Page 48 of Code Violation

I roll us so I’m hovering over her body. Mainly because I like her beneath me, but also so she can’t escape in case she freaks out and tries to make a dash for it.

There isn’t a flicker of discomfort or doubt in her bright eyes as she gazes up at me, though. Only happiness that makes my chest squeeze.

“Just past seven a.m.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, and suddenly, I’m thinking that I misread her a moment ago.

“What’s wrong?”

Vesper begins chewing on the pad of her thumb, and I pull her hand away, threading our fingers together.

“Talk to me,” I plead, chest contracting for an entirely different reason than before.

She shakes her head. “Last night was so amazing, and I’m afraid I’m about to ruin it all and you’re going to be really mad at me.”

I rear back. “You never need to worry about my reaction to anything you say or do. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Offering me a muted smile, she cups my face in her palm. It feels like she’s trembling.

“Don’t be afraid, Ves. Ever.”

Closing her eyes, she swallows hard. “I need to swing by a drugstore.”

It takes me all of three seconds to connect the dots.

Shit.

“Fuck, baby.” I drop my head onto her chest. “I didn’t stop to ask if I needed to wear a condom.” Guilt grips me. “I was so caught up in the moment that I lost my fucking mind and⁠—”

She pulls my head up and looks me straight in the eyes. “We both got carried away. Using protection is as much my responsibility as it is yours.”

Vesper’s right, but it still doesn’t make me feel any better. When all is said and done, she is the one who has to put chemicals in her body this morning, not me.

“I got myself tested after the last time with Kane.”

As much as I appreciate her honesty, I always knew she would never put me at risk. Just like I would never do that to her.

“The team doctor tests us on a regular basis, and last night …” Fuck, I’m actually going to say this. “Last night was the first time in a long while for me.”

Her brows knit together. “How long, Silas?”

It’s my turn to swallow hard. I’m not ready to admit that my obsession with this girl runs so deep that I refuse to be with any other person than her.

So many times, I’ve tried with other women—talked to them in bars, danced with them on nights out. It didn’t matter what hair or eye color they had because when I looked at them, all I could see was Vesper.

“Let me take you to the pharmacy and buy you Plan B. It’s the least I can do.”

“Aren’t you worried that we’ll be seen together?”

I don’t have a decent answer to her question, but at least she dropped the previous one.

“Ves”—I look her dead in the eyes—“I’m not allowing you to climb out of my bed, get dressed, and head out to buy emergency contraception because of my actions. That’s not how shit works with me. That’s not how I treat my girl.”

Just like in the cocktail bar that night, Vesper doesn’t challenge my reference to her as “my girl,” and for the briefest second, anxiety gives way to happiness.

She hesitates for a beat, closing her eyes as she whispers, “Okay. Let me take a shower, and then we’ll head out.”

Twenty minutes later, Vesper steps out of my en suite bathroom, a black towel wrapped around her head in one of those knots women seem to be experts at creating and another wrapped around her body.