Owning Violet

by Monica Murphy

  “What about Zachary?” he asks.

  Ugh. He’s the last person I want to talk about after what just happened. “What about him?” I ask, hating how snippy I sound.

  “Just … we need to be careful,” he says as he steps away from me to bend down and grab his suit jacket. He shakes it out, then slips it on, and I watch him, admiring the way his biceps strain against his stark white shirt, the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest. “I don’t need any more run-ins with him.”

  I don’t answer him, embarrassment reminding me that I’m completely naked while Ryder is completely dressed. He hands me my panties and bra and I take them from him, keeping my eyes downcast as I murmur my thanks. Pushing off the table, I slip on my panties and hook my bra on, standing straight to find Ryder holding my dress in his hands, his expression apologetic.

  For whatever reason that look on his face makes me angry, and I snatch my dress from his fingers and turn my back on him, pulling the dress on. I reach behind me, trying to zip it up and not able to do it and I let out a low growl of frustration, wondering why the hell I can’t do it now when I had no problem earlier this morning. God.

  Why am I angry? Why do I want him one minute and loathe him the next? I don’t understand. My emotions are so screwed up, I’m half tempted to cry.

  And also tempted to yell and scream and kick.

  “Let me help,” he says, his big hands settling on my lower back, electrifying me even through the fabric of my dress. I remain still as he tugs the zipper up, his fingers blazing a path of heat as he skims them along my bared skin. “There.” He shoves my hair aside, flipping it over my shoulder, and pulls the zipper all the way to the top. “You’re in.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, keeping my gaze focused on the floor. I hate how awkward I feel, how unsure. What do I say next? What do I do? What does he want from me? I know what I want from him despite my irritation, but does he want the same?

  I turn to face him, see that his lips are parted and he looks like he wants to say something. But my cell rings from where it sits on the conference table, the sound shrill in the stillness of the room and stopping him from speaking. He reaches for my phone and hands it to me, his expression grim.

  Zachary’s name flashes across the screen.

  “Hello.” I answer the phone in front of Ryder because I have nothing to hide. I gave up the very last shred of my humiliation when I just fingered myself in front of him, so who am I to be shy any longer?

  “Have dinner with me,” Zachary says, so loudly I know Ryder can hear him.

  He steps away from me, crossing his thick arms in front of his chest, his expression thunderous. Sexy.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I start, but Zachary cuts me off, his irritation clear.

  “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses, Violet. This is stupid, us pretending we don’t want to be together. I’m in New York for ten more days and then I’m gone. To London.” His voice lowers. “I wanted to spend these last days with you.”

  “You ruined that when you let Pilar suck your dick,” I say vehemently, refusing to feel guilty for our breakup. I wasn’t the one who destroyed us, he was. “Go find one of your whores to spend your last days with,” I retort, angry all over again at the idea of Zachary messing around with other women. How many have there been over the years? Five? Ten? Twenty?

  “Are we still talking about that?” He sounds incredulous.

  “We will always been talking about that. There’s no escaping it, because your other women are a fact. Your wandering eye ruined our relationship.”

  “No, you fucking around with Ryder McKay is what’s ruining our relationship, Violet.” He pauses, as if he needed to gather his thoughts. “You win, okay? You got your revenge on me by being with another man. I get why you wanted to do this. The idea of us being together forever … I’m sure it’s scary. You wanted to make sure you were making the right decision.”

  The gall of this man is unbelievable. “You think I’m just sampling other goods before I go back to you?” Ryder’s dark brows rise at my question.

  “You know we belong together.” His voice is firm. He thinks I won’t argue. He thinks I’ll come back to him and eventually become his docile wife.

  He’s completely delusional.

  I can’t even bother to argue any longer. I simply hang up the phone and set it on the table, right next to my iPad. I need to gather up my things and go back to my office. Put everything away and go home. I can’t take this day any longer.

