CHAPTER 38: VIOLET
I gasp when I feel his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips. I feel like an acrobat, swinging on a thin rope between two platforms—utter panic and total bliss.
When I told him I’d give him control, I never said I wanted to be tied up. I probably vowed a million times while I was trying to get my stupid pictures off the Internet that I’d never let it happen to me again.
And yet here I am, skin on fire, my core throbbing with need, and my wrists bound tightly enough that I’m sure I won’t get out of this by myself.
Fear seizes me and my breath comes in short, desperate pants as Jayce’s hands slide up my ribcage to caress my back. I imagine some poor housekeeper discovering me tomorrow. I think of what Jayce could do to me now, with his body or with a camera. I don’t even have a pair of panties covering me the way my Internet pictures did.
Panties. That’s how this started, this playing with fire. No, it was before: when I teased him by sucking on his finger, and then made good on that promise by taking him in my mouth.
I’m afraid to speak, that my voice will betray my fear. Jayce works his fingers into my skin, massaging my ass, my thighs. He reaches to the front of me to find that bundle of nerves that makes me gasp. My brain feels like it’s in a swirling cauldron of conflicted emotions that are so vibrant, they drown out all rational thought.
I could tell him to stop. I could tell him thanks for the walk on the wild side, but I prefer plain vanilla. I could tell him that something, anything would be better than tying me up—that power exchange doesn’t have to be bondage, right? Right?
The voice in my head that whispers to me to take risks and reach for what I really want stuffs the rules-following girl into a closet and locks the door. My risk-taker is afraid if I stop this now, Jayce might never touch me like this again.
Worse, I might never try again.
Brady will win. He’ll have delivered a poison pill that makes me never want to be this way—or this free—with someone again.
He’ll have tamed the wild part of my heart forever.
I feel Jayce’s touch evaporate and I shiver, immediately missing the heat of his body. I listen for his soft footfalls on the carpet, see him come into my peripheral vision, his broad, muscled body golden in the dim light.
He kneels, so his face is even with mine, his normally hard jaw softening.
“Violet, I have to know you’re here with me.” His fingers trace my cheek and jawbone, and he studies me with brown eyes flecked with copper and gold at their center. “Where did you go?”
I bite my lip and close my eyes, arrested by the softness in his tone when I expected that he’d be inside me by now.
“No. Open your eyes, Violet.” His tone takes on a harsh edge. “Giving me control isn’t the same thing as just giving up. You can’t go hide somewhere inside your mind. You have to be with me.”
“I am.”
“No. You’re not. I know your body. I know how you respond to me, and just now, you went cold. Limp. What happened?”
“You tied me up.” My voice trembles. “That’s what he did. And I’m just—afraid.”
Jayce pales and immediately he reaches for my wrists to untie me. “God, Violet, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn’t realize this would trigger…”
He trails off as he tugs at the stubborn stocking, but the knot seems to grow tighter. “I feel like such an ass. I just had this picture of you in my head.”
Jayce stops, looks at me, and the guilt radiating from him shocks me. It’s bigger than just tying me up.
“Tell me what you mean.”
Jayce gives up tugging at my wrists, still on his knees in front of the desk.
“I’m making such a mess of this,” he says disgustedly. “I just meant that I wanted this, and I thought, maybe if you’d let me, you’d like it too.” He mutters something about cutting off the stocking and moves to stand, but I stop him.
“Wait. Justin, I’m fine.” And even though I’m bent over and tied in this weird position, I really am. The fear has evaporated. “Tell me what you mean about the picture.”
“I looked at your pictures. When you were gone in Ithaca. I looked at them a lot. And I wanted that.” He hangs his head, guilt or shame twisting his features. “I’m sorry.”
“You mean you wanted to tie me up and take pictures and put them on the Internet?” I’m trying to get him to see the ridiculousness of why he’s feeling guilty, but he’s not ready for it.
