I was swollen and wet, my body responding to the drug with a ferocity I’d never experienced. My fingers circled my clit as images rose unbidden: Rowan’s face buried between my legs, his steel eyes watching me as he devoured me.
It’s just the drug, I told myself even as a moan slipped free.Totally normal to imagine your childhood friend tongue-fucking you.
My arousal coated my fingers and dripped onto the pristine white sheets beneath me. I should have been embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop. My heart beat faster than it ever had, a frantic rhythm that bordered on painful.
Just imagine whatever you need to get off and move on.
But my brain was unrelenting. In my head, Rowan’s eyes watched me as I touched myself. I imagined the slow curve of his smile as he made me beg. I spread my legs wider—both in fantasy and reality—desperate for his touch. For him to slide his fingers inside me and curve them exactly the way that would bring me to orgasm.
My body’s heat built again, and within minutes I was sweat-soaked, biting the sheet to muffle the moans threatening to escape.He’s right outside the door.
I used my other hand to slide fingers inside myself, moving them in a frenzy.Can he hear me? Does he know what I’m doing?
Of course he does.
The thought brought another wave of pleasure that left me shaking, but it wasn’t enough for release. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, but something was stopping me from falling over. I needed more. So much more.
And I was afraid to admit I knew exactly what thatmorewas.
The sheets against my skin began to hurt, fabric abrading hypersensitive flesh. My stomach twisted in painful knots, the orgasm hovering just out of reach but unable to break.
“Goddammit. . .” I let out a pained moan, unable to hold it in anymore.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t come, but I had a sinking feeling Rowan might. I sat up and ripped the sheet from my body, frustrated beyond reason. The nightstand held a glass of water and my phone. I reached for the water, but in my attempt, I lost my balance and tumbled to the floor.
I cried out in frustration as the door burst open. Rowan filled the doorway, his eyes wild with concern. “Violet, are you okay?”
My heart sank because I knew—instinctively, bone-deep—that I wanted him. Needed him. And if I voiced it, he would feel obligated. Duty-bound.
That was something I would never do to someone. To have the freedom to choose who you shared your body with ripped away, to be forced into something you didn’t truly want? I knew that horror intimately.
Tears pricked my eyes as he crouched beside me and helped me up, his hands gentle but firm. “I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m fine. I just fell.”
He was quiet, but I watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled deeply. The room reeked of my arousal—musky and obvious and mortifying.
“Rowan, I am so sorry.” My voice sounded hoarse even to my own ears.
I needed relief, but not at the cost of his agency. Not at the cost of his choice.
“Shh, it is fine, Violet. Let us get you back to bed.” He stopped then and stared at the mattress.
Dead center, there was a large wet spot where I’d been lying—clear evidence of exactly what I’d been doing. Shame burned through me, hot and acidic.
“Rowan, I—"
“I will grab you a towel.” He moved to the bathroom, and my fear slithered through my chest, coiling tight. I was suddenly self-conscious about how my body must look to him—desperate, wanton, out of control.
“Rowan,” I called after him, but he’d already returned.
He didn’t comment on the wet spot. Simply laid the towel over it, then turned to me. “Here. Lie down.”
I hugged myself and complied, curling into a ball on my side. He pulled another smaller towel from where he’d tucked it behind his back and began wiping the sweat from my body with careful, methodical strokes.
I began to quiver again. “It’s b-better if you don’t touch—"
The cloth brushed my nipple, and I let out a strangled cry, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain shooting straight to my core.
Rowan jerked back like he’d been burned. “Fuck, Violet. Are you okay?”