  It’s like everyone’s trying to break me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ryder

  She fled the conference room after her ridiculous conversation with Lawrence, not revealing much, though I could hear him over the phone. Smug bastard thinks he can snap his fingers and she’ll come running back to him. That she’s just using me as a distraction. In his dreams.

  I suggested she use me, but I never meant for her to go back to that asshole. He’s the worst thing for her.

  I’m no better.

  I remain in my office though it’s past five on a Friday afternoon and everyone’s cleared out. The spring weather makes everyone antsy for the weekend and normally I’m just as eager as the rest of them to get the hell out of here, but not today. All I can think about is Violet.

  Sprawled naked on top of the black marble table, her skin so pale, watching as she skimmed her curves with trembling hands. The sounds of her creamy pussy as she touched herself, the way she arched her back, how overcome I’d been watching her fall apart that I’d taken over. Making her come again with my tongue and mouth in a matter of seconds.

  Christ, I’m hard just remembering it.

  The push and pull between us is ridiculous. I infuriate her and ignite her all at once. She’s not made me angry once. There’s no reason. Frustrated? Yes. She inflames me. Makes me want things I should never, ever consider.

  Like her.

  Deciding to hell with it, I grab my cell and send her a quick text asking if she’s okay, needing to make that contact, hoping she’ll answer me. Is she really all right? Or worse … is she with Lawrence?

  I push my hands through my hair and clutch the back of my head with a growl. Fuck. I can’t stand the thought of that bastard touching her.

  I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.

  I stare at her answer, wanting to laugh. Wanting to ask her why the hell she’s so damn polite all the time. Instead I type out another text, deciding to cut to the chase.

  Are you with your ex?

  God no.

  Her reply is quick and fills me with relief. I expel a breath, realizing I was holding it, and I grimace, shaking my head at myself. I need to get to the sex part. I don’t care about her. Not really. I can’t.

  I’m still thinking of what happened earlier.

  She doesn’t respond for so long I become agitated, doubting myself for sending that text. When the hell do I ever second-guess myself? Grabbing a pen, I tap it against the edge of my desk, the rhythmic sound loud and grating on my nerves. I don’t stop, though. It’s as if I can’t.

  What exactly are you thinking about?

  I drop my pen and pick up the phone with both hands, my thumbs flying over the keys as I answer her.

  You. Naked. Spread out on the table. With your fingers in your pussy as you fuck yourself.

  Smiling, I set the phone down and wait for her to reply. More than curious to see what she’ll say because I’ve just raised the bar in this text exchange.

  Knowing you watched made me hot.

  My smile fades. I’m hot right now. Hell, sweat is forming on my skin.

  Watching you made me fucking hot.

  A minute passes. Then another. The longest two minutes of my life.

  I know.

  She surprises me. I really didn’t think she had it in her. I knew I would have fun playing with Violet, but I didn’t think it would be this much fun.

  I want to watch you
again.

  God, I do. So bad it’s killing me.

  Let’s forget about watching and move on to doing.

  A chuckle escapes me. Fuck this texting crap. I’m calling her direct.

  “You wanted to hear my voice?” she says in answer after picking up on the third ring. Making me wait, smart girl.

  Another laugh escapes me. “You’re feeling rather bold.”

  “I’m tired of being meek.”

  And now I’m intrigued. “How so?”

  “Just … come over. To my place.” She sighs, the sound soft. Wistful. It goes straight to my dick, making me hard. Making me ache. For her. “I need to forget.”

  “Forget what?” Forget your troubles? Forget Lawrence? Forget everything but you and me?

  “Just … today was awful. But you coming over will make it a lot better.” She sounds the slightest bit defeated and I don’t like that. Don’t want to be the cause of her sadness, either.

  “Awful, huh?” I lean back in my chair, picking up the pen again and tapping it against my bent knee. “Even in the conference room?”

  Her voice lowers, soft and sweet. “That was my favorite part of the day.”

