Owning Violet

by Monica Murphy

  He lifts a brow. “Really?”

  Why does he sound surprised? And why does that irritate me? “They’re very colorful and sophisticated and … sexy.”

  “That’s the idea we were hoping to go with. Not just for packaging, but with advertising as well. I know that’s not our portion of the campaign,” he says quickly, cutting me off before I can correct him. “But it all comes together, you know? It needs to fit cohesively. And I keep thinking about what Rose said in our first meeting. Glossy perfection.”

  I press my lips together, remembering that Rose had been referring to my lips. “I like those words.”

  “I do too.” His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers there. “Glossy, vivid, colorful perfection. Those are the words we tossed around a few days ago as we cultivated these particular images out of the hundreds we’d gathered.”

  “Hundreds?”

  “This project is important to you, right? And to Fleur. We’re taking it very seriously,” he says, his tone full of reassurance. “We want your new line to have the right message, to capture the right audience. Don’t you agree?”

  “Of course I agree. And I like the direction you’re taking. I can see me taking these images to marketing.” I flip open the file again and thumb through each photo, my gaze snagging again on the final image. The way the man’s hand grips the woman’s backside so tightly, his fingers are making indents through the fabric of her skirt. And the fabric is gathered between his fingers, exposing her thigh.

  My heartbeat slows and a throb starts low in my body, vibrating just beneath my skin. He’s exposing her. Possessing her but willing to put her on display, and there’s something so inherently sexy in the image, I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like. To have a man touch me like that.

  To have the man I’m sitting across from touch me like that.

  “I’m glad you like it.” At his low spoken words I jerk my gaze up to his. “Perhaps we should leave?”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard, trying my best to ignore the disappointment that rings through me. This was a business dinner, you ninny. Of course he doesn’t want to continue this further. It doesn’t matter that he told you to use him. He was just testing you. And you fell for it. “All right.”

  I say nothing else. Just grab my purse and follow Ryder out of the room, into the mostly empty restaurant. His long-legged stride takes him far ahead of me and I admire his walk, the broad expanse of his shoulders and back, the way he carries himself. I can’t help but compare him to Zachary, who was always moving briskly, ever eager to get to the next thing.

  Ryder moves with such an easy grace, it’s almost … lazy. As if he has all the time in the world, yet he still moves just as fast, just like Zachary. There’s an urgency beneath Zachary that’s almost frantic at times. Ryder isn’t like that at all. There’s nothing frantic about the man.

  Well, there is the frantic sensation he gives me every time he’s near …

  He waits for me by the double doors as I approach him, sucking in a sharp breath when he touches my lower back and guides me outside. The car is waiting for us, as if he snapped his fingers and it magically appeared, and he opens the door for me, giving me a gentle push to help me slide inside. I do as he silently bids, my imagination running wild as I watch him enter the car behind me.

  What would it be like to be possessed by him? Was he serious in his offer to let me … use him? That entire conversation on the drive over had been strange. Stranger still was the normal way we interacted at dinner. He confuses me. Sends mixed messages, when he would be the last person I’d think would do something like that.

  The car pulls away from the curb and into slow-moving traffic. Ryder says nothing and neither do I, but I’m achingly aware of his nearness. I study his hands, which are braced on his knees. The wide sprawl of his long fingers, the way he flexes them every few seconds, then grips his knees once more. He seems tense. I can practically feel the emotion roll off his body. I don’t know what to say, what to do, how to act …

  “Violet.” His quiet murmur of my name allows me to look at him straight in the eyes and see his solemn expression. “I want to apologize.”

  I frown. “For what?”

  “For making you uncomfortable. For offering myself up to be—used by you.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Ridiculous, right? And extremely unprofessional of me. I should’ve never said those things to you.”

  For whatever reason, I can’t form words. And there’s a huge lump in my throat, making it impossible to swallow.

