Owning Violet (The Fowler Sisters #1)(112)

If this makes me a sick, twisted f*ck, then she’s just as bad.

And I love her that way. Need her that way.

Chapter Thirty-three

Violet

I’m naked and trembling, save for my shoes, which Ryder demanded I keep on. Draped over the giant overstuffed chair that matches my couch, my legs spread over the arms, my feet dangling, my body on complete display for his perusal. I’m at his mercy, and I can’t ignore the trickle of fear that pools in my belly.

The arousal wins over the fear, though. I want this. Need this from him so badly my entire body shakes. He hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m afraid I’ll come if he so much as grazes my skin with his fingers.

I want to let go and let him take over my body, my pleasure, completely. Take me to where I can let all the pretense fall away and become who I really am, who I am only with this man who’s shown me how to fly.

Tonight my life did change in ways I never thought possible. I’d dismissed any thoughts of another chance with Ryder. I believed it truly over. I was fully prepared to be alone, thinking I would be fine with that. Knowing deep down inside that was the farthest thing from the truth.

And then he saved me. He said the exact words I needed to hear, showed me just how much he wanted me—how much he loved me—and I left with him. He fought for me.

I needed that. Needed him. I have what I want. Who I love. There’s no looking back now.

We’re in this together.

I’m greedily watching him as he strips out of his clothes until he’s completely naked, his thick cock rock hard and curving up toward his washboard belly. My mouth waters and I wish I could lick his skin. I love his beautiful body, the way he looks at me with those heated blue eyes, his hair a disaster created by my hands, the tattoos that decorate his upper body … everything about him, I love. Want. Need.

“Beautiful,” he whispers as he drops to his knees reverently and runs his hands from my knees up, palms coasting along my inner thighs, making me shudder. Making me weak. His thumbs barely brush against my hot, wet center and I bite my lip, releasing a quiet moan. “All pretty and pink and glistening.”

I lean back against the chair, holding my breath when his face comes closer to the place I want him most. He’d turned on the lamps earlier, the living room glowing brightly enough that we can see every single detail of each other’s bodies and normally, I would be mortified. Embarrassed.

But I’m not. I want him to see me. I want him to know what he does to me. How much I want him. I can’t control my body’s reaction to him and I don’t want to.

“You want my mouth on your *?” he asks roughly, his thumb tweaking my clit almost painfully.

I nod, unable to find my voice.

“Say it.” He leans in close, his mouth almost grazing my folds. I can feel his hot breath against my vibrating skin, and my lids flutter as I fight to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to miss a thing. “I need to hear you say it, Violet.”

“Touch me,” I whisper, purposely not saying what he wants. I’m drawing this out and when I see the irritation flare in his gaze, I know he realizes it.

“Not good enough.” He backs away, taking with him his heat and scent and touch, and I whimper, needing him close. Needing his mouth on me. “Say exactly what you want from me. I won’t give it to you until I hear the words.”

A trickle of moisture slides across sensitive skin and I clench my inner muscles to stave off the need that’s ratcheting up inside of me. But it’s no use. I want him so badly. I need to feel his hands and mouth and tongue on me. In me.

Now.

“Touch my *,” I whisper, pleasure bolting through me when I see approval fill his gaze. “Lick it. Suck my clit. Make me come, Ryder. Please. I need you.”

“Perfect.” He’s back where I want him, where I need him, his hands gripping my thighs and holding them open, his fingers digging into my skin roughly. I hope he bruises me. Marks me. Making it known that I’m his.

His mouth nuzzles my *, his tongue darting out for a lick. All the while he never looks away, his gaze remaining locked on mine, and I stare at him, my chest tight, my body tense, as he tongues my * with expert precision. Playing with my clit, searching my folds, circling my entry. He slips a finger slowly inside me and I groan, wanting more, wanting his cock but not wanting this moment to end, either.

“Like that, baby?” he whispers. “You taste so f*cking good. I could do this for hours.”

I don’t know if I could handle him doing this for hours. I’d probably faint. Or die from too many orgasms.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my eyes sliding closed, concentrating on the way his mouth moves over my skin, his lapping tongue, his finger sliding inside of my welcoming body. And then he’s gone, his mouth and finger leaving me, frustrating me. I open my eyes, glaring at him to find him glaring at me in return.

“Watch me,” he demands. “Keep your eyes on me.”

I do as he asks, already fighting against the orgasm that wants to sweep through me. It’s like a slow summer storm forming in the pit of my belly, warm and dark and almost scary. I’m shivering, a moan escapes me when he pulls my clit between his lips and sucks hard. My lids flutter and it’s such a struggle. I want to close my eyes and fall under the spell his mouth is working over my body, but I don’t for fear he’ll stop what he’s started.