  “Mine too.” I lean forward, tossing the pen on my desk so it rolls away and lands on the floor with a plop. “I can make it better.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “Give me your address.”

  “I’ll text it to you.”

  “What time should I come over?”

  “How soon can you get here?”

  No pretense, no bullshit. She wants me. I want her.

  And I’m going to have her.

  “Give me an hour, tops,” I say, then hang up.

  I’m gathering up my stuff, shutting down everything, when my cell dings, announcing the text with her address. I turn out the lights and lean against the door frame, letting her know what I want from her when I get there.

  Wear something sexy.

  Any specific requests?

  Surprise me.

  The security at her building is like Fort Knox, and it’s touch-and-go for a moment while I endure the doorman’s scrutiny. He looks like he wants to frisk me as he puts in a call to Violet, his expression stern, his mouth a thin line as he nods and offers a mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” after everything she says. I wait behind the counter, glancing around the sleek, modern lobby, everything white and chrome and accented with hints of black.

  Sterile and cold. So not Violet’s style.

  “You have permission from Miss Fowler to go up,” the doorman says after he hangs up the phone, glaring at me. I love how he says the word permission. I wonder if he’s a former prison guard. “I need you to fill this out first, though.”

  He shoves a clipboard toward me with a check-in sheet attached to it. I grab the pen he offers and scribble out my name, impatient that I have to go through so many steps to get to Violet. I’m anxious. Dealing with a grumpy doorman won’t spoil my mood, though.

  I’m eager to fuck. It’s been days. A few weeks, even. I’ve jacked off countless times. Received a most excellent blow job from Violet. Got her off a few times, but I still haven’t fucked her. Still haven’t got my cock inside that hot little body.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  The doorman leads me to the elevator, keying in a pass code with his back to me so I can’t see it. Jackass. The doors swoosh open and he inclines his head toward me. “Have a nice evening, Mr. McKay.”

  The moment the doors close I’m texting her. Because it’s fun—do I even know how to have fun? Because I can hardly wait to see her, not that I would ever admit that fact to anyone. I feel like a teenage kid, though not the teenager of my past, since I was a holy terror. I didn’t anxiously await girls and dates and all that other typical crap.

  I fucked. I drank. I stole. I fought. I did drugs. I was awful.

  A nightmare.

  Yet for whatever reason, this perfect, demure, sexy-as-hell woman wants me.

  Me.

  Your doorman is like a guard dog, I type and then hit send.

  I pay a lot of money for the added security. And he’s very protective of me.

  I can see why.

  Damn it, I shouldn’t have said that. Now she’ll think I actually … care about her or something. I need to switch gears quick.

  I hope you’re ready for me.

  Ready for what?

  My hard cock.

  OMG, you’re bad.

  She has no idea.

  You like it.

  Smiling, I glance up to see that the elevator has stopped, the P button lit. She lives on the top floor, the penthouse level.

  Swank.

  I exit the elevator and find myself in a short hallway with only one door. I knock on it and wait, my head tilted forward so I can hear her approach. She takes awhile, making me wait, making me yearn, and I can’t help but wonder which one of us is getting played here.

  Her?

  Or me?

  The door opens just a sliver and she peeks her head out, a gentle smile curving her naturally pink lips. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, her face is bare, and she’s never looked prettier. “Hi,” she says shyly.

  “Hi.” I take a step closer, her floral fragrance hitting me, making me inhale sharply. Damn, she smells good. “You going to let me in?”

  “Are you ready?”

  I cock a brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  Her smile grows. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Really?” The anticipation is killing me. This girl knows how to work it. “Why don’t you let me in and show it to me.”

  “I can show it to you now. If you’d like,” she adds, her expression coy. There are so many facets to this woman and I feel like I’ve only just scratched the surface.

  I’m dying to go deeper, in more ways than one.

  “Show me,” I demand, my voice gruff, my patience thin.