  “Our relationship depends on this project. I can’t go fucking it up by propositioning you,” he continues, tossing out the profanity like it’s no big deal. I’m just … not used to it. Zachary watched what he said around me. Father isn’t one to curse. Lily can trash talk with the best of them, but she rarely does it around me. “And I probably shouldn’t have used that particular word, right?”

  Still I say nothing. I can’t. It’s as if my tongue is stuck. My thoughts. My words. My … oh God, my everything is just stalled. I recognize what I’m feeling and though I want to deny it, I need to deny it, I can’t.

  I’m disappointed. Disappointed that he’s being a gentleman. Disappointed that he doesn’t want me to use him. What’s wrong with me? Why should I be disappointed? I should be glad he took back the offer. Thankful he’s trying to be a decent man.

  Instead I feel let down that I’ve somehow lost the chance to be possessed by this man. Owned by him …

  “I hope you understand that I got caught up in my—dislike for your ex,” Ryder continues, oblivious to my tumultuous thoughts. “In my blind need for seeking revenge against him, I offered myself up to you in the process, and that’s just not … right.”

  I clear my throat. Avert my head so I’m staring out the window and not looking at Ryder. I don’t think I can face him at this moment. I don’t want to. I’m afraid I’ll do something insane like beg him to touch me. And I can’t do that. Not after he just took back his earlier intriguing offer.

  “Violet?” He touches me, his fingers settling on my arm, pressing into my flesh for the briefest moment before he lets go. “Did you hear what I said?”

  I nod but don’t dare face him. Not yet. “I did.”

  “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  Leaning my forehead against the cold glass of the window, I close my eyes. “No.” The disappointment that tinges my voice is obvious even to my ears. “Maybe … maybe I wanted to take you up on your offer.”

  The silence that follows my words is deafening. I feel him next to me, can hear him shift in his seat, exhale a low breath, thread his fingers through his hair. I can also watch him in the reflection of the window and I see him do all of those things. The struggle he’s having with himself. What to say, what to do, how to react. Does he ever feel uncomfortable? It’s a normal occurrence for me, but is it for him?

  “You don’t mean it,” he finally says.

  I face him once more. He looks conflicted. But there’s no disguising his hungry gaze and how it roams all over me, from my head to my legs and everywhere in between. A surge of power rushes through me and I lean toward him, the cool air nipping at my skin, making my nipples harden beneath the thin, sheer material of my bra. “I know what I want.” My voice is surprisingly firm and it echoes in the interior of the car. I’m thankful for the glass partition separating us and the driver. No way would I have said this with an audience.

  Ryder studies my chest—most likely my hard nipples—as he speaks. “So what is it?”

  The moment of truth. I can either be a coward and say nothing or be brave and tell him. “I want … to do something with no worries or repercussions.”

  His gaze lifts to meet mine but he remains silent.

  I lick my lips, forcing the nerves clawing within me to settle. “I want to know what it’s like to be selfish.”

  He lifts a brow. “I’m an expert at that.”

  His confession makes me laugh and he sm
iles in return. “Then maybe you could teach me.”

  “Teach you how to be selfish?”

  I lean into him, rest my hand on his shoulder and place my lips at his ear. I’m shaking, I’m so nervous, but I have to do this. I want to do this. Perhaps the wine at dinner is assisting me, but I need this. “Teach me how to give myself up to the pleasure and worry about everything else later,” I murmur close to his ear.

  Ryder turns to look at me, his mouth so close to mine I can practically taste him. I stare into his eyes, see the blue shot with little flecks of gold, the thick black fringe of eyelashes, the faint scar along the bridge of his nose. I want to ask him how he got it. I want to tell him every woman in America would kill to have eyelashes as thick as his.

  But I say nothing. Those thoughts are meaningless anyway.

  “You want me to teach you how to be selfish when it comes to … sex?” He tilts his head, his mouth coming dangerously close to mine, and I fight the urge to press my lips against his. The anticipation is agonizing.

