CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED

SPENCER POV

I want to shout at her. I want to lose my cool and push her away from me. Bark out orders that she needs to get herself to bed, where she belongs, safe under the covers and away from the beastly man inside me. The man who wants to tear that slip of a nightdress from those pretty little tits and devour her whole.

      She’s staring up at me, those eyes so wide and innocent. Only she’s not innocent. Not right now.

      It’s clear what little Violet is thinking, what she’s wanting.

      “I’m not a…” she begins, and I close my eyes. “I’m not a… girl… I’m eighteen, Spencer…”

“And I’m much too old for you. Much too old.”

    “But… but who says so?” Her voice is quiet and gentle. Her voice is perfect.

      “I say so,” I tell her simply and force myself to meet her eyes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

      She nods, but she doesn’t believe me. I’m not even sure I believe myself. Because here, on the landing, with this beautiful creature standing so close, with those sweet little nipples poking through flimsy fabric and her tight little pussy just begging to be taken, it feels more right than I dare to admit.

      She looks so hurt. It’s in the sag of her shoulders, the confidence of her stance fading into nothing. It only makes me want her more.

      Her pretty eyes are glassy, and her pale little fingers are fidgeting, and I can feel her, the heat of her.

      “I know I look young… and I know I act it, too… what with Ben and liking stupid cereals and not being able to get myself home at night… but I’m… I’m not… that’s not who I am…”

      “I like you as you are, Violet. I like you with Ben and I like you liking stupid cereals and needing someone. There’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable, there’s nothing wrong with needing help.”

“But there is…” she whispers. “Because I like you… like that.”

      I make myself say the right words. The sane words. “You’ve had a traumatic experience. It’s easy to get confused, Violet. To believe you want something that maybe you don’t.”

      She’s shaking her head before I’ve finished. “I’ve never… I’ve never wanted… not ever.” She takes a breath. “I’ve never liked anyone like that. Like this.”

      The beastly man in me wants to believe her. The beastly man in me has all the justification he needs to ravage her delicate little body and make her mine.

      But I don’t.

      “You don’t know me,” I say.

      “I know enough…”

      No. No she doesn’t.

      I shake my head, but she’s not listening. Her fingers come up to grip my arms, as though her touch has the power to defy my words and I catch the scent of her, the soap she used to wash, mixed with that divine aroma of crazy young hormones. I can’t deny the eager twitch beneath my robe.

  “I see you, Spencer. I see how much you care for me, how you’ve taken care of me, how you rescued me. You make me feel safe, you make me feel wanted, you make me feel…” Her voice dries up.

      “Make you feel what..?”

      She takes a little breath.

      “…How do I make you feel?”

      Her fingers squeeze, and she smiles a sad smile, and my heart is hers. It’s been hers since she stared up at me in the rain. It’s been hers since she blew out her birthday candle.

      “Loved,” she whispers. “You make me feel loved. And I’ve never… had that… and I want to… show you…”

      Show you how grateful I am.

I take her wrists, rub her knuckles with my thumbs as I ease them away from me. “You don’t need to use sex that way, Violet. Love comes freely, it needs no reward. Never give yourself to someone because you feel you owe them something.”

      She looks so horrified.

      “That’s not what I meant… I wouldn’t…” Her lip trembles and it’s intoxicating. And I’m almost at breaking point, hovering on the edge of self-control as my fingers brush the ridge of her collarbone. “This is going so wrong…”

 I’m about to slip the nightdress strap from her pale shoulder as she says the words.

“I’m a virgin, Spencer. I’d never use sex to say thank you. Not ever.”

      A virgin.

      Of course she is.

      I’m freefalling. Lost to that primal force that wants to take her innocence and break it and make her mine. My balls tighten at the thought, cock twitching under my robe, my mouth watering at the thought of tasting her virgin pussy.

      Her voice is breaking. Barely more than a whisper as she bares her soul.

      “I want… I want you to be my first…”

      The girl is so naive. Naive and sweet and innocent. Totally unaware of the brutal urges of male flesh. It makes me want her so much more.

      I watch my fingers back away from her nightdress strap. They move against the grain, gliding up to stroke her cheek.

      “Someone special, Violet,” I told her. “Wait for that someone really special.”

 Two glistening tears track down her cheeks, but she smiles a sad smile. “I’m sorry… I’ve ruined everything…”

 My hand slips to the back of her neck and I pull her to me, until I can feel the softness of her through my robe, the press of her face to my chest.

 I wonder if she’s playing with me. I wonder if she’s a siren from the deep, calling out to me with the vulnerability in her song, and I’ll drown, as all lusty sailors drown.

      But I don’t think so. I don’t believe little Violet knows how to play games.

      “I’m so sorry,” she cries, and I can feel her voice against me. “I thought you wanted me…”

      She won’t look at me.

      If she looked at me, I wouldn’t need to say the words that seal my doom.

      I watch as my hand tugs the towel from her head and strokes her hair softly. And the words come, “I do want you.”

      My voice is laced with more want than I want. It’s laced with need.

      The need to consume.

      To take.

      To own.

      I feel her stiffness in my arms, and it’s too much. I snake an arm around her slender waist and pin her to me, and my fingers travel down, over the tight globes of her ass, and she’s just as perky as I imagined.

      I hitch her, and it’s beyond doubt she really is a virgin, because she gasps as she feels the ridge of my cock against her belly. I circle my hips, and my robe works itself loose as she moves with me.

      The sensation of flimsy satin between my stiff cock and her soft belly is such beautiful torture.

      “This isn’t about want,” I hissed. “It’s about what’s right.”

      She’s all breath and wriggling flesh, her flushed face tipping up to mine. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses tight, and her hips move, pin my cock to my stomach, where my balls ache and my dick wants to shoot its load all over her nightdress.

      And then I push her away.

      Firmly.

      “Not here.”

      There’s something in my tone I can’t hold back, and she hears it. The nod of her head tells me everything, her eyes so eager to please.

      “I need to shower,” I say.

      She nods again.

      “I’ll go to bed… I’ll be… if you want…”

      Oh, how I fucking want.