He releases me slowly, fingers trailing across my side. The loss of his touch makes me ache.
My whole body feels electric, alive in a way that terrifies me. I smooth down my clothes and try to steady my breathing as I cross to the door.
When I open it, a hotel attendant stands in the hallway with a luggage cart holding our bags.
“Your bags, miss.”
“Thank you.” I step aside to let him wheel it in.
Darius stands by the window now, hands in his pockets, looking out at the beach. He doesn’t turn around.
The attendant leaves, and silence fills the room.
“I’m going to shower,” I say.
“Alright.”
I grab my suitcase and flee to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I lean back against it, closing my eyes.
What am I doing?
Every time I’m near him, I lose myself. Every time I say it has to stop, I find myself pulled back in. The way he looks at me, touches me, speaks to me when we’re alone—it’s addictive.
I turn on the shower, letting the water heat up while I undress. My skin still tingles where he touched me. Where his lips brushed my neck.
The steam fills the bathroom as I step under the spray. The hot water cascades over me, but it doesn’t wash away the confusion, the desire, or the fear tangled up inside me.
Darius is breaking down every wall I’ve built, and I don’t know how to stop him. I don’t know if I want to stop him.
That’s what scares me most.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe with my hair damp, Darius is lounging on his side of the bed. The towel barrier is still in place.
He glances up at me. “Better?”
“Yes.”
I pad over to my side of the bed and sit on the edge.The soft robe feels comforting against my skin, but it does nothing to ease the tension coiling in my stomach.
Darius stands. “I have to step out for some pack business.”
Relief and disappointment battle inside me. “How long will you be gone?”
“A few hours.” He reaches for his jacket. “If you’re hungry, order room service. Or we can go out for dinner when I get back.”
“Okay.” As he crouches down to pull some files out of his bag, I study him. Suddenly, I find myself asking, “You said you’ve been to Miami before. Why? It’s got so many humans. I can’t see you coming here for a good time.”
He pauses, one hand on a file. There’s a shift in his expression as he glances at me. “Curious about me, Violet?”
My pulse quickens. “No. I was just making conversation. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”
He puts the file down and straightens. As he walks toward me, his pace slow and predatory, nerves flutter in my belly.
“What are you doing?”
He comes to stand before me. My legs are slightly parted, and he wedges himself between them, forcing me to spread them. I feel his hand stroke the top of my head. My face is right at the level of his crotch, and I loathe myself for the way my lower muscles tighten in need. He goes still for a moment, and I can see him discreetly sniff the air. Threading his fingers through my hair, he wrenches my head back, and I gasp. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against mine, and I can do nothing but moan, steadying myself by placing my hands on his thighs.
“You should really learn to be more honest with yourself, Violet,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I can smell how wet you are. How much you want to taste me.”