“No! God, no, Violet. I’d never do that. It’s just, I wanted that control that you gave up for those photos. I wanted you to give it to me.”
A smile forms on my face, and he looks slack-jawed with surprise that I’m not angered by his admission. “Then you’re in luck, Justin. Because I never gave up control for those photos.”
His head tilts in question.
“I’m tied up there, yes, but I never wanted to be. I didn’t give him control; he took the power from me. My ex wanted those photos as protection, to be sure I’d never smear his name, so he made sure he could smear mine if I ever talked.”
“Violet, please forgive me. I never meant to—”
“Shut up!” I can’t keep the scream from tearing out of my throat. “Stop it! Stop apologizing for something you wanted.”
“But it’s something I never should have asked for!” Jayce looks buried by self-loathing, and the slice of the secret that I’ve been afraid to share with him cracks wide open, begging me to reveal it.
If I don’t, this is the end. Maybe not of us, not yet, but it’s the end of my opportunity to tell him this secret. This is my window. Take it or lose it forever.
“You can ask for it if you want it,” I sob. “You can ask for control, you can ask to tie me up, you can ask for any sort of pleasure if you’re brave enough.” My tears come hot and heavy and he’s pulling my face against his, our foreheads touching, his hands deep in my hair. “I wasn’t. I never asked for this—not then and not now. But the truth is, with you, I wanted it.”
There. That’s the messy truth, and at first I think Jayce hasn’t heard me or doesn’t understand the full weight of what I’m saying. The shame of my pictures is bad enough, but the shame I carry for actually wanting it enough to let it happen, even though I never asked for it, drowns me.
Jayce takes a breath, tipping his face away from mine enough to look in my eyes.
“You wanted this?”
I nod. “Not with him. With you. But I was too afraid to ask.”
“I just hoped, well, if you were willing to give me control, and I took care of you, you might be willing to give me more. Like this.” Jayce fingers my bindings, the stocking still anchoring my hands firmly in place.
“Are you up for a round of Go Fish?” I ask. “Can we try again?”
Jayce nods. “I’ll start with an easy one. Would you give me a kiss?”
I comply, letting his lips settle on mine and his tongue sweep through my mouth.
“Would you let me kiss you there?” My eyes dart to his erection, and he stands, close enough that I can take the head in my mouth.
After a minute, he groans and steps out of my reach. “You’re killing me, Violet. This does not bode well for my endurance. My turn. Would you let me lick you?”
I nod.
“Anywhere?”
His question sends a delicious tremor through me. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 39: JAYCE
I move behind her, my tongue seeking her folds, her wetness, her warmth. The taste of her explodes on my tongue, tangy and rich, and I probe for more.
I hear her moan, this time pure pleasure without a hint of fear. My tongue reaches deeper inside her, sucking her into my mouth, then I work the bud that makes her buck against the desktop, begging me for more.
I grasp her thighs, bringing her closer to me. I trace the crack of her ass down to where my tongue strokes her, and then up again past the tight entrance of her ass.
“Yes,” she whi
spers. “Touch me there.”
I’m alive with hunger, electrified by her invitation. I gather moisture from her and work it up her seam, swirling it around her rosebud and testing her resistance. She’s quaking above me, and I move my tongue faster, flicking across her clit until I feel her body seize and stiffen, her climax rushing into my mouth.
Her moan becomes a wail, and I hold her there, my fingers stroking, moving, probing for what she wants. “I want you inside me,” she begs, and I dive for my pants, grabbing a condom and rolling it over my cock.
I’m throbbing with need, too eager, but even as I approach her, I have to be sure. The dim light of our suite reflects in the window so I can see her, see the yes all over her face, and I position myself at her entrance.
She’s wet but I press into her carefully. Her hips jerk back, her legs straining against the restraints I created, and I give her the full length of me, inch by inch, as I grasp her waist and guide us together.
