Page 52 of A Violet Obsession

Finn watches me. His eyes move over my face, then without a word, he rolls onto his back and extends one of his arms flat on the mattress toward me.

I don’t overthink it, immediately shifting into the space he made. He readjusts his arm and folds it over my shoulders. He’s warm and solid, and I exhale as my head settles against him.

Hera jumps up and curls into the triangle of my bent knees, her purr vibrating against me.

And with as fucked up as things are, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safer.

At some point, his fingers lift from my shoulder to move over my hair in long, unhurried strokes that loosen something inside me that’s been wound tight for too long. My breathing slows to match his. The room is quiet and warm, and the rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek is the steadiest thing in my world.

I tip my face up and catch him looking down at me. His hand stills in my hair. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I watch the war I witnessed earlier flicker across his eyes. I don’t feel the same hesitation.

Lifting my head, I press my lips against his. His lips are warm, firm, and for one breathless heartbeat he stays perfectly still. Then a low sound rumbles in his chest, and he kisses me back. The slight sting in my lip is worth the rush of emotion flooding me. The kiss starts slow, as he gently glides his mouth across mine, until every nerve in my body is lit up with a warmth that starts at my lips and spreads through my chest and down into my stomach.

When I make a small, needy sound, his arm clenches harder around my shoulder, holding me up as his other hand rises to cup my cheek. His tongue teases along the seam of my mouth, and I part my lips. Finn deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing mine in slow, languid movements. Heat blooms over my body, and a deep ache forms between my legs.

I’ve waited a lifetime to kiss Finn Markham.

And it was absolutely worth it.

When I grip the front of his shirt, he willingly rolls onto his side to face me. His mouth grows demanding, driving his fingers into my hair to tilt my head exactly how he wants it. The cut on my lip burns when he nips at it, but I don’t care. I welcome the little bite of pain. It proves that this is real. He is real. It’s not another one of my fantasies.

I roll my hips against him and feel the hard, unmistakable length of his erection pressing against my stomach through our clothes. A thrill shoots through me. I grind against him again, slower this time, following my body’s instinct and savoring the way his grip tightens in my hair. A low groan vibrates into my mouth, and one of his hands drops to my waist, then slides higher, cupping the full weight of my breast through my shirt. His thumb strokes over my nipple, and it tightens instantly under his touch. Pleasure arrows straight between my legs, and I moan into his kiss, arching shamelessly into his palm.

Finn freezes.

His hand stays on my breast for half a second longer, like he can’t quite make himself let go, then he pulls back with a sharp inhale. His forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he rasps.

My heart stutters, and I search his face, still lost in a lust-filled haze. “Why? Didn’t you want to?”

His eyes close for a moment. When they open again, the heat in them hasn’t faded. “Of course I did.” His thumb brushes the side of my breast once more, before he forces his hand down to my waist. “But you’re not thinking straight after what happened tonight. You’re hurt. You’re scared. I’m an asshole to take advantage of that.”

“You’re not.” I assure him, but he’s already moving to get out of bed. “Please, Finn. Stay with me.”

He stills.

I continue before I lose my nerve. “I’ll be good, I promise. I just… I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”

Finn looks at me for a long moment, the storm still raging in his eyes. Then he exhales and presses another, gentler kiss to my forehead.

“All right, Butterfly,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll stay.”

17

FINN

Lily’s asleep. Her grip on my shirt has loosened, but I’m still lying here with her head on my chest and the demon cat purring against my hip, while everything she told me rearranges my brain.

She’s remarkable. I know she’s not telling me all the details of her life with Scott—I could tell by the way she hesitated, the places where her voice went flat and her eyes went somewhere else—but what she has shared is enough to make me want to find every person who failed her and tear them apart with my bare hands.

I try to picture myself or Emma, picked up from our sheltered small-town life and dropped into that situation at fourteen. My chest aches when I imagine Lily still grieving her parents and handed to a man whose criminal record should have disqualified him from owning a pet, let alone raising a child.

When my watch reads six-thirty, I get up. It’s not the first time I’ve gone without sleep, though I feel strangely rested as I ease myself from under Lily without waking her, and tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

Hera lifts her head and looks at me. She blinks once and lowers her head again with regal condescension.

By eight, the main floor is filling up. Brady is standing by one of the desks with his arms folded, which is never a good sign. Rhodes and Vincent are standing, sipping their coffee, and Leo is in a chair tipped back on two legs.