I sit there in the sudden silence, every part of me that he touched feeling like it’s on fire. My thigh tingles where his hand rested. My jaw aches from his gentle grasp.
And between my legs…God, I’m wet. Embarrassingly wet. My body is still humming, still aching, still wanting something I can’t bear to label.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I try not to think about how his weight felt pressing me into the mattress. How his scent made me want to arch up into him. How for one breathless moment, when his face was inches from mine, I wanted him to close that distance.
I hate myself for wanting it.
Time passes in a blur. I don’t know how long I sit here, wrapped in this robe, staring at nothing.
Eventually, I stand and move to turn off the light.
My hand is on the switch when I remember I need to lock the door. Can’t risk anyone else walking in uninvited.
But first, for some reason, I pull it open. And I freeze.
A container sits on the floor just outside my door. Clear plastic with a slice of cake inside. The kind with layers of dark chocolate and cream, the expensive kind that Alaric’s chef makes for special occasions.
I stare at it.
My throat tightens as I crouch down and pick it up. The container is still slightly warm, like the slice was just cut. Like someone went downstairs to the kitchen specifically to get this for me.
For one weak moment, I want to eat it. To accept this small kindness and pretend it means something.
Then, reality crashes back.
This doesn’t mean anything. Darius is just playing some game I don’t understand. Easing his conscience, maybe.
I set it back down. I won’t eat it. Won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking a slice of cake makes upfor anything.
I close the door. Lock it. Turn off the light. Crawl into bed and pull the covers up to my chin. But sleep doesn’t come.
I lie there in the darkness, my body still humming with awareness, still aching, still burning with the memory of his hands on my skin.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to ease the ache there.
It doesn’t help.
Chapter Six
Darius
I don’t knock softly.
My fist slams against the heavy, oak door of my father’s study hard enough that the sound echoes down the hallway. I don’t wait for permission. Don’t give him time to tell me to come back later.
I shove the door open.
My father looks up from the file he’s reviewing, his expression shifting from concentration to surprise. “Darius. What—”
“How long are you planning to turn a blind eye to Lillian abusing Violet?” The words come out harsh. Venomous. I don’t bother tempering them.
Alaric goes still. His hand freezes on the papers he was reading. For a moment, the only sound is the ticking of the antique clock on his desk.
Then, he sets the file down carefully. “Close the door.”
“No.”
His eyes flash. “I said, close the door.”
