Page 22 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

TWENTY-ONE

VIOLET

It’s been two days and my moth tattoo still looks fresh enough to fly off my skin.

The edges are sharp, the fine lines are clean, and every little detail is perfect.

I run my fingertips over the ink and smirk.

I can’t believe I actually did it.

I look up and catch Niko standing in the doorway, leaning against it like he’s been watching me for a while.

His eyes flick to my stomach. “How’s it healing?”

“Good, I think.” I say, lifting the hem of my shirt higher.

He pushes off the doorframe and stands in front of me to get a better look.

His fingertips trail across the curves of my lower stomach and skim the edge of the tattoo. His touch is light, careful, but it sparks heat deep in belly.

“Looks good.” He says, his voice low. “Healing fast.”

I swallow and smooth the fabric back down.

There has to be something wrong with me.

Ever since we hooked up, it’s like I notice every little thing he does now. Every touch. Every gaze. Every smile meant just for me. All of it sends my heart rate skyrocketing.

It wouldn’t be as embarrassing if I knew he felt the same, but I don’t know how he feels because we haven’t talked about it yet.

Not when we passed each other in the kitchen yesterday morning. Not when watched T.V. together last night.

Now he’s standing here, smelling good, looking dangerously beautiful as ever, and my brain is completely stalling out around him.

“Something’s on your mind,” he says, like he’s pulling the thought straight out of my head.

I force a shrug. “Not really.”

He moves before I can blink. One second there’s space between us, the next my back is pressed against the wall. Not hard, but enough to feel the message in it.

He plants both hands on either side of my head, caging me in like a wild animal.

“What is it?” He asks, though it feels more like a demand than a question.

My pulse spikes. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrow, and he cocks his head. “Try again.”

I look anywhere but at him, the floor, the hallway, the fine hair along his muscular forearm. “It’s… about the other night.”

His gaze sharpens. “Go on.”

I swallow hard. “I just don’t know what it meant… to you.”

For a moment, he says nothing, just studies me like he’s deciding if I can handle the truth. Then his left hand slides down and settles over my hip.

“It meant,” he says, leaning in until his mouth is a breath from my ear, “exactly what you think it did.”

My mouth goes dry, and I blink up at him. “And… what exactly is that?”

He clenches his jaw. “You tell me.”

I frown, ready to tell him I asked first, but he cuts me off by leaning in closer, so close that his minty breath fans across my cheeks.

“I’m in,” he says, the words low and certain. “I want you. All of you. Only you.”

His gaze locks on mine, steady and unflinching.

I want to match him. I want to say something just as solid, just as sure, but my head trips over the words before I can find them. Because “only you” would be a lie. Dallas and Rome are tangled in there too.

My brow furrows as my mouth opens, then shuts again.

“Relax, Vi,” he says quietly. “I’m not expecting a response. I just wanted you to know where I stand.”

He studies me for another beat, like he’s making sure the words sank in, then he pushes off the wall and heads for the door.

“Niko… wait.” I say, flustered. “I-”

He turns back to look at me just as he crosses the threshold. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You’re it for me, Violet Warner. Take all the time you need; I’ll be here when you’re ready or even if you’re not.”

The door clicks shut behind him, but his words don’t follow. They linger in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore.

You’re it for me.

It should feel like too much. Like something that pins me down and suffocates me .

But instead, it makes my chest warm in the best and worst ways.

I want to believe him. I want to believe there’s a world where I can be his and still be Dallas’s and Rome’s too. But wanting and having aren’t the same thing.

I press my hands to the wall, trying to ground myself in the solid weight of it. The sting of the tattoo is still there beneath my shirt. A gentle reminder that not all pain is bad. That some things are worth feeling, even when they scare you.

And maybe… just maybe… this is one of them.