“Justin. Yes.” It’s all she can manage, and everything I need. I draw back and thrust into her, building a rhythm that forces the air from my lungs. I rub her back, her waist, her ass and then the crack, pressing a finger against her bud until it flowers open for me.
“More,” she pants, and I thrust harder, my cock buried inside her and my finger stroking her other entrance. We’re moving together, each thrust met by a counter thrust, each stroke making her clench harder around me until I am pushed to my limit.
Our skin slaps together at each contact, and I explode, feeling my cock pulse with release. Violet’s body stiffens, twitches, twists and goes slack as another orgasm crests and recedes. When I’m sure she’s through it, I drape my chest across her back, my lips working to plant ten thousand kisses across her shoulders.
***
I’m not sure how I managed to get those knots apart when the most intense orgasm of my life ripped through me and left me hollow.
And content. I curl around Violet as I see dawn color the sky, her hair fanning across the pillow in front of me so I can smell its heady fragrance. I pull her close to my chest, my tanned forearm in stark contrast to the pale skin of her waist.
I can’t resist. I kiss the freckles sprinkling her shoulders and she stirs.
“You seriously don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself.”
My hand covers one of her breasts. “Can you blame me?”
There’s a smile in her voice. “Not really. I am pretty cute.”
“No.” My tone is serious. “Not even close. Beautiful, exquisite, breathtaking. But not cute. That just doesn’t cover it.”
She giggles as I plant more kisses on her shoulder. “Don’t you need sleep?”
“After…” I plant my lips on another part of her shoulder. “I get to kiss…” I give her another. “All these freckles.”
She laughs and rolls toward me, tucking herself into my chest. “Come here, Justin. If you’ve got some weird freckle fetish, I’m game.”
***
Ravi grins when I walk into the recording studio with Tyler, each of us carrying a massive cup of coffee. Dave, Gavin and Chief are already here, and from the looks on their faces, they’re not pleased with what we laid down yesterday.
“It needs more polish,” Dave says, and makes Ravi jump to the first transition into the bridge for “Can’t Fall for You.” “I think you should splice in a different take here, and pull back on the bass.”
Ravi pulls on his headphones and adjusts the mix, but I think I catch an eye-roll. Good. Then it’s not just me wondering where Dave gets off micromanaging our producer who has a jillion more hours in the recording studio than he does.
While Ravi’s remixing the track, Dave continues spouting off about the need to get things just perfect, and he bitches about a whole slew of faults with each of our work, even Gavin’s. Chief keeps sucking down his coffee, but I think Dave’s enough for the both of them.
Ravi pulls off his phones and punches a button. The remix is sharper, but it lacks the emotional build we had with the first, un-dicked-around-with one.
I know better than to fall
Know my heart and build a wall
Been through the forest and been misled
Been down that dark path to your bed
And I can’t fall
Can’t fall for you
“This is shit,” I say. “You can’t stitch together a bunch of tracks and call it right. Maybe we’re more technically perfect here, but I don’t hear the truth of the song.”
The guys stare at me like I just declared an alien invasion.
“What?”
“He’s right,” Ravi mutters. “We can engineer the hell out of this, but that first take is the realest thing we’ve got.”
“Don’t you two have ears? Gavin’s voice goes ragged at misled,” Dave says, his annoyance evident.
“And that’s what makes it work.” I catch my voice rising and I struggle to keep my temper in check. Now’s not the time to have it out.
Nobody looks convinced.
Ravi clears his throat. “Dave, you want it more perfect. Gavin wants it simpler. Jayce wants it more complex. But guys, this is art, not science. I can mix the hell out of it and it’ll get different, but not necessarily better. It’s like getting Picasso to color in the lines. Perfection isn’t the thing to strive for. It’s passion. It’s the perfection in the moment, not in the song.”
The intensity of Ravi’s little speech stuns me. Finally, Tyler breaks the silence. “OK. Let’s go with the first version.” Thank God he’s got my back.
