I stood there, forehead pressed against my forearm, breathing hard as the climax faded. My cock gave one last weak pulse, still half-hard even after release.
Why Violet? And why now? She was such an infuriating, insolent, bratty princess whom I grew up with for years. Foul mouthed, quick tempered. . . and I wouldn’t want her any other way.
No. I needed to stay away unless her life was in danger. I would stay hidden. Let her live her college life, fuck whoever she wanted, earn her grades. I would make sure nothing supernatural touched her and that was it—nothing else.
I turned off the shower and dried off. Teeth brushed, I turned off all the lights and set my alarms. Tomorrow was an early day. I slid into the crisp white sheets of my bed and tried not to think about her.
Then another image surfaced: Violet naked, legs spread. My cock stirred.
I sighed and cupped my balls. “Fuck. It is going to be a long night.”
To say I was happy to be right is an understatement. I didn’t necessarily want to be right, but I sure as hell enjoyed it when I was. So when she called the next morning, sounding reluctant as hell, I couldn’t help feeling smug.
“Rowan, I need your help.” Her voice was surprisingly demure. I would have killed to read her mind right then and see her face.
“Oh, sonowyou have need of me?” I had been up for hours. Having just finished a run in a vain attempt to escape the guilt of jerking off to her two more times, I’d been working on a new set of ties for suspension when Violet called.
My mannequin—whom I’d named Marie Antoinette—was twisted in a position no human could hold for long. She was the perfect partner for the Shinju suspension I wanted to master.
“Rowan!” She hissed. “Listen, the school has implemented a curfew.”
That got my attention. The cerulean rope stilled in my hands. “A curfew? What for?”
There was silence on the line for a moment before she said, “That’s not important right now. I need to dance at Oubliette on Friday, and that is obviously going to have to be after curfew.” She exhaled a heavy breath. “You, uh. . . you mentioned an apartment?”
More silence as her implied question hung between us.
“You want to stay with me?” I drawled the words out, savoring them. My cock stirred at the thought. What the fuck was I doing? This was the exact opposite of staying away from her.
“Please? If it’s not too much trouble?”
I laughed. “Trouble? No trouble at all. . . but this place is only a one-bedroom bachelor pad filled from floor to ceiling with BDSM toys and porn—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she nearly shouted. “Just say no, Rowan.” The line went dead.
The entire situation was almosttoogood. I waited a few minutes, then called her back. She answered on the first ring, broadcasting her desperation much to my delight. “What is it?”
“Oh, I thought you had wanted my help, but then the line disconnected. I did not get to hear you beg.”
She swore a string of expletives. I could picture her: one hand beating her mattress, the other gripping her phone while she snarled.
Her asking for help meant she had to trust me. Meant surrendering some of that fierce independence. My cock pressed against my slacks. The thought of her shame, hot and bitter, made me even harder.
Once her cursing had subsided she said, “I cannot believe I picked up the phone for you.”
“I am waiting.”
Her words were clipped, her voice terse, as she asked, “Can I stay over at your place on the nights I work?”
“Hmm, I do not think I like that tone. Try again.”
Silence. Then she humbly asked, “Please, Rowan. I will be a good girl if you let me stay over Friday night.”
I scoffed.Good girl? Highly doubtful. But the way she’d asked drew my balls tight and flooded my mind with images: Violet on her hands and knees in my apartment listening to my instructions. Following them. Learning what happened when she didn’t.
I cleared my throat. “I do have a few rules—"
Her demeanor changed instantly. “Great. Thanks for accepting. I will text you when I finish with class!” The line went dead again.
