Today is the day. I know it before I even open my eyes.
I barely slept last night. The anticipation was almost too great. Grey didn’t seem to mind that I kept rolling over, tossing and turning like my sleep problem was pillow-related. He was as awake as me, I think, holding me until I found a comfortable position.
Which lasted only an hour before I was shifting again.
At one point, probably close to three in the morning, he slid inside me and fucked me into a dream-like state. We both slept after that. But now, as I twist toward him and stretch out, reaching, I realize I’m alone.
His side of the bed is cold.
I sit up and press the blanket to my bare chest. His bedroom door is open.
Silence reigns through the house, but I still wait a moment, then slip out from under the covers. I find a Hawks sweatshirt, my panties and shorts, and pull everything on before I wander into the hall. Still nothing.
I brush my teeth, take care of business, and shake out my limbs. The nerves return with a crackle—not that they ever left. Grey’s disappearance just temporarily distracted me.
Crown Point Ballet is holding company auditions at nine o’clock. It means I’ll probably be there all day. But there will be plenty of time to stress about that… after I eat breakfast.
At this point, it feels like this house is partially more like home. We’ve been here for a while, and the guys have adjusted. They cleared out a cabinet in the kitchen for us and space in the fridge. They stock our preferred liquor. Knox and Willow are still going back and forth like a seesaw, but I told her I wouldn’t interfere. They’ll work it out.
There’s a piece of paper in the kitchen, a handwritten note from Greyson. Went for a run. See you soon. -G
I smile and turn away. There’s already coffee in the pot. I make myself a cup and slink into the living room, curling up in a ball. I should’ve grabbed my phone when I was upstairs, to run through the music, but I’m so tired.
I just woke up and it feels like I’ve been awake for a year.
My eyes close, and I sink deeper into the cushions.
Before I know it, someone is brushing my hair out of my face. I blink up at Willow, who just shakes her head at me. “I was going to leave you here, but I heard some guys are coming over to watch a hockey game.”
I make a face. “Yeah, probably don’t want to be caught sleeping by any of them.”
“You okay?” She sits next to me, stealing some of the blanket.
I sip my coffee. “Just nerves. I didn’t sleep well.”
“About that…”
“About what?”
“Sleeping.” She rolls her eyes. “Knox and Greyson share a wall. So when you guys get it on at three in the morning, I can, you know…”
My face heats. “Oh my god. Why didn’t you say anything?”
She snorts. “I was trying various ways to drown it out, until…”
“Until…?” Understanding dawns on me. She hasn’t wanted to live here ever . It was only because my issues put her in danger. But she was probably never in danger to begin with, and with me out of the house, the problem is solved. So, she doesn’t have to say it. She’s going back to our apartment. And I can’t even blame her. I set my mug down and throw my arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
She hugs me back. “Don’t even apologize, Violet. It’s not your fault.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Pretty sure it is.”
She pulls back and glowers at me. “It is not your fault some wacko decided to obsess about you.”
“You girls talking about me?” Grey strides into the room, pausing next to the couch. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a wacko but I’m definitely obsessed with you.”
My face gets hotter, and I don’t answer him.
Is it weird to be attracted to his sweat? His shirt is soaked, his cheeks red. His hair is damp and pushed back off his face. It just makes me want to jump his bones.
“I’m uncomfortable,” Willow deadpans. “So on that note… I’m gonna head back to the apartment. See if there’s any damage. I’ll see you guys later.”
Later. Right . We’re going to Grey’s hockey game together. It’s a pretty big game, the quarterfinals for the national tournament. Their bus leaves at two, and Willow and I are driving down with Amanda after my audition, which should end by two or three.
Grey doesn’t look away from me, but he nods at her words. As soon as she’s out of the room, he braces his hands on either side of me and leans down. He gives me a quick kiss. Before he can pull back, though, I grab the front of his shirt and yank him down more forcefully. He takes my coffee cup and tosses it behind him. It crashes, coffee probably going everywhere, but we don’t even flinch. He’s immediately pushing the blanket aside and sliding his hands up under the sweatshirt.
“I like when you wear my shit,” he murmurs against my lips. “And when you still have that just-fucked look, even though we haven’t done it in a few hours.”
I bite his lower lip and pull, eliciting a groan from him. He cups my breasts, pinching my nipples. I gasp, arching into his hands.
“Are you using sex to distract yourself from the audition?” He’s inches away, and I feel like he’s trying to see into my soul.
I frown. He doesn’t stop touching me, though. He just wants me to admit it.
“Because if it’s a distraction you want… I can make that happen.”
I close my eyes.
“Vi,” he murmurs. “Tell me.”
“I want the distraction,” I finally say. “Of a violent variety.”
He leans back slightly, and I wonder what he sees on my face. I crack my eyes to see his expression, and it’s dark. Intrigued.
“Did you have something in mind?”
I sit up, forcing him back a little. “Actually, yes.”
More intrigue. A small smile crosses his face, and he stands. Holds out his hands for me. There’s coffee and broken ceramic that we pick our way through, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. He’s the one who tossed it, after all.
He follows me upstairs, into his bedroom, and lets me close us in. I go to his dresser and pick up the pocket knife he carries around sometimes and flick it open.
