“That was interesting,” Slayton remarked.
Violet glanced at the future king and queen, and mumbled, “That’s one way to put it.”
* * *
Roman milled around Violet’s cottage, searching for evidence indicating Titus had been there after their date.
The only men’s items were the clothes with names pinned to them piled high in a basket by the door. Roman’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. Her success made him proud. She did excellent work and everyone loved her. He frowned and thought back to Titus. Perhaps they loved her a little too much.
Satisfied Titus had not been there, he wandered back to Violet’s room. As was his ritual, Roman stood at the side of her bed, checked her breathing, and planted himself in a cushioned wing-backed chair in the corner, a new addition to her room as of late.
Roman had his night routine down to an art. He’d go to bed early in his rooms, have the same nightmare, wake up around three in the morning, and slip into Violet’s cottage to check on her.
And watch her sleep.
There had been times when Violet stayed up all night, sitting in her bed as if waiting for something or someone. Those nights he stayed poised to attack. He didn’t know what he’d do if another man showed up, but he knew they’d never make it to the bed alive.
Roman flushed hot with anger. It was selfish to keep Violet from finding happiness with another man, and he’d told himself on the way over here that until he could be the one to make her happy, he’d force himself to be okay with herdating, but there would be no fucking.
Roman would kill someone before he’d allow them to touch what was his. Because shewashis, and he was hers. He’d never touched another woman, and he never would.
14
TWENTY-ONE YEARS OLD
Roman sat on the row behind Violet in the gallery at the pleasure house, watching her observe the couple on stage. She used to sit toward the back, but over the years had moved close enough to hear the wet sounds of the man’s tongue as he ravaged the writhing woman whose thighs wrapped around his head.
Normally, Roman drew the line at invading Violet’s intimate moments, but here, he didn’t have to deprive himself. There were people everywhere, watching, playing, performing, and Violet sat out in the open, enjoying every minute.
The first time she’d seen him there, her eyes had widened, and to his surprise and pleasure, she hadn’t left. Instead, she’d shot him a cheeky grin and continued to watch the show.
Roman hadn’t sat right behind her at first. He’d stayed in the back and observed her closely. He knew Violet’s tells when she saw something she liked. Her breath would hitch, and she’d squirm in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. It became too much, being that far away from her in that state, and the next time they were there, he’d sat directly behind her, neither saying a word to the other.
The woman on stage had her hands bound to the bedpost, and she yanked against the restraints as the man’s movements against her cunt sped up. He lapped at the woman’s center with fervor, the wet sounds of his tongue reaching into the audience. Violet’s hand fluttered to her neck and drifted down her breasts.
Some patrons rented out private viewing boxes with their partners to fuck while they watched, and Roman had fantasized about taking Violet against the glass more times than he could count.
Her breathing picked up when the woman on stage ground herself against the man’s face with a long, tortured moan. Violet’s hand slid to the top of her thigh and clutched at the material of her dress for dear life. He wanted her to push her skirt aside and let him watch as she finger fucked herself.
A lot of people pleasured themselves as they watched, but not Violet. His girl waited until she got home. Roman wondered if shelikedto edge herself; if she refused to allow herself the release she desperately craved until she got home. He didn’t watch her make herself come. Seeing her come for the first time would be a gift she gave to him freely.
But he listened.
Gods, did he listen.
Hidden just outside of her bedroom door, he’d relish in her moans and wonder if she licked her fingers and rubbed her clit, or if she pushed her delicate fingers into her soaking pussy and fucked herself into a frenzy? Did she gush, or did she drip, waiting for him to lick her clean?
He wanted to feel her wet cunt choke his cock as she cried out for him. The tightness in his pants grew, and he worried he would spill just from the thought.
The woman performer’s screams rose, and Violet shifted restlessly in her seat. It snapped the last of Roman’s restraint. Leaning forward, he hovered his lips over her ear and broke their unspoken rule, murmuring, “Does Titus not eat your pussy well enough, princess? Is that why it’s your favorite part of the show?”
He knew Titus had touched nothing but her mouth. It worked out well for Roman, because as long as Violet stayed with Titus, he didn’t have to worry about killing anyone else for touching her body. For some reason, herboyfriendwouldn’t lay a finger on her. Roman knew because there wasn’t a single second Titus and Violet were in private without him there.
He'd assigned one of his most trusted warriors, Marissa, to tail Violet whenever Roman couldn’t. Marissa didn’t know the truth about his mating or his obsession with Violet; she thought Roman wanted protection on his mate’s defenseless sister.
Not that Violet couldn’t defend herself; Edgar had been teaching Violet self-defense for the last couple of years. Watching her disarm her father had Roman beaming with pride.
Once her shock wore off, Violet turned to him, their faces inches apart, and whispered, “Does Vivian not scream loud enough when you eat hers? Is that why it’syourfavorite part?” A perfect brow ticked up in defiant challenge and he had to physically restrain himself from throwing her over his shoulder and spanking her ass raw. He loved it.
