Chapter thirty-five
Harrison and Violet's Apartment, The Level
Violet
I’ve lain awake all night, waiting. He’s not home yet, and I’m getting worried.
The clock shows six in the morning. Mrs. D. pops her head in my bedroom door again—she returned this afternoon from her stay with family and hasn’t left me alone.
“He’s on his way,” she says with a smile. “And he’s in one piece.”
A relieved breath pushes between my teeth, my whole body immediately relaxing. My emotion takes over and sobs promptly burst from me. Big watery tears run down my cheeks. I sit up as she walks over to the bed and sits down, wrapping me in her arms.
“Let it out,” she whispers.
“I’m being ridiculous,” I mumble against her shoulder.
“No darling,” she says, pushing me back and looking into my eyes.
“You’re a heavily pregnant woman who has been through hell. It is perfectly normal to feel like this. Cry as often as you want, but ensure you laugh as much too.”
She smiles kindly, then kisses my forehead before cuddling me once more.
Ten minutes later, our bedroom door opens.
Harry walks in, stopping when he sees us.
I glance up at him—his face is almost black, covered with an unknown substance.
The knees have been removed from his jeans.
Blood stains his hands and up his arms. “It’s all right Vi,” he says, softly, “I’m home.”
He moves over to my side; Mrs. D.’s arms release me as he takes hold, and I start to cry again.
I bury my face into his chest, he rests his chin on top of my head like he has done before.
“I’m home,” he whispers again ferociously, then tightens his arms around me.
“I’ll leave you both to it,” Mrs. D. says. Harry mumbles his thanks, and she leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.
I take a deep breath, trying to contain the emotion spilling from me.
After screwing my eyes tightly shut, I open them then straighten my shoulders so I can look up at him.
He smiles, and my nerves calm. He’s here, and he’s alive.
“What happened?” I ask. His gaze runs over my face, considering what to say. “Tell me the truth.”
“It was set-up. There was a bomb,” he says, and I gasp, completely stunned. I knew this world was dark, but never did I think an evil device like a bomb would enter my life.
“A bomb!” I squawk.
“I’m all right.” His voice is firm. “I’m sitting here next to you. But I won’t pretend it wasn’t fucking frightening.”
I take his hands, turning them over. They’re covered in dried blood; the scratches extend up his arms beneath his shirt sleeves.
I undo the button at his wrist and push the material upward.
He winces as it moves across the damaged skin.
“You need to get these clean. I’ll run you a bath,” I tell him, swinging my legs out of bed. He touches the base of my back when I rise.
“I like you wearing my clothes,” he says, his voice raspy.
I pull down the cotton t-shirt that was in the laundry basket.
It smelled of him and gave me some comfort while lying in our bed alone.
The fabric strains over my swollen midsection, my belly button and nipples visible.
“But I like you even better out of them.” My stomach flips.
“Now is not the time,” I scold, and he laughs.
“Any time is the right time,” he challenges, then runs his fingers between my legs.
“No, I’m going to run you a bath.” I smack his hand away and he rolls his eyes.
“Spoilsport,” he mouths, and I lean down to kiss him.
Our lips press gently together, and he touches my hip with his fingers.
“I thought I was going to lose you both before we even got started,” he says sadly.
“It was the most soul-destroying reality I could ever imagine, not having this life with you.”
I don’t need to say anything—he’s said it all. Life without this would be pointless.
***
The steaming hot water sits a few inches below the top of the tub.
I’ve added some bath salts with aloe vera to help ease the sting of his wounds.
“Bath’s ready,” I call, and he appears in our en suite, walking up behind me and wrapping me in his arms.
His lips come to my neck; he dusts it with gentle kisses.
“Are you going to join me?” he whispers in my ear.
“There’s plenty of room for two.” I lift the t-shirt over my head in answer then turn and unbutton his shirt.
It drops to the floor in a pool of dirty white cotton.
I drop to my knees and unfasten his fly, pulling his destroyed jeans down over his taut behind then repeating the process with his boxers and socks.
I kneel in front of him, hands on my knees. His cock hardens. Pushing myself upward, I run my tongue from his balls along his length, and he moans, a deep guttural sound from the depths of him. “Bath, before we get carried away,” he says bluntly. I stand, pushing my simple black thong to the ground.
He takes my hand, leading me to the side of the bath.
I step in, and he supports my weight, ensuring I don’t lose my balance.
“On your knees,” he orders. I comply. He lowers himself into the tub, facing me.
The water sloshes over the sides, splashing off the white-tiled floor.
