It feels like he’s draining the life out of me.
I press my hand against his chest, attempting to push him away, but he clings to me as if I’m his only lifeline, selfishly swallowing everything I have.
Seconds, minutes, or hours pass, and the crowd goes completely wild—I can hear the sound of people hitting the metallic fence that separates us from them. As terrifying as it is to imagine so many people breaking free and rushing toward us, I’d welcome anything right now to pull me away from him.
His other hand moves to my throat, but he realizes that we’re in public and quickly shifts it up through my hair, keeping me anchored. The tiny electric sparks between us erupt into a high-voltage explosion as our two universes collide.
I can feel bruises forming on my lips, warmth pooling between my legs, wetness seeping out and thickening with every brush of his tongue against mine, every soft hum that vibrates in his throat.
Desire, hunger, and an overwhelming urge to grind against him swirl within me, pulling me deeper into a blissful vortex.
It feels too warm. Toogood. Too much.
“West,” I manage to mumble, clinging to the faint thread of control I had a moment ago. I’m on the verge of tears, and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s simply because what he does to me feels like the best thing I’ve ever experienced, even though I know I should feel repulsed. “S-stop?—”
Suddenly, he pulls back, and for some inexplicable reason, my mouth chases his, as if I’m subconsciously asking for more. It doesn’t take long for the reality of my actions to sink in. Shame floods my cheeks, and my eyes widen like discs as I glance up at him, still feeling the warmth of his large hand resting on my waist.
A devilish smirk spreads across his lips—a look that says he knows he’s won the game. And it makes me realize that I know something too.
I know that I’m completely fucked.
“Iknow love when I see it,” Evan, one of the most annoying pains in my ass, declares, a gruff laugh following his ridiculous statement. “And you two young people are clearly head over heels for each other. None of us can figure out how you managed to keep this under wraps for so long!”
All it took was a single kiss in front of that wheezing, brainless crowd of puppets for everyone to become obsessed with this fake idea of Venetia and me. My phone is blowing up with calls and messages, and I’m sure hers is too.
As much as I want to grab a gun and start shooting them one by one, I can’t deny one thing—the passion they’re rambling about is real.
I felt it.
I tasted it on her lips, heard it in the weak whimper of protest that escaped her mouth, and sensed it in the way her hands pressed against my chest—pushing me away one moment, then searching for more the next.
God, it felt good. A simple kiss—nothing special or mind-blowing to others—was soul-crushing, life-robbing, and utterly fucking addictive. My mouth still tingles from the spark of hers, and my tongue lingers on the memory of her softness.
I never thought I’d enjoy kissing Venetia Ross this much. First time for everything, I guess.
What makes it feel so unique is the burning, passionate hatred we share. Obviously, she didn’t kiss me because she wanted to; it was an act to steal the spotlight, to silence me after I showed up late on a bike—something she despises. It was selfish, wrong, and childish, but I don’t care. Venetia is trapped in this with me, and it isn’t about what either of us wants.
It’s about concocting new ways to spite each other and keeping that hatred alive—light and intense as always. Because without it, we won’t be the same.
The kiss was perfect, and the bliss from it still clouds my mind and numbs my body—except for one part. My cock hardens every time I think about it, making it difficult to walk around while trying to hide the large bulge in my pants. I just need her to do something she enjoys—like setting my fucking car on fire—and then it’ll pass. Once that happens, my cock will finally settle, and my thoughts will clear.
Maybe.
Tonight, we’re stuck in a meeting with local leaders. While we’ve essentially done our job—secured support for my father—we still need to sit through their pointless chatter if we want to maintain their sympathy.
People dream of jobs that allow them to be self-reliant instead of working for a big boss, but here’s the kicker: even though we’re at the top, we still have to run around, plastering wide, fake smiles on our faces to please others.
I want Venetia to be on my side for this, but tonight, she’s been oddly quiet. True to form, she exudes confidence and power, but her face betrays a hint of melancholy, as if she’s removed from the world.
I don’t like that. Not because I care about what’s in her little head, but because I fucking need her here with me. I’d take her snarky remarks and insults over this suffocating silence any day. I tighten my grip on her waist as Evan drones on about something, edging her closer to me. Maybe she’s plotting a trick—the reason behind her quietness—and I don’t fucking like that at all.
“It’s good to finally see Venetia with someone after that… tragic incident with Zayden,” says Alex, a friend of Evan’s—an elderly man with veneers so unnaturally bright that they’re almost frightening. “I don’t want to dredge up old memories, but I must say, we’re all still angry for you, Venetia—angry that that murderous bitch got into a psychiatric facility instead of being in jail forever.”
I observe Venetia’s reaction, my gaze scanning her face, searching for… something. I want to step in and tell him to shut the fuck up for bringing up such an uncomfortable subject—that’s what a loving fiancé would do—but she doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention. Her expression stays neutral, and I can’t tell if she’s in pain or if she’s just learned how to not give a shit.
After all, it’s been the main topic of conversation ever since Zayden passed away. The locals became fucking obsessed with their story and how tragically it unfolded for her. And, of course, idiots like Alex are more than happy to see her in a relationshipagain, even though back then, everyone thought she was too shattered to ever move on.
“Ah, to hell with her. Better tell us, how long have you two been together?” the idiot pries when neither of us responds, his stupid smile stretching across his face, his wrinkles twitching with the movement.
