At Peace

Chapter Three Done

Joe Callahan woke with Violet in his arms.

This didn’t happen, ever. Even if he took a woman to his home, which was rare, she didn’t spend the night. On the more frequent occasion when he was in their bed, he left after he was done no matter how creative they got with asking him to stay.

He fucked them; he didn’t sleep with them, no exceptions.

He dipped his chin while opening his eyes and heard her hair move on the pillow. When he caught sight of her face, she was looking up at him.

Good fucking Christ, she was beautiful.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice as sleepy as her fucking gorgeous face and he felt that one, single, quiet word in his gut and in his dick.

He didn’t respond and she didn’t seem to mind. She snuggled into him, tucking her face in his throat but her hand slid up his chest, her fingers moving to run gently along his jaw.

He felt her touch in his gut and dick too.

This was a mistake. A huge, fucking, mammoth mistake. Just like Kenzie but far worse. He knew it, he knew it the minute he kicked Kenzie out of his house, turned to Violet, saw her in those fucking ridiculous boots, sexy as hell nightgown and ratty robe and realized who she was, what she was and that he wanted her. He knew it when he walked across his yard while she was shoveling the snow and he explained himself, something he never fucking did. He knew it when he told Colt he’d take her home, knowing when he did he was going to fuck her and standing at her side in the bar, waiting for his opening, which she gave him again and again, looking so fucking cute, sucking on her straw and then, Jesus, knotting a cherry stem with her goddamned tongue. He knew it when she went hot for him the minute he kissed her then she begged for it rough. He knew it when he fucked her on his ‘Stang, no control, his brain in his dick. He knew it when she crossed her yard for him that first night he had her in his bed. He knew it the first time she took him in her mouth, not sloppy, fucking Christ, the woman could use her mouth. He knew it when she came on his face, no inhibitions, shit, but she was unbelievable and she was his. His. All of her, his.

But, most of all, he knew it the first time she smiled at him.

He knew this was a mistake.

“I need to go,” she mumbled into his throat and tilted her head back, pushing up a bit to come face to face, her hand cupping his jaw.

She did need to go, he needed her to get the fuck out of there but he still didn’t loosen his arms.

Then she tipped it.

“Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

There it was.

“I’m done,” he said and watched her blink.

“What?”

“Done,” he repeated and her head pressed into the pillow as she tilted it to the side in confusion.

“Sorry, I don’t –”

“With this, it was good, buddy, but I’m done.”

He felt her body lock in his arms as the softness of sleep and sex faded from her face and shock and pain replaced it.

His arms, not taking direction from his brain, tightened.

“Done?” she whispered and that shock and pain was heavy in that word.

“Buddy –” he started but she moved.

She tore out of his arms and crawled over him so fast even if he tried, he couldn’t grab her, but he didn’t try.

She pulled her robe on, didn’t bother with her underwear and nightgown, didn’t even pick them up from the floor, she left them where they were.

“Violet,” he called but she belted her robe and he watched her run, the robe billowing out behind her as she went.

He rolled to his back and put his hands to his face, swiping them hard against his skin as he listened to the sliding glass door open then shut.

It cost him to stay still, on his back, in his bed and not go after her. It carved through his gut, the pain acute. The only way to get rid of it was to fucking move, to follow her, to go and get her, to drag her right back.

But he took the pain and stayed put.

Then he rolled to the side and he could smell the scent of her fucking hair on his pillow.