  A delicious kind of agony, but agonizing nevertheless.

  “Yes,” I whisper, hating the way my voice trembles. Hating how badly I want him to kiss me. Have I ever felt like this with another man? Zachary and I had such … clean sex. Not messy, not loud and sweaty and passionate. I would find my satisfaction—mostly—and he would always find his, but it was never overwhelming, all-consuming.

  Ryder hasn’t even kissed me yet and I’m feeling all of those things.

  “Half the thrill is in waiting,” he whispers in return, his lips moving against mine with those last two words before he moves away from me, settling back in his seat.

  I drop my hand from where I gripped his shoulder, mourning the loss of his nearness. “I don’t believe you. You don’t seem like the sort of man who likes waiting.”

  “Depends on the woman,” he says. And then he’s touching me, his hand is cupping my cheek, his face is in mine, his body blocking out all available light until he’s everything I see and feel and touch. “And you are definitely worth waiting for.”

  I part my lips to protest, to tell him I don’t want him to wait, but then his mouth is on mine, silencing me. Taking from me … everything I have to give.

  The kiss isn’t gentle. It isn’t a sweet exploration or a tentative question. His kiss takes. Takes and takes, and I do nothing but give willingly. His tongue thrusts into my mouth and I whimper. His fingers tighten in my hair, destroying my ponytail, and I reach for him, curling my arm around his neck, plunging my hand into the soft hair at the back of his head. His scent, his heat wraps all around me, consumes me, lights me up and sets me on fire.

  All in the space of approximately two minutes.

  Not that I’m counting the seconds, but my God. The rustle of clothing, the frantic breaths, the thrust of tongues and the whimper that escapes me when he breaks the kiss first …

  I’ve never experienced anything like this.

  I’m clutching his tie like a lifeline and he glances down with an amused expression, reaching up to slowly disengage my fingers from the fine red silk. “Sorry,” I whisper, my cheeks going hot. He must think I’m a little fool while he’s the experienced, take-charge man.

  But he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t chastise me for crushing his tie. He slips his strong fingers beneath my chin and tilts my face up so I have no choice but to look him in the eye.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, the aroused glow in his gaze making me weak. “I like that you were overcome so quickly.”

  I lower my gaze and he pushes beneath my chin, forcing me to look at him again. “Don’t be shy, either,” he says, his voice a soft but firm command. “Not with me, Violet. Not if we’re really going to do this.”

  “And what are we doing?” I almost wish I hadn’t asked, but I need to know what his definition of “this” is between us before we take it any further.

  “Getting to know each other?”

  I slowly shake my head. “That’s not enough,” I whisper. Well. Really, he’s not saying enough. There’s a difference.

  Not really.

  “A friendship with benefits?”

  “I’m not even looking for that,” I tell him honestly.

  “Now who’s being the forthright one?” He strokes my chin with his thumb, a soft sweep across my skin that sends a flurry of tingles all over me. “A quick fuck?”

  The throb between my legs at his words surprises me and I release a shuddering breath. “A little more?”

  His chuckle is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. “Many quick fucks. Is that what you’re looking for, Violet? For us to become lovers?”

  “Do we need to define it?”

  “Everyone needs a set of guidelines,” he muses. “Even the rule breakers.”

  “I’ve never really been a rule breaker before,” I admit.

  “I know.” He leans in and drops a firm, breath-stealing kiss to my lips. “So let me teach you how to play.”

  His choice of words, the gravelly sound of his voice, all of it hints at something wicked. Forbidden. Secret. When have I ever indulged in something like that?

  Never. And that scares me. Tempts me. Makes me want to forget all reason and righteousness and just … do it.

  “We can’t tell anyone.” The words rush out of me so fast his hand drops from my chin and he moves away from me. I’m afraid I offended him. “I mean … this is our secret, right? It’s just a temporary thing. No one else needs to know about it.”

