Page 43 of My Dark Divine
“You’re such a fucking bitch,” I snarl, tugging at her strands. She squeals from the sharp pain that flares across her skull, yet she continues to fuck my fingers. “A bitch who loves to drive me fucking insane so I have to calm you down like this.”
Venetia lets out a louder cry, and although I’m frustrated with her, I can’t ignore the enjoyment I feel in every second of this. The dynamic of push and pull, the forward strides and backward steps, the explosive fights and name-calling—it all culminates inthis.
In something we surely shouldn’t be fucking doing.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder what would happen if we acted differently. These thoughts are as confusing as they are terrifying, so I refuse to let them take root in my mind.
“Be a good girl and make yourself come on my fingers, Venetia,” I breathe out. “Show me how much you fucking hate me.”
My words are her last push as she breaks apart with a violent scream, her walls clenching around my fingers. My pleasure swells at the base of my spine, exploding through me like a high-voltage jolt of electricity. Our voices blend—a chant of pure ecstasy bursting forth, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. In this moment, the world ceases to exist as we surrender to the feelings that only we can draw out of each other.
Every nerve in my body ignites, and even as the muscles in my stomach unclench, I remain detached from the Earth.Whatever just happened has drained me of life. I can’t think, can’t hear, can’t move, can’t even pull my fingers out of her. She remains still, her fists gripping the sheets tightly, breathless gasps trickling from her mouth as her body wracks with aftershocks.
Fuck, I want to taste her. I want to roll her onto her back and slide my cock inside her while my mouth devours hers. I want to fuck her until she blacks out, ensuring she won’t have the energy for being such a fucking brat.
But instead, I pull my fingers out and shift to my side of the bed, fresh lethargy pressing down on me, forcing me toward the sleep I crave. I don’t bother to say a word as I close my eyes, certain that she’ll stop getting on my nerves after this.
At least for tonight.
Ihaven’t gotten a wink of sleep all night. Every bone aches with persistent pain, and tingles blossom between my legs. Hours have passed since what we did, yet I still feel the aftershocks coursing through me. It must be psychosomatic, or whatever they call it—feeling sensations that aren’t really there. There’s no way I can still feelthisgood after all this time.
But I do, and I hate myself for it. I despise my body for the way I rubbed against him, begging for him to fuck me like I was an animal, not a human being. The moment he pinned me to the bed and hovered above me, I lost all the dignity and pride I once held. All of it vanished because, at that moment, I felt safe.
Safe. With West.
I think I might be losing my mind. He wanted to intimidate me, to punish me for slapping him, but sprawled beneath him, it felt like I was shielded by a thick wall. His presence was a suffocating embrace—as always—yet I felt more secure than ever. At that moment, nothing and no one could reach me—not my father, not my responsibilities, not the persistent weight of my depression. The hateful thoughts and venomous anger froze, and I was free. I was the center of his attention, and he was the center of mine. Nothing else mattered.
A spike of fear jolts through the haze of my confused thoughts as I feel him moving beside me. The rustling of the sheets sends a wave of unease across my body, and I instinctively press my knees to my chest, burying my face in the pillow.
It’s early morning—the sun hides behind pockets of orange clouds, its rays barely piercing through. Fresh air drifts in from the slightly opened window, the breeze awakening goosebumps on my arms. I was too scared to move after what happened, and the blanket was tossed somewhere between me and West.
Throughout the night, a storm of emotions kept me distracted, but now I feel cold. The mattress sinks slightly as he sits up, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, hoping he won’t notice I’m awake.
I don’t want to get up yet. I’m terrified of facing him.
A shiver snakes down my spine as he gets up off the bed, sending a blast of frigid air toward me.
Please, God, don’t let him see that I’m awake.
Shock floods my senses as I hear the sheets rustle again, and in an instant, my body is covered. The gentle fabric feels wonderfully soft against my exposed skin.
He just draped a blanket over me.
For a moment, West doesn’t move, and I can feel his eyes on my back. Mentally, I brace myself for his demands. I expect tofeel his hands on my body, shaking me awake and screaming at me like my father often does.
But he does neither. He hesitates briefly before getting up and leaving. The door clicks shut, and I slowly open my eyes, hearing the faint trickle of water in the background.
Good. He went to the bathroom, giving me a brief moment to gather my thoughts and formulate a plan. I’ll have to face him eventually, and I need to know how to act after what happened. Slowly, I sit up on the bed, the tingles between my legs a mocking reminder of my fear. I tilt my head to the side, savoring the crack of my neck.
I’ve never felt so exhausted in my life.
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to clear my mind and think of a better way to start our upcoming conversation, but nothing comes to me. I keep staring blankly at the wall before me as time drags on. One minute, five—still nothing.
Then, the door creaks open, and I flinch as a fresh wave of goosebumps rises on my skin. He yawns as he walks out of the bathroom, and when our eyes meet, I’m momentarily paralyzed, memories of the night surging back and overwhelming my rational thoughts.
I can still feel the way his fingers moved inside me, the words he whispered, and that sound—that fucking sound—that I coaxed from him. My cheeks flush with heat, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. I may not have seen anything last night, but my imagination fills in the gaps with vivid clarity. Bits and pieces of the night replay in my mind as I look at him, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
I can only imagine how it would feel to face him directly, to see every emotion etched on his face—the way pleasure twists his perfect features into undeniable bliss.
