Her mother might be on par with my dad for biggest asshole.
When I turn back around, Violet’s in bed. I click the light off and climb in beside her, earning a surprised yelp.
“What?”
“What are you doing?” Her voice is guarded again. “You have your own bed.”
“This is a truce.” I get closer, adjusting my pillow, and hook my arm around her waist. “Get comfortable.”
“This is embarrassing,” she says. “What if I fart?”
I snort. “Good thing I’m fully aware that females have bodily functions.”
She shifts.
Bad idea.
Her ass shifts against my groin, waking up my cock. I shut my eyes and try to think of something else, but it doesn’t work. She moves again, and instantly I’m hard.
I’ve never met an aphrodisiac that has the same effect as her body. And as much as I want to sink into her warmth again, I’m not going to do it. I am fucking exhausted—mentally and physically.
She makes a noise, but I shush her.
“Ignore my hard-on. It’ll go away.”
Her laugh is breathy, and she rolls into me. Something I wasn’t expecting for someone who wasn’t sure she wanted me in her bed a minute ago. Now we’re face to face, and it strikes me that I haven’tsleptwith anyone before. Overnight.
There was no use for that.
I wish she would tell me what’s bothering her. If I pry now, she might actually tell me. But instead of opening my mouth, I lean forward and kiss her.
When’s the last time I’ve done this? Just kiss someone for the sake of their lips on mine?
I don’t like that Violet is pulling my strings—and soon enough, the charade we’re building is going to crash down around us. But for now, I grip her side and kiss her while her hands roam my upper body. Every touch seems to light me up inside, until I’m burning.
And then, eventually, we break apart.
We breathe in the silence.
Sleep comes not long after that.
32
GREYSON
Irise before Violet. I quietly brush my teeth and pull on different clothes, then sit on the unused bed. I grab her phone from the charger and open it, still sort of miffed that she hasn’t thought to put a password on it.
Some people are far too trusting.
Like Violet, asleep in my bed. I glance back at her and take in her hair scattered across her face, her full lips, parted as she takes in long, deep breaths. Her eyelids twitch, like her eyes are moving in a dream, and her fingers are curled into her pillow.
Other than her tense grip, she seems relaxed.
My hand aches, but I’ll deal with that later. Both hands are still wrapped. People kept commenting on them last night when I was trying to keep one eye on Violet. The normal rush from being at the center of attention didn’t come, becauseshewasn’t paying attention to me.
When the hell did my brain flip to only giving a shit about her?
I don’t like it.