  “Of course.” He nods, running his hand over his hair, then across his front, over his crumpled tie. Remorse hits me at how I destroyed it. I had no idea my grip could be so strong.

  Ryder McKay is making me realize a lot of things I never knew about myself.

  We don’t say anything the rest of the ride back to my building. There’s just this tense silence that fills me with unease and arousal all at once. I shift in my seat and cross my legs, trying my best to stop the ache between my thighs as I resume my study of the city passing by. I have no idea what just happened. No idea what to think of it. I press my lips together and taste him, relive the precise moment of when he first put his mouth on mine. That startling, first electric contact. The feel of his fingers in my hair, gripping and pulling, his tongue sliding against mine …

  “Tomorrow. We’ll meet?”

  I realize the car has stopped and I see my building through the window, the familiar doorman standing out front, his arms crossed behind his back as he waits. He doesn’t know I’m in the car or he’d rush forward and open the door for me.

  “When?” I ask quietly. “What time?”

  “For lunch. At noon. My office?”

  “Your office?” I finally turn to look at him. “There’s not a restaurant you prefer?”

  “A secret, remember? And my office has solid walls.” He smiles, reaching out and drawing his finger across my lower lip. “Wear something sexy.”

  “To work?” I’m shocked by his request.

  And aroused.

  “Beneath the clothes, Violet. Wear your armor.” He smiles. “And then wear a little something that will slay me underneath it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ryder

  I haven’t felt such anticipation for something like this in a long time, if ever. I couldn’t sleep for shit. I’d gone straight home and jacked off in the shower to thoughts of Violet. Asking me to give her pleasure in that achingly sweet voice. The taste of her lips, the scent of her, the sensation of her tongue against mine …

  I’d come all over my hand in seconds.

  This morning I had an early meeting and fucked off mentally during the entire thing. Waste of my time and everyone else’s. The conference call I had at nine thirty? I can’t even remember what was said. Now I sit holed up in my office until noon, avoiding everyone I can for fear I’ll say something stupid or worse, go up to Violet’s floor and stare at her through the window of her office, my hands pressed against the glass. Hell, with the way I’m feeli
ng, I’d probably press my fucking drooling face against the glass, too.

  Then she’d just consider me a stalker and file a restraining order against me. Or worse, have me fired.

  A package arrived for me at approximately ten thirty, someone from reception delivering it with a cheery smile and flirtatious wink as she handed it over. I scowled at her and set it on my desk, staring at the long, narrow plain brown box, curiosity filling me. There’s no return address, no business listed, just my name scrawled across the back of a small, cream-colored envelope that’s taped to the center of the box.

  Carefully I pry the envelope from the box and turn it over, pulling the tiny card out of it. It’s covered in the most beautiful handwriting I’ve ever seen and I stare at it for a moment, recognizing that writing before I even see who signed it.

  To replace the one I ruined last evening.

  Yours,

  V

  My lips curl into a tiny smile, and I pop the lid off the box and push the layers of tissue away to find a gorgeous red tie nestled within. I run my fingers over the fabric, impressed with the quality but not surprised.

  Violet Fowler never does anything half-assed or cheap. That includes asking someone to indulge in a secret affair.

  I pull the tie out of the box and admire it, the subtle pattern that runs through the fabric, the brutally red color. It’s the shade of victory, of blood, of death and triumph and sex and lust.

  I’m feeling all of those things. I can imagine taking this tie and wrapping it around Violet’s wrists, binding them tight. So she can’t touch me, can’t do anything but let me pleasure her.

  My cock comes to full attention at the image.

  Should I wait to thank her properly when she finally makes her way to my office in less than two hours? Or should I thank her now?

  Reaching for the phone, I dial her extension and wait for her to answer, my fingers never straying from the tie.

  “Good morning, this is Violet.”

  She sounds cheerful but brisk and efficient. A contradiction as usual. “Good morning,” I say in reply, not bothering to identify myself.