Chapter 116

Chapter 116
Violet's POV

I'd never imagined I could want him this badly.

Last night's frenzy had clearly drained me, yet now, looking at his unguarded sleeping face, watching his solid chest rise and fall with each breath, desire grew inside me like wildfire.

My gaze traveled down his taut abs and stopped at the white sheet draped loosely across his waist.

A bold thought surfaced in my mind.

I took a deep breath, my heartbeat pounding so hard it nearly burst through my eardrums. Slowly, I lifted the covers and moved down his body like a cautious cat.

Unbidden, fragments of those explicit videos Lily had secretly played in the dorm flashed through my mind.

I'd covered my eyes in mortification at the time, but the images had apparently burned themselves into my subconscious.

Mimicking what I remembered, I reached out with trembling hands and gently wrapped my fingers around him.

He was burning hot.

I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and awkwardly took him into my mouth.

"Hss..." A sharp intake of breath came from above.

Julian wasn't fully awake, but his body's instinct had already responded directly.

His muscles tensed instantly, his breathing turning rough.

Hearing the low, ragged sound escape his throat, I felt no urge to retreat—instead, an inexplicable sense of accomplishment surged through me.

This man who commanded Wall Street, who was always impeccably suited and in absolute control, was now losing that control in his sleep because of my touch.

I wanted to make him feel even better.

I cast aside all shame, struggling to recall those images, clumsily but earnestly trying to please him.

The warmth and sensation jolted him fully awake.

His eyes flew open. When those deep gray irises registered what I was doing, a storm erupted in them.

Shock, elation, and desire so intense it could drown someone churned wildly in his gaze.

"Violet..." His voice was utterly wrecked, trembling with disbelief.

His large hand threaded into my hair. He didn't stop me—instead, he followed my movements, fingertips pressing firmly against my scalp.

His ragged breathing echoed through the quiet suite, each exhale striking my nerves and spurring me on.

When he neared the edge of control, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up.

I looked up, breathless, and met his eyes—eyes that looked ready to ignite.

Before he could flip us over and take charge, I straddled his waist.

The position put me above him, looking down.

I watched the vein pulsing at his temple, the rigid line of his jaw as he fought for restraint. An unprecedented sense of control flooded through me, heating my entire body.

I leaned down, pressed my lips to his, pried his mouth open, and swallowed every one of his gasps.

"You're going to kill me," he growled between tangled breaths.

His hands clamped around my waist, and he thrust upward hard, matching my rhythm.

Morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the disheveled bed.

I shed every trace of timidity and restraint, tangling with him completely in the shifting light.

The fire I'd started consumed all his restraint.

We drove each other to the peak again and again, until nearly noon, when the long and intense battle finally subsided.

After washing up and changing, we headed downstairs to the hotel restaurant for lunch.

The weekend resort restaurant was quiet, sparsely populated. Julian seated me by the window and went to the buffet to get food for me.

I leaned back in my chair, gazing out at the shimmering lake, my cheeks still warm as I recalled this morning's madness.

Just then, a figure reeking of heavy tuberose perfume stopped beside my table.

The sharp click of heels accompanied the person as she pulled out the chair across from me without invitation and sat down.

I turned my head. The smile on my face froze instantly.

Niamh.

She wore a wine-red silk slip dress today, draped with a beige cashmere cardigan, and oversized sunglasses.

Clearly, she was also spending the weekend at this hotel.

Manhattan's elite circles were small—running into each other wasn't surprising. But I hadn't expected her to walk right over.

Niamh removed her sunglasses and set them casually on the table.

Her vivid blue eyes narrowed as they swept over me like radar, finally landing with precision on a sliver of skin visible at the edge of my turtleneck where it had shifted slightly.

There was an unmistakably fresh mark there.

A teasing, aggressive smile curved her lips. "Looks like you had quite the wild night, junior."

Her bluntness was humiliating.

I instinctively tugged at my collar and looked at her coldly. "Miss Gray, showing up uninvited isn't exactly good manners."

Niamh didn't care about my coldness in the slightest. She propped her chin on one hand, leaning forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with shameless curiosity and the audacity typical of a socialite. "Judging by how thoroughly satisfied you look, your mysterious boyfriend must be quite impressive in bed, hmm? To wear you out like this—how many rounds can he go in one night?"

The question was vulgar and offensive.

Revulsion churned in my stomach. I frowned sharply.

"Miss Gray, that's my private business." I stared at her coldly, my tone devoid of warmth. "I have no obligation to discuss it with you, nor any interest in doing so."

Niamh laughed lightly. Far from backing off, she pressed harder.

Her slender fingers tapped the table, a sharp gleam of probing curiosity flickering in her blue eyes.

"Don't be so uptight. We're all adults here." She pursued relentlessly. "I'm just curious—what kind of man could make you so fiercely protective? You won't even say his name. Is he really some shady married older man? Or is his status so embarrassing you can't bring him into the light?"

Faced with her malicious speculation, my fingers clenched the napkin tightly.

If Julian came back now carrying food and ran straight into her, the situation would become extremely messy.

I didn't want her to ruin his otherwise pleasant weekend.

More importantly, I had no idea how to naturally handle the image of Julian and me appearing together in front of this aggressive socialite.

"Sorry, I have no interest in satisfying your curiosity." I stood abruptly, grabbed my purse from the table. "Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."

Without looking at her sour expression, I left the restaurant quickly and headed straight for the restroom at the end of the hall.

I pushed into a stall and leaned against the cold door, exhaling a long breath.

I pulled out my phone and quickly opened my conversation with Julian, fingers flying across the screen: [Niamh is in the restaurant. She just sat down at our table. I'm hiding in the restroom for now.]

After hitting send, I stared at the brief message on the screen. My chest felt stuffed with waterlogged cotton, heavy and suffocating.

I stepped out and walked to the sink, looking at myself in the mirror.

The marks on my neck were mostly hidden by the turtleneck, but with any slight movement, they were still visible.

I pressed my hands against the marble counter, knuckles whitening with pressure.

This constant hiding, this feeling of sneaking around like a thief—it left me utterly frustrated and exhausted.

Julian and I were in a normal relationship. He was unmarried, I was unmarried. Yet every time someone provoked or questioned me, I didn't even have the confidence to refute them openly.

All I could do was make excuses and run away—even sending him a message to avoid the situation too.

I closed my eyes in frustration, despising my own cowardice.

What was I afraid of? Afraid of campus gossip, afraid of people saying I wasn't good enough for him, afraid of losing my so-called peaceful life.

But Julian was so accomplished. He'd given me all his favoritism, patience, and respect.

He'd even been willing to set aside work to take me to Disney, just to make up for what I'd missed in childhood.

And what about me? I didn't even have the courage to acknowledge him in public.

My cowardice and retreat weren't just unfair to myself—they were unfair to the man who loved me wholeheartedly.