Owning Violet (The Fowler Sisters #1)(63)

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

“Give me your address.”

“I’ll text it to you.”

“What time should I come over?”

“How soon can you get here?”

No pretense, no bullshit. She wants me. I want her.

And I’m going to have her.

“Give me an hour, tops,” I say, then hang up.

I’m gathering up my stuff, shutting down everything, when my cell dings, announcing the text with her address. I turn out the lights and lean against the door frame, letting her know what I want from her when I get there.

Wear something sexy.

Any specific requests?

Surprise me.

The security at her building is like Fort Knox, and it’s touch-and-go for a moment while I endure the doorman’s scrutiny. He looks like he wants to frisk me as he puts in a call to Violet, his expression stern, his mouth a thin line as he nods and offers a mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” after everything she says. I wait behind the counter, glancing around the sleek, modern lobby, everything white and chrome and accented with hints of black.

Sterile and cold. So not Violet’s style.

“You have permission from Miss Fowler to go up,” the doorman says after he hangs up the phone, glaring at me. I love how he says the word permission. I wonder if he’s a former prison guard. “I need you to fill this out first, though.”

He shoves a clipboard toward me with a check-in sheet attached to it. I grab the pen he offers and scribble out my name, impatient that I have to go through so many steps to get to Violet. I’m anxious. Dealing with a grumpy doorman won’t spoil my mood, though.

I’m eager to f*ck. It’s been days. A few weeks, even. I’ve jacked off countless times. Received a most excellent blow job from Violet. Got her off a few times, but I still haven’t f*cked her. Still haven’t got my cock inside that hot little body.

Un-f*cking-believable.

The doorman leads me to the elevator, keying in a pass code with his back to me so I can’t see it. Jackass. The doors swoosh open and he inclines his head toward me. “Have a nice evening, Mr. McKay.”

The moment the doors close I’m texting her. Because it’s fun—do I even know how to have fun? Because I can hardly wait to see her, not that I would ever admit that fact to anyone. I feel like a teenage kid, though not the teenager of my past, since I was a holy terror. I didn’t anxiously await girls and dates and all that other typical crap.

I f*cked. I drank. I stole. I fought. I did drugs. I was awful.

A nightmare.

Yet for whatever reason, this perfect, demure, sexy-as-hell woman wants me.

Me.

Your doorman is like a guard dog, I type and then hit SEND.

I pay a lot of money for the added security. And he’s very protective of me.

I can see why.

Damn it, I shouldn’t have said that. Now she’ll think I actually … care about her or something. I need to switch gears quick.

I hope you’re ready for me.

Ready for what?

My hard cock.

OMG, you’re bad.

She has no idea.

You like it.

Smiling, I glance up to see that the elevator has stopped, the P button lit. She lives on the top floor, the penthouse level.

Swank.

I exit the elevator and find myself in a short hallway with only one door. I knock on it and wait, my head tilted forward so I can hear her approach. She takes awhile, making me wait, making me yearn, and I can’t help but wonder which one of us is getting played here.

Her?

Or me?

The door opens just a sliver and she peeks her head out, a gentle smile curving her naturally pink lips. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, her face is bare, and she’s never looked prettier. “Hi,” she says shyly.

“Hi.” I take a step closer, her floral fragrance hitting me, making me inhale sharply. Damn, she smells good. “You going to let me in?”

“Are you ready?”

I cock a brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Her smile grows. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Really?” The anticipation is killing me. This girl knows how to work it. “Why don’t you let me in and show it to me.”

“I can show it to you now. If you’d like,” she adds, her expression coy. There are so many facets to this woman and I feel like I’ve only just scratched the surface.

I’m dying to go deeper, in more ways than one.

“Show me,” I demand, my voice gruff, my patience thin.

Slowly she opens the door, revealing that she’s …

Completely naked.

“I took a shower,” she explains, her hand still gripping the door handle. Her voice is slightly shaky, revealing her nerves, but her body … Jesus. She’s all tits and legs and curves and almost bare *, that thin little strip of pubic hair leading straight to paradise. My skin tightens, my cock grows heavy, and all I can think about is f*cking her. Now. “And I figured it would be a waste of time if I got dressed.”

“You got that right,” I practically growl as I shove my way into her apartment, slamming the door behind me. I grab hold of her waist and turn, taking her with me so I can press her against the door. “Wrap your legs around me,” I command, and she does it without hesitation, those long, sexy legs going around my waist at the same time she drapes her arms around my neck. I can feel the scorching heat of her * against the front of my jeans and I push my hips forward, indicating just how hard I am for her.