“Maybe there are just too many cooks in the kitchen right now,” Chief says and stands. “I’m going to make a call. You guys get in the studio and nail down the last three songs and then we’ll talk.”
Gavin, Tyler and Dave follow him out of the sound room to get warmed up, but I hang back. “Thanks for that,” I tell Ravi.
“No thanks needed. You have good instincts.”
“Dave can be a jerk when he takes charge. And the less he’s in charge of, the more he tries to force the issue.”
Ravi leans back in his chair, eyes unblinking. “And how about you?”
“Me?”
“What are you like when you can’t be in control?”
My mind flashes back to the night with Violet, the war between what she’s willing to give me and what I want to take. All of her. I’ll take everything she can give me and more, but unlike her bastard ex, I’ll keep it safe. I need to protect her.
And that’s when it hits me, that this thing with her—all my lust and protective instincts—they’re nothing compared to what’s really driving me. Love. I love that girl like I’d lay down in the street for her. Take a bullet for her. Give my life for her.
“Jayce?”
My head snaps up, realizing Ravi asked me a question that I failed to answer.
“What are you like when you can’t control everything? Because if you go solo, it means less control, not more. You can’t do it all yourself, and you’re going to have to find people you trust to make it happen.”
“I’m a pain in the ass,” I admit. “But when I know someone’s got my back, like Tyler, it’s all good. I don’t have to run the show.”
Ravi nods. “Good. Then you need to figure out who you can trust. Once you’re crystal on that, then you make your decision.” He puts out a hand to shake. “Either way, it’s a pleasure working with you.”
I grasp his small hand in mine, nodding. This guy might seem insubstantial, young and slight, but he’s got sense where it matters.
He’s also got a hell of a backbone. We play through the next three songs and he coaches us through them, focusing on tempo and timing. His instructions are sharp, clear, and cut down each of our egos in turn. I fuck up just as much as the rest of my band mates, and each time, Ravi doesn’t let it slip.
By mid-afternoon, I’m sweating and spent. My fingers are on fire, the pads raw and tender from playing my heart out. But Tattoo Thief has neve
r sounded better. Even Dave looks like he’s shrugged off his pissy little mood as we exit the studio.
“That was hot,” Tyler says, giving Gavin a playful punch. “You made that last vocal scream sex. Beryl’s going to flip.”
“Maybe I’ll make her scream,” Gavin answers, chuckling at a dirty thought. “Chief, where are the girls?”
“Already en route to the airport,” he says. “We’ll meet them there. You guys were so into it that we don’t have time to go back to the hotel.”
We load our instruments into a black SUV and cruise to the airport, my mood darkening by the mile. We’re going back to New York. Back to the stalker and Violet’s nightmare. Back to the reality that I can’t protect her forever.
CHAPTER 40: VIOLET
It’s been three weeks since I came home from Europe, and my life has changed, utterly and completely.
I’m no longer coaching eight graders on the finer points of drawing with perspective and scaring them with the realities of unplanned pregnancy. I’m taking pictures of street art and a rock band, hiding from a stalker, and living in fear of paparazzi who might associate my name with Jayce’s.
And things are starting to come apart.
I’ve holed up in Jayce’s apartment for three days since our return from LA and each time he asks me to go out, I refuse. The stalker is just one guy, but the paparazzi could be anywhere. Everywhere.
I remember watching the old movie Arachnophobia with Katie in high school. It’s a horror flick that’s full of spiders chasing people, and the thing that makes it really scary is that there’s not just one villain chasing you, like Freddy or Chucky. You’re running from everything, and nowhere is safe.
Nowhere is safe for me but this apartment. And so I stay here.
My phone rings and I lunge for it, eager for some human contact while Jayce is away at practice and secret meetings with a lawyer. He says he hasn’t made up his mind about splitting from the band yet, but I think it’s coming.
It’s Katie, not Jayce, on my caller ID.
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