I’d watched her body’s responses—the way she’d arched into my touch without hesitation, the way she’d spread her legs wider when I’d commanded it, the way she’d ground herself against me with desperate hunger. She hadn’t frozen. Hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t shown any of the signs I knew to watch for, the tells that indicated someone was enduring rather than enjoying.
She wanted it. She wanted me.
But had she wantedme, or had she just wanted relief from agony?
The distinction mattered. Itreallyfucking mattered.
My gut twisted with guilt that felt like swallowing broken glass. I should have said no. Should have left the room entirely, let her handle it herself despite her pleas for me to stay. That would have been the honorable choice. The safe choice.
But she would have suffered alone. The drug would have tormented her for hours—Jules had said as much—and I would have abandoned her to that torment rather than risk crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.
Which is worse? Helping her while she is compromised, or leaving her to suffer?
I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t even sure there was a right answer.
What did I know? I’d denied myself any personal, physical pleasure. Kept my hands away from her cunt despite desperately wanting to feel her slick heat, to slide my fingers inside her and curve them exactly how Iknew would make her scream. Kept my cock trapped in my sweats even when every ravenous animalistic instinct had screamed to bury myself inside her and fuck her until neither of us could remember our own names.
I’d only touched where she’d explicitly given permission—her breasts, her waist, her shoulders. Nothing more. I’d helped her reach orgasm so she could rest. That was all. Nothing more.
Keep telling yourself that.
The thought came bitter and mocking, because I knew the truth buried beneath my rationalizations. Yes, I’d wanted to help her. But I’d also wanted to brand myself into her memory so thoroughly she’d never look at another man the same way.
Possessive. Protective. Both truths coexisting in the same breath.
So much for keeping boundaries. I’d told Levi nothing like this would happen. Promised him I’d keep her safe, keep my distance, treat her like a ward and nothing more.
Fuck Levi.
I hadn’t been lying when I’d made that promise. I’d genuinely believed I could watch over her without wanting her. At the time, I honestly didn’t think of Violet as anything other than a spoiled pain in the ass princess.
Which she is,I reminded myself.
But. . . she’d come to be so much more than that, and I wasn’t about to flog myself over circumstances I couldn’t have predicted. Besides, Levi was an asshole who’d spent years treating me like a villain. He could handle a little disappointment.
The guilt over consent, though? That lingered like smoke.
I needed to move. Needed to do something other than spiral through the same thoughts on an endless loop.
Violet’s breathing remained deep and even, her body relaxed in genuine sleep. She was safe. I could leave her for a few minutes.
I slipped out of bed with practiced silence, my feet finding the wood floor without a sound. My body protested—muscles stiff from holding still for hours, my cock still painfully hard and straining against my sweats, the waistband digging into sensitive flesh. The bathroom marble was cool against my bare feet as I started the shower, twisting the knobto its coldest setting. I stripped off my sweats, still damp with her sweat and mine.
Cold water hit my back, and I gritted my teeth against the shock of it. Ice straight from some glacial stream, stealing my breath and prickling my skin with a thousand tiny needles.
My cock remained stubbornly hard, jutting forward despite the temperature that should have killed any arousal. I stared down at it, half-tempted to take myself in hand and find relief in a few quick strokes.
But the thought of Violet walking in to find me with my hand wrapped around my cock – stroking myself furiously while I was meant to be watching over her – stopped me. Heat rushed through me then. Despite the cold water, embarrassment and arousal twisted together in a way that tightened my balls.
No. I knew I should not leave her alone for longer than necessary. I couldn’t risk her waking to find me gone, potentially panicking, hurting, or needing help that I wasn’t there to provide.
And frankly, I’d survived unimaginably far worse pain than blue balls. The Wastelands had taught me to endure broken bones, infected wounds, and hunger that turned your stomach into a gnawing maw of agony. Aching balls were nothing. Barely registered on the scale of suffering I’d weathered.
I scrubbed quickly with pine-scented soap, the smell sharp and earthy. The water sluiced down my body, over muscles still tense with unresolved want, circling the drain in a miniature whirlpool.
I shut off the water, dried with efficiency rather than care, and pulled on fresh sweats and a clean white shirt. My cock protested being confined again, but I ignored it.Discipline. Control.I’d built a life on both.
When I slipped back into the bedroom, Violet hadn’t moved. Still curled on her side, still breathing deep and steady, still heartbreakingly beautiful in the dim light.
