Brutal Obsession (116)

“How’s that?”

I run my hand up his arm. “A trusting commoner falls in love with a disguised nobleman. He tricks her, making her think that he’s like her. But he isn’t.”

Grey’s eyes narrow. “Vi.”

“His ruse is uncovered,” I continue. “And poor Giselle dies.”

His brows furrow. “She dies?”

“That’s just act one, baby.” I shake my head and turn away. “She turns into a forest apparition, one of many that lure men into the forest to dance until they die. But when the nobleman is lured into the forest, she dances with him… and she chooses to keep him alive. Do you think that’s love?”

“I don’t know.”

I grimace. “As I said. It’s a tragedy.”

“But you didn’t explain how you knew it.”

“I made it up.” I cross to the music, which has looped again to repeat the song. I put the Sleeping Beauty one back on and take up my position in the middle of the room. “I’m sure I did.”





51





GREYSON





Violet makes every movement seem effortless. Even when she’s straining, her muscles trembling, an easy expression remains glued on her face. She follows through. Her leotard gets damp with sweat, her hair stuck to her head.

Eventually, our food arrives, and she takes a break.

Stamina, she explained. Professional dancers have to have the stamina to keep dancing. If she stops for a day, the next she’ll feel a bit sore. If she stops for a few days, her next practice will be tiring. And if she stops for longer than that, her muscles will feel the effects.

I understand it well. It’s why I train hard during the summer, keeping myself in peak fitness. Because coming back is harder when you let yourself go on the off season.

Violet’s had seven months of being off. I understand her drive.

We don’t have classes this week. Crown Point University is basically a ghost town. Not that it matters, since she’s been staying with me. Willow went home to spend time with her sister and probably to escape Knox.

I finish off my sandwich and eye Violet again. I don’t care if she catches me staring. She already knows how I feel about her.

Obsessed. In love.

Sometimes I think they might be the same thing.

She’s stronger, though. Her muscles are more defined. She’s eating better. For a while, I was worried that she was going to perish on lettuce alone. But it seems the intense workouts have resurfaced her appetite.

When she’s done eating, she flops backward on the polished wood floor. I take my cue and crawl over her, lowering my body until we’re flush.

“Hi,” she says.

I take her wrists one at a time, stretching them up over her head. She smirks at me and shifts but keeps her arms up there. Her fingers twist together. I lift slightly and run my hand down her arm, her throat, her chest. I palm her breast, and she exhales. Sometime between Mia Germain’s visit and now, she removed the cardigan that shielded her breasts from me. Her nipple is visible through her sports bra and the tight leotard. I brush my thumb over it, waiting for another movement by her.

I’ll take a million moments like these to learn her body.

She spreads her legs wider, hooking them around my hips. She uses her legs to pull me down, and I give her what she wants. I grind my cock on her core, separated by too many layers of fabric. Her shorts, the leotard, my pants and boxers.

“Promise you’ll stay with me forever,” I say in her ear.

“Is that what you want?”

I nip her skin, if only to hear her hitched breath. To feel her chest hit mine. I sit up suddenly, rocking back on my knees. She stays exactly where she is, her arms over her head, her legs spread. Her gaze is decidedly lustful. I shift aside, peel her shorts off, and toss them away. Then I resume my position between her legs. I eye the thin strip of fabric of the leotard hiding her cunt from me.

She squirms.

“What do you need, baby?”

Her eyes lock on mine. “I want to come. And then I want to go back to work.”

I laugh. If it was me, and she was standing in my way of hockey practice? Yeah, I’d probably have a similar feeling. She wants to get down to business. No objections from me.

We can take our time later.

I move her leotard to the side and run my finger through her wetness. She squirms again, already impatient. Part of me wants to draw it out just because I like her annoyance and the way her brow is drawing down because I’m not going fast enough.

She’s cute when she’s annoyed.

“Grey—”

“I’ve got you,” I promise. “Relax.”

She pushes up on her elbows and watches me thrust a finger inside her. Her lips part, and we both watch me finger-fuck her with one, then two. I use my other hand to hold the fabric aside and brush her clit. I touch her just the way she likes. The fastest way to an orgasm for her—direct pressure. Unwavering stimulation.

Her head falls back. The combination is too much for her, and she comes in record time.

Not that I’m keeping track or anything.

Her muscles pulse around my fingers. I withdraw slowly once her body stops trembling. She eyes me—perhaps waiting for me to pull out my dick and fuck her—but I just lick my fingers. I love the taste of her.