Chapter Eight

Elijah held his hand out to Violet, hoping like hell she took it. No matter what he'd said earlier, he wouldn't force this on her. Wouldn't expect her to fuck him as he stated, even though his cock wept, practically strained for her touch in his shorts.

He squeezed it now, trying to calm down. After experiencing the taste of her on his tongue, the sound of her in the air, and the feel of her thighs squeezing his head as he brought her to orgasm, he'd almost done the same in his pants and he hadn't ever done that.

Ever.

But her cries had called to something primitive inside him, almost like there was a caveman trapped within begging to mate.

He would not force her, no. But he wasn't beneath begging.

He didn't need to, though, for she slipped her hand into his and he pulled her off the desk. She looked down at the switchblade in her other hand and dropped it to the desk, then turned to him with an open expectation of trust he didn't seem worthy of.

Not after everything he'd put her through. But damn it, he'd find a million ways to make it up to her.