  Slowly she opens the door, revealing that she’s …

  Completely naked.

  “I took a shower,” she explains, her hand still gripping the door handle. Her voice is slightly shaky, revealing her nerves, but her body … Jesus. She’s all tits and legs and curves and almost bare pussy, that thin little strip of pubic hair leading straight to paradise. My skin tightens, my cock grows heavy, and all I can think about is fucking her. Now. “And I figured it would be a waste of time if I got dressed.”

  “You got that right,” I practically growl as I shove my way into her apartment, slamming the door behind me. I grab hold of her waist and turn, taking her with me so I can press her against the door. “Wrap your legs around me,” I command, and she does it without hesitation, those long, sexy legs going around my waist at the same time she drapes her arms around my neck. I can feel the scorching heat of her pussy against the front of my jeans and I push my hips forward, indicating just how hard I am for her.

  “You feel good,” she whispers as I thrust against her again, her eyelids fluttering when I hit her in a particular spot with the seam of my jeans. “You look good, too.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I murmur just before I give her a brief kiss. A torment because all I crave is the taste of her lips, the feel of her tongue. “Tell me you have lots of condoms.”

  “I have an entire box in my bedroom.” She rubs her breasts against my chest and I can feel her hard nipples poke through the thin fabric of my long-sleeved T-shirt. When she presses her face to my neck and kisses me there, I close my eyes. Squeeze her lush ass cheeks in my palms, spreading her wide and making her whimper. “M-maybe I should go grab one now?” she asks shakily.

  “I shouldn’t fuck you for the first time against the door.” She drops one of her hands to my hips, her fingers sliding beneath my T-shirt to touch my stomach. “But I have a condom in my back pocket.”

  “Always prepared.” The devious smile that flashes across her face as she skims her fingers across my abs tells me she’s enjoying thi
s. “And maybe I want you to fuck me against the door.” Jesus. Does she know how much she fascinates me? I’m curious to see how she’ll react when I take off my shirt and she sees me for who I really am.

  Or was.

  No, still am. I may class it up with a suit and tie every day and work an executive position where I make a shit ton of money I never thought I’d see in this lifetime, but I can’t forget my roots. No matter how badly I want to.

  “Take off your shirt,” she whispers, her fingers tugging up on the hem. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

  Damn. Her words are driving me wild. “You ready for this?”

  “What? How bad can it be? You have a third nipple or something?” She laughs, enjoying the tease, but I remain solemn, pressing my lower body against hers so I can pin her to the door, and slowly, I remove my shirt and toss it to the ground.

  Revealing the tattoos that decorate my upper body and the silver rings that pierce my nipples.

  Her eyes widen in fascination and they roam all over me, moving fast, as if they don’t know where to land first. Other women have reacted this way. Countless times. They proclaim my tattoos are hot and my piercings sexy. That’s not what they’re about, though. I didn’t do any of this for any woman, not even Pilar. The tattoos represent moments in my life, moments I didn’t want to forget no matter how difficult they were to endure.

  And the piercings? I had those done when I was seventeen and stupid. To prove I could withstand the pain. To show I was some sort of badass, or so I thought.

  Only later did they come into play sexually. Sometimes. Pilar has never cared much about them. She prefers I fuck her from behind anyway, so whatever.

  “I had no idea you were hiding all this,” Violet whispers, her hand going to my shoulder, where a giant blue and red and orange dragon breathes fire across my chest. “It’s beautiful. So intricate.” Funny how she chose my favorite tattoo, the one that represents me. Breathing fire, destroying my old life, burning it to ashes.

  Her fingers flutter up my arm, along my collarbone, over my pec, barely touching my nipple ring. “I just …”

  “You just what?” If she says she’s disgusted by the tattoos, my dick will deflate so fast it’ll be some sort of record. That I need her approval is fucking ridiculous. I have never cared before what a woman thought of my body art. I am who I am, and fuck who doesn’t get it.