Page 20 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

NINETEEN

NIKO

The candles burned out a while ago, but I’m still awake, lying here watching her sleep.

Tonight’s attack was intense. Probably the worst I’ve had in years.

I should still be there now.

In that hell the dark always drags me to. But she walked in and pulled me out, like she knew exactly how to find me.

She didn’t flinch when she saw me shaking. Didn’t talk me down or feed me some bullshit about how I was “okay.”

She just quietly rode out the storm with me.

Now she’s sleeping on my chest, with one hand tucked under her cheek, and the other wrapped around my waist like she’s making sure I don’t disappear on her again.

She’s a fucking angel. One I don’t deserve. Every breath she takes grounds me in the present. In this bed. In this moment .

Not in the dark. Not in that house. Not in that fucking closet.

Violet shifts in her sleep and settles closer, like she subconsciously sensed I was slipping away again.

I brush a strand of purple hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

I shouldn’t touch her like this. I shouldn’t look at her like she’s mine. But I do . Because she already is.

I press a kiss to her forehead, and she stirs, shifting again to press closer. Her thigh hooks over my hip, and it drags the hem of her shorts higher.

“Vi,” I breathe, more prayer than warning.

She makes a soft noise. Half sigh, half whimper.

Her hips rock into mine, and I feel everything.

The pressure, the heat, the fucking pulse of it. This is torture, but it’s the kind I’d kneel for.

Her eyes flutter open and she studies my face as she grinds into me again, slow and uncertain, like she’s testing the boundary.

The friction alone has me seeing stars.

I tighten my hand on her hip, giving her all the answer she needs.

Her breath hitches.

I feel it in her chest, right against mine.

Then she grinds against me again, harder.

Fuck.

My forehead presses into hers. My eyes stay shut.

I’m not thinking. I’m just feeling .

Her weight against me. Her skin under my hands. The feel of her body against mine through too many layers.

I bite back a groan when her hand grips my shoulder for leverage.

It’s not sex, but it’s fucking close, and in some ways, it’s much more intimate.

Because it’s desperate.

Our clothes are on. Our breaths are ragged. There’s nothing clean or pretty about it.

I grip her thigh, not to stop her, but to hold her steady. To make sure she knows I’m not going anywhere, that she can take from me, and fuck , does she take.

She rolls her hips again, firmer this time, right against my cock.

The heat of her soaked pussy through her shorts is almost enough to kill me.

My eyes slam shut. My jaw locks. I don’t move. Don’t thrust.

I just let her use me.

Because this?

This isn’t about me, it’s about her.

“Good girl,” I murmur, the word more vibration than sound.

Her breath stutters, then she moans, quiet and strangled, as she grinds down harder.

I feel her everywhere. In the heat seeping through both our clothes. In the way her fingers dig into my shoulder. In the tremble that runs down her spine when she starts to fall apart.

She moves one last time, grinding right against the thick shaft of my cock, and instantly shatters.

Her whole body locks up. A low gasp slips from her lips as she comes, and her eyes roll back as she trembles.

She buries her face in my chest, and I just hold her. Tighter than I should.

I didn’t finish, but I don’t care, because this…

Her.

Wrapped around me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded?

It’s everything.

And right now, I don’t feel like a killer.

Or a ghost. Or a fucking monster.

I just feel like hers.