ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED TO MR. VINCENT

Sunlight spilled through the gap in the curtains, pale and gold, stretching lazily across a room far too polished to belong to anyone Violet knew. It touched the edge of the bed first, then crept higher, warm against her bare shoulder, before she even understood she was awake. Her head throbbed, a slow, insistent pulse behind her eyes, her body was achy and sore, like every of her muscle has just been pulled or overworked, and for a long moment she simply lay there, unwilling to move, letting the ache anchor her to the last thing that made sense which was nothing at all. The room smelled faintly of cologne, something expensive and clean, cedar and something darker underneath it, nothing like the cheap drugstore perfume she wore. The sheets beneath her were softer than anything she'd ever slept on, cool in some places, unbearably warm in others, and when she finally forced her eyes open, the first thing she saw was a ceiling she didn't recognize. High, white, untouched by the water stains that lived permanently on her apartment ceiling back home. Then she felt it. An arm, heavy and warm, resting low across her waist, fingers loosely curled around her hip. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned her head slowly, and the moment her eyes landed on the man beside her, the previous night came rushing back all at once, sharp and vivid and far too late to undo. Vincent. Asleep, features finally unguarded, dark hair falling loosely over his forehead, one arm slung over her waist like something in him refused to let go, even now. Violet stared at him, heart slamming against her ribs, and let the memory pull her under. The gala had been unbearable from the start. Too many people who belonged in that glittering room far more than she did, she could remember the sound of champagne being poured, and the clinking of glasses, too much champagne pressed into her hand by strangers she'd already forgotten. She drank too much, She remembers Vincent approaching her with a glass of champagne in his hands. They'd ended up talking, easy and unguarded in a way she never managed around him during work hours, and somewhere between his dry commentary on the board members circling the room and her admitting, too honestly, that she'd nearly cried when the hors d'oeuvres tray disappeared before she could take a second one, the champagne had softened everything. By the time he offered to walk her out, she hadn't wanted to say no. The private elevator was quiet, the silence pressed in close and made her hyperaware of every inch of space between them. She remembered glancing up at him, catching him already watching her, something unreadable simmering behind that usually controlled expression. "You're staring," she whispered, her breath unsteady. "I'm aware," he said, his voice low, rough at the edges in a way she'd never heard from him before. She didn't remember deciding to step closer. She only remembered that the space between them disappeared, and his hand found her waist, and when he tipped her chin up to meet his eyes, she couldn't have looked away even if some small, sober part of her had wanted to. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, close enough that she felt the words more than heard them. But she couldn't tell him to stop, although her brain protested. His mouth met hers, slow at first, almost careful, like he was giving her one last chance to change her mind. She didn't take it. Her fingers curled into his lapels instead, pulling him closer, and the careful restraint in his kiss unraveled into something hungrier, deeper, his hand sliding from her waist to the small of her back, pressing her flush against him like the inch of space left between them had become unbearable. The elevator doors opened, neither of them noticing right away. He walked her backward down the hallway between kisses, her back meeting his door as he reached blindly for the handle, and the last coherent thought she had before the room swallowed them both was that she should stop, she should absolutely stop, this was Vincent, her Sponsor, her Boss, the single most important person to her entire future. And then his mouth found the curve of her neck, and every rational thought she owned simply stopped mattering. He pushed her gently till she fell on something soft, which she assumed was the bed. He hungrily tore off her dress completely leaving her in her red lace undies. She felt his big hands on her breast, fondling and pinching her n*****s, sending shivers down her spine and settling in between her thighs. She moaned unconsciously, as he entered her slowly, and she grabbed him by the shoulder, digging her nails into his flesh. "It hurts," she whispered, trying to push him off. Vincent stopped suddenly and asked "are you a virgin?" She was taken aback by the question and could only nod her head as she still felt pain from him trying to penetrate her. His large hands stretched out, gently removing her hair from her cheek, and whispered. "Then I'll be gentle." Without a second warning, he penetrated her, gentle at first, as he had promised, then fast and hard like a wild beast, who couldn't restrain himself anymore. Both groaning and moaning as they near their pleasures. Violet squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, her face burning despite the panic rising fast beneath her ribs. This isn't happening. This is not happening. Beside her, Vincent shifted, and she froze completely, praying he wouldn't wake yet. Not until she had some plan, until she'd figured out how to explain away the fact that she'd ended up here, in his bed, with no idea how to face the man who ran her entire scholarship program in the harsh, sober light of morning. Turning her head slow and careful, she met the sight of him fully for the first time in the honest light of morning. She realized with a small, helpless jolt that the man before her was unfairly handsome. He had a perfect sharp jaw, a faint shadow of stubble traced his jawline, his lashes were longer than she'd noticed before, dark and thick, resting against skin that looked impossibly smooth for someone who spent his life in boardrooms and stress. Her eyes drifted lower, to his mouth, and she felt her face heat instantly at the memory it stirred, the memory of exactly what that mouth had done to her only hours before. His lips were full, a little parted now in sleep, and even at rest there was something faintly commanding about them, like even unconsciousness, he couldn't fully let go of the quiet authority he carried everywhere. Violet swallowed hard, her gaze tracing the line of his shoulder, broad and solid beneath the sheet, down the curve of his arm still slung possessively over her waist. It should have been infuriating, how good he looked doing something as ordinary as sleeping. Instead, it just made everything infinitely worse. Now she was left to admire him. She didn't let herself linger on it. Inch by inch, she eased his arm off her waist, holding her breath the entire time, certain the pounding of her own heart alone would wake him. He shifted, murmured something low and unintelligible, and she froze completely, counting the seconds until his breathing settled back into its slow, even rhythm. Only then did she dare to move again. She slid to the edge of the bed, feet touching the cold marble floor, and forced herself upright despite the way the room tilted slightly with the movement. The pain in her thighs made her legs feel weak, her head still pounding from the champagne. Her dress, she realized with a fresh wave of panic, was somewhere across the room, discarded in last night's blur, and she spotted it crumpled near the door. She grabbed it, along with her shoes dangling from her fingers, and cast one last glance over her shoulder. He hadn't moved. Still asleep, chest rising and falling steady beneath the sheet, completely unaware that the girl who'd spent the night in his bed was currently tiptoeing across his floor like a thief fleeing the scene of her own crime. Violet eased the door open, wincing at the faint click of the handle, and slipped out into the hallway, pressing the door shut behind her with the softest click she could manage. She didn't breathe again until she was safely inside the elevator, dress clutched to her chest, her heart still hammering.