“Sometimes I think we’ll never be close enough,” I admit softly. “Is that strange?”
He tilts his head and stays silent.
I press the tip into my thumb. There’s a tiny bit of pain, and then a drop of blood rises to the surface. My gaze fixates on it, until I stick my thumb in my mouth and lick the blood away.
“What do you want me to do, Violet?”
“Sit on the floor,” I whisper.
He does, leaning his back against the wall. I turn away from him and pull the sweatshirt off slowly, revealing my bare back. I don’t know why—he’s seen me naked. But there’s something erotic about stripping on purpose.
When I drop it, I bend forward, arching my back. My thumbs hook in my shorts, and I drag those down my legs. When they get to my ankles, I kick them away. I face him in just my panties and the knife in my grip. I motion to his shirt, which he quickly shucks. Then he shimmies out of his running shorts, leaving him in just tight black briefs. They do nothing to hide his erection.
I lower myself to my knees, straddling his lap. I inch closer, until only a breath of space separates our chests.
“What’s your plan, Violent?”
I smile at his nickname for me. It is a little violent. And violating. But he doesn’t stop me when I raise the knife and press the blade to his throat. I hold it there lightly, watching his face.
Doesn’t change.
He doesn’t flinch.
I move it lower, to his chest. One of his pecs. And then I just do it.
I cut him.
He lets out a small hiss, maybe of surprise? Or shock? But his cock twitches, getting even harder. I palm it and lean forward, kissing the edge of the cut. Blood wells up, little beads at first, but it’s deep. In seconds, the blood drips down his skin. I flick my tongue, catching it and letting the metallic flavor burst across my tastebuds.
Then I withdraw, meeting his eyes again.
He takes the knife from my hand and mirrors my movement, holding the blade first to my throat, then trailing it lower. Between my breasts, all the way to my navel, then back up. I shiver.
“Will they see it? With your leotard?”
I push his hand down my breast, until he’s only an inch or two above my nipple. “Don’t worry about it.”
He cuts me with the same ruthlessness. There’s a prick of pain, followed by a pulse that seems to shoot straight to my core. It stings, and we both watch it bleed.
“I think I know what you want,” he says. “You want my blood and yours. Together.”
Yes . I almost say it out loud. I want another thing binding us together. And what’s better than blood? I love that he knows it automatically. That he followed my line of thinking all the way through my fucked-up mind and ended up with the same conclusion.
He scoops me up and rises, turning and slamming my back to the wall. Our chests press together. He spares one hand to shove his briefs down, then slices through my panties. He folds the knife and tosses it away. It clatters to the floor.
I wrap my legs around his hips. The pain and blood are all I can focus on. Mirror cuts—my right and his left. When he thrusts into me, my mouth falls open. He takes advantage of that. His hand cups the back of my head and guides my face toward his. Our chests smash together as we move, the cuts rubbing.
Every inch of me is a live wire right now. Every point where we touch—our chests, arms, mouths, between my legs—is extra sensitive. He drills into me, each thrust knocking me harder against the wall. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold on to him. Our tongues war in our mouths, twisting and tasting each other. I hope he tastes his blood on my lips as I taste mine on his.
“You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he says, tearing his lips away and moving down my throat. I tip my head to the side and let him suck and bite my neck, knowing full well it’ll take extra time to cover those marks. But it’s so worth it.
He grips my ass and fucks me like he’s feral.
And maybe he is.
Maybe I am.
Because he doesn’t even have to touch my clit this time. I’m just knocked over the edge of a cliff, and my climax comes hard. I see stars when it crashes into me, and I dig my nails into his back.
“That’s it,” he urges. His hand slips between us, and his fingers on my clit bring me right back up before I’ve had a chance to come back down to earth. There’s too much sensation. I move his head away and lean down, sinking my teeth into his shoulder.
“Ah, fuck,” he growls. He rolls his hips. His fingers don’t stop.
I’m falling apart around him again when he quickens, then stops buried fully inside me.
My heart slams against my ribcage, and I twist my fingers through his short hair. He comes, and I press my lips to his, swallowing the noise. His heartbeat is as frantic as mine.
“Wow,” he murmurs.
Our fronts are covered in blood. Not a lot—the cuts weren’t that deep—but we’re streaked with dark brownish-red.
“Shower,” we say at the same time.
He doesn’t even put me down. He adjusts his grip and carries me to the bathroom. Only when we’re locked inside does he set me on the counter.
“When you spit in my mouth?” I say suddenly, gripping the edge.
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Yes?”
“I, um, liked that.” I cough to hide my smile. “Just saying.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah, so, feel free to do that again. When the mood strikes you.”
Grey crosses back to me and steps between my legs. One hand cups my pussy, and the other grips my chin. He pulls my mouth open and leans in.
“What do you like more?” he asks, flicking my clit. “When I touch you here, or… here? ” His hand slides lower, and suddenly his finger is pushing into my asshole.
I try to wriggle away from him, but he keeps a tight grip on my face.
“Maybe my spit would be better used to wet my cock before I fuck your ass,” he muses. “Have to keep my girl on her toes.”
He kisses me again, then backs away. He’s smirking at me as he goes.
Fucker.