I take a sponge from the small glass shelf that holds the shampoo, then pick up one of his hands, turning it palm up.
Slowly, I dab the sponge over his skin, cleaning away the remnants of a terrifying night.
He closes his eyes, his face contorting when it stings.
I repeat the process over every inch of his skin, cleaning away the grime.
Once the obvious dirt is gone from his body, I pick up the blue bottle poised on the shelf and squirt a blob of creamy liquid into my hand.
He’s sitting with his back against the end of the bath.
I move forward to straddle him. His hard length touches my lips as I sit, and he groans.
Taking the shampoo, I rub it into his scalp.
With his eyes still closed, my nipple grazes his lips.
His tongue darts out and licks the bud, then he takes it in his mouth, sucking gently as I wash his hair.
“I need to rinse your hair,” I mumble, breathless.
The plastic beaker sits on the side. He murmurs in agreement but keeps sucking, his pressure increasing with every second.
I rub my pussy against him. This is the closest we’ve been to full intercourse since our night back in June when I first appeared. We’ve done everything but.
After pouring cups of water over him, the suds slide slowly over his skin. I use my thumb to clear the excess from his eyes. He opens them, smiling like I’m a meal he wants to devour. Pushing my hand below the surface, I take hold of him, lining him up at my entrance.
“Violet,” he warns, “you wanted to wait.” He lifts his eyebrows, and his hands move under my ass, holding me up.
“I don’t want to anymore,” I hiss, my chest rising and falling, arousal bursting from me.
My pussy screams to be filled with him. This is something I want to do for him, for us.
I almost lost him. I want to show him exactly how much he means to me.
“Let go of my ass so I can fuck you, Harry. This is happening now.”
He releases me slowly, and I sit down, sucking him in. At this moment, I feel him in every part of me—in my pussy, throughout my body, but most of all encompassing my heart. We are connected in the most intimate way we can be. The two of us, together, finally.
I go slowly, my hips rocking to a silent beat.
My bump is pressed up against his abs, even though he lies at an angle.
He groans softly as I move. His hands sit on my hips, supporting but not interfering with my rhythm.
My orgasm builds with each touch of him within me, pushing my body closer to release.
I stroke his cheeks with my fingertips, holding his beautiful face within my grasp—his eyes have never left mine.
Each of us watching the other’s every reaction as I took control of his body and used him for both our pleasure.
“You’re mine,” I say fiercely. “And I am yours.”
“Are you asking or telling me, Vi?” He flashes me a cheeky smile, and I stop riding him. He squeezes my skin, flexing his fingers to encourage me to resume my movements.
“What do you think?” I say with a smirk.
“I think you’re being a tease again and it will result in that perfectly pink ass of yours being spanked. Move.”
I shake my head. One strong hand lifts; his fingers pinch one of my nipples and twist.
My body convulses from the unexpected sensation.
“Move,” he growls. My pussy spasms at the order, and I rock again, short sharp movements as the tip of his cock hits my g-spot.
“That’s my girl. Ride what you own. I’m here for you to do as you please. Show me who I belong to.”
His words are too much. The orgasm that’s been building since I took him within me shatters my body. Sheer ecstasy ripples across my skin as I come undone and he takes control of my hips, guiding them to finish what I started.
“I’m not done,” he whispers. “And neither are you. Keep fucking me.” His grip becomes stronger, more demanding. Our roles reverse, and he now has control, using my body to his benefit. Then I feel it, that sensation when a man comes, his cock jerking and giving me what I needed. Him.
As we step out of the bath, we wrap ourselves in the soft white robes hanging on the back of the door.
On entering our bedroom, Harry’s phone vibrates madly on the bedside table.
“What the fuck now?” he grumbles, walking over and peering at the screen.
“Connor,” he says almost to himself then accepts the call.
I don’t hear what’s said, only Harry telling him to come over.
Five minutes later there’s a knock at the front door.
My brother walks in, stressed. He paces around the room. It’s so unlike him. “Violet,” he snaps, “what social media do you have?” I blink, confused by the question.
“Only a Facebook page I think, but I don’t use it. I’ve not been on since I came back from Chicago.”
His focus lands on me, his eyes boring into mine. “Is it private?”
“I don’t know. Why? I never used it. There’s nothing on there.”
“What is this about?” Harry interjects bluntly.
He moves to the kitchen counter and opens his laptop, then types in the familiar blue website address.
His page appears, but it’s not under his name.
“I don’t have a personal page,” he says as a way of explanation.
He types my name into the search bar and my photo pops up. He clicks on it, and my profile opens.