Owning Violet (The Fowler Sisters #1)(78)

I’m starting to realize that with us, the line is hard to discern.

I lick her * from front to back and everywhere in between. She moves with me, her hips grinding, back and forth against my face as I tongue her, my hands memorizing the smooth skin of her belly and hips and waist. I search her folds with my tongue, teasing her clit, and she reaches out, adjusts my head so I can lick her exactly where she wants it.

Dirty f*cking girl. The contradiction of Violet Fowler turns me on like no other woman I’ve ever been with.

Fucking her deep with my fingers, I suck her clit, lash it with my tongue, gripping her hips tight so she can’t move, and I press her * directly on my face. Until she’s crying out, writhing and coming all over me, her entire body trembling with the force of her orgasm. My name falls from her lips, her fingers wrapped so tight around the railing headboard I’m afraid she’ll put a dent in the damn metal.

“I-I can’t take it anymore,” she says breathlessly after she climbs off of my face, collapsing in a limp heap beside me. “My entire body aches.”

“Mmm, come here.” I roll on my side and pull her to me, her back to my front, my arm banded across her stomach, her ass nestled against my semi-hard cock. “Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to,” she protests, but she sounds sleepy and her voice softens. “I don’t want this night to end.”

I press my face against her hair and close my eyes, inhaling her scent mingled with mine, along with the heady smell of sex. I’ve done everything I can to destroy her and she wants more. More of me.

I can’t believe it.

I don’t deserve her.

But she’s mine. And no one can take her away from me.

No one.

Chapter Twenty-three

Violet

My life can be defined by certain moments where every thing changed. I was almost five when my mother committed suicide and my world tipped on its side, never to be righted again. I became more responsible and took care of Rose like she was my baby, not my baby sister. And Lily took care of me.

I was fourteen the first time Lily’s face—and naked body covered with black bars across the more intimate parts of her anatomy—appeared on a popular gossip website. That was the jump start to her trying to destroy her life in any way possible. Not only destroy her life, but her relationship with our father, trashing the family name, the family business … all of it.

I became the responsible sister. Even more so.

I was nineteen when a man I’d trusted since I was a girl assaulted and tried to rape me. My testimony put him in prison for what I thought would be a long time. That moment became my family’s secret shame and in turn, it became my burden to bear. Father couldn’t handle any more scandal and though he was thankful and proud I’d fought off my assailant, he didn’t want to talk about it.

The incident was swept under the rug. Forgotten by everyone.

Except me.

Every single one of those moments redirected my life, sent it zagging left when it had been zigging right. I went with the zag, changing my direction, adapting to a new plan and always, always pushing forward the best I could.

Sometimes I failed. I backpedaled here and there, but it couldn’t be helped. After my testimony during the trial, I fell completely apart. I believed Alan had broken me. He was locked up in a jail cell and I let him haunt me for far too long. I needed to seek outside help in order to realize it wasn’t my fault. That the only one who really broke me was …

Me.

And when Zachary and I started dating, I finally believed I knew exactly what was going to happen. I had my life planned. I was in control. Marriage. Babies. The two of us together, running Fleur Cosmetics. That would be my future and I was ready for it.

Then Ryder came into my life and … rocked it. I broke up with Zachary. I fell into the arms of another man so quickly he helped erase the memory of Zachary altogether. Ryder keeps me off balance. He scares me. Thrills me. Irritates me. Arouses me. And after last night?

I don’t even know who I am anymore. All I know is that I crave him. I want him. I’m sitting in my office on a Monday morning, the ache between my legs, the bruises on my ass almost unbearable. My entire body is sore and when he left my apartment early this morning, just before dawn after he f*cked me yet again, he smiled and kissed me and said four words that seared themselves into my brain.

Don’t forget you’re mine.

As if I could. If my brain didn’t remind me, my body certainly did. I have never felt so deliciously brutalized after sex before.

I’m supposed to stop by and talk to Father at nine and I’m hiding out in my office until then, scrolling through emails and answering them, adding upcoming items to my calendar. Mindless, tedious work that I hoped would keep my haunting thoughts at bay, but it’s no use.

I need to reach out to Ryder.

Opening up a new email, I start composing.

Dearest R –

It’s probably best if you destroy this email after you read it. I wanted to let you know that you’re in my thoughts. Every time I move, I feel you. What you did to me last night was unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I can’t shake the words you said to me, the way you looked at me, how you touched me.

It was scary.

It was wonderful.

I want more.

You told me this morning not to forget that I’m yours and I won’t.