Her clever tongue is stroking along the throbbing vein feeding my erection, and the sensation is good. Wildly good, and the little 'O' of her lips tightens even more, her amber eyes narrowing as she watches me. The moment stretches out, her grip on my balls, the relentless face-fucking I'm giving her and her eyes, studying mine, no shame, no shyness, just watching to see what I like.
Maybe she feels my cock swelling thicker in her throat, or my grip tightening in her hair, because she hums again, a low, throaty vibration that has me gritting my teeth.
I control this moment, not her.
Then, the diabolical littleved'ma,the little witch arches her head back, swallowing me deep and I see the bulge of my cock lodged in her throat and Ierupt. My vision darkens, every muscle tense as I feel the rhythmic movement of her swallowing me, taking everything I give her. The rest of the world is gone, the room, my responsibilities… everything but this moment with sweet, demure Violet being more than my match.
When I'm spent, she pulls off my cock slowly, tongue still sliding along the painfully sensitive edge until it's wet and shining between my legs. Settling back on her heels, Violet eyes me as she delicately scoops up the come that escaped the corner of her mouth and puts her finger between her lips, sucking like a lollipop, like she had with my cock.
When I come back to some semblance of awareness, I'm panting, fist gripped tight around my softening cock and come flowing over my hand and smearing along my thighs. My heart's pounding and I groan.
If Violet is anything like that fantasy, I am so fucked.
Chapter Twelve
In which Violet relishes the foreign feeling of being cared for.
Violet…
Larry did not handle it well when he found out why I was in hiding with Rose and Iris.
"I'm going to fucking kill him."
I've seen my best friend hysterical with rage, cold with fury, sobbing and heartbroken after a terrible breakup, but I've never heard that strange, flat tone before.
"You don't have to worry about that," I say. "I'm sure karma will get him." Best friend or not I was not going to admit to him that I had hired Roman to kill Jack. I wasn't going to put the burden of that secrecy on him.
***
Roman had pulled me into his office in the morning, with an uncharacteristically grave expression. He told me that Jack had disappeared and shook his head at my hopeful thought that maybe he did die that night.
"No. His body would turn up if that was the case. The corpse would act as a cautionary tale to not fuck with the Bianchi Mafia. Likely mutilated."
***
"How are you going to handle this?" Larry asks.
"I've got a couple of friends helping me," I say carefully. "There should be a tall, tattooed guy, probably with a slight Russian accent who goes by the name of Ioann showing up for the horde of paperwork I need for that grant proposal. I can also take care of timesheets, and payroll from here. Do you have enough volunteers to man all the reading groups?"
"Don't stress about that," Larry says. "I can worry about manpower. The kids are already asking about you, though. What should I say?"
I laugh bleakly. "Tell them I'm on vacation." It's not funny at all because Larry knows I haven't gone on vacation since… Somewhere in my early teens, I think.
"Sadly, they'll probably be happy about that," Larry says. "Everyone knows what a creepy workaholic you are."
"Your honesty is so refreshing," I say sourly, rubbing my forehead. I'm watching Rose and Iris play pool with Deven, one of Roman's guards who, for a tattooed killer, already looks thoroughly outnumbered by the two of them.
"What can I bring you?" Larry asks. "Tell me where you are, I can drop by with your favorite marzipan candies and the nauseating cotton-candy flavored Boba drinks the girls love."
"Let's not risk it," I say, thinking longingly of the marzipan candies that Mrs. Oleksy makes at her bakery around the corner from the shelter.
What I wouldn't do for a box of those right now…
I cave, my deep-seated need to not cause additional work losing to the lure of marzipan. "I hate to ask this, but maybe you couldrun down and grab a box and give it to the Russian who will be picking up my paperwork?"
There's silence and then I hear loud applause. "Sweet zombie jesus, you're actually doing something self-indulgent?" Larry cackles. "Who the fuck are you and where is my friend Saint Violet?"
"Yeah, that's very funny." If Larry knew I was spending my retirement fund on a murder for hire, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be attaching "Saint" to the front of my name anymore. Though it might almost be worth it so he would stop with that irritating nickname.
