away.
“Stop fussing.”
As soon as he’s done, the towel disappears, and he vanishes into my closet. Rummaging sounds emerge, and then he’s back with one of my oversized sleep shirts and a pair of soft shorts.
“Change,” he commands, placing them on the bed beside me.
First the clothes get a stare, then him. “Turn around.”
His eyebrow arches, and he shakes his head slowly. “I’ve had you underneath me on two separate occasions, Violet. I’ve tasted every inch of your skin. And you want me to turn around?”
Heat floods my face. The memory of his mouth on me, of his hands mapping my body, makes my breath catch.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Because I remember you begging me not to stop. Remember the sounds you made when I—”
“Turn around.”
His smile is wicked, but finally, he turns his back to me.
Getting to my feet takes effort, and I sway dangerously. I reach for the zipper on the back of my dress, but my fingers are clumsy and uncooperative.
“Need help?” Darius asks without looking at me.
“No,” I lie, still fumbling with the zipper.
A sigh escapes him. Then he’s there, his hands brushing mine aside. The zipper goes down in one smooth motion, and his knuckles graze my spine. The touch sends shivers racing across my skin.
“There. Now, change.”
He turns away again. Wiggling out of the dress nearly makes me fall. Twice. Getting the t-shirt and shorts on is even harder. My vision is blurry, my movements sluggish.
“Done,” I finally announce, collapsing back onto the bed.
Darius turns and surveys me. The shirt is twisted around my shoulders, and the shorts are slightly askew, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he pulls back a corner of the blanket. “Get under the covers.”
Sitting up seems impossible when the room is tilting so dangerously. Darius helps me, guiding me beneath the sheets. The pillow feels soft under my head, and I sigh.
He starts to leave, but my fingers wrap around his. “Stay. S’cold.”
He freezes, his back to me. For several seconds, he doesn’t move. Then, he pulls his hand away, and rustling sounds fill the silence. Fabric hits the floor. The mattress dips under his weight, and his arm slides around my waist, pulling me back against his bare chest.
Heat radiates from his skin, chasing away the chill. Without thinking, I press closer, my body seeking his warmth instinctively.
“You smell nice,” I mumble against his arm. “And I sleep better when you’re here. Don’t know why. S’not fair.”
His chest rumbles with silent laughter. “Go to sleep, Violet.”
“Okay.” I feel exhaustion and alcohol pulling me under. “Thank you. For getting me. For watching over me.”
His hand spreads across my stomach, holding me against him. His lips, soft and warm, press against my hair.
“Always,” he whispers, so quietly I think I may be imagining it. “I’ll always come for you.”
I’m already asleep, his words dissolving into darkness.