“Did you really think I would allow that?” I ask, my voice rising. Our relationship is far from perfect, but it stings to know she believes I could do something like that. I just wanted to piss her off. “Stop scratching at your skin and come here.”
“Don’t tell?—”
“Come, Venetia. I don’t think your knees will survive another impact with this laminate.”
Hesitantly, she closes the distance between us, but she doesn’t stop scratching at her skin. I wonderwhyshe does that whenever she gets nervous. It mostly doesn’t happen during our arguments, but when we start discussing certain topics, it seems to trigger her.
Or maybe I’m just overthinking it.
I reach for her hands, forcing them apart. The skin around her nails is already red from the pressure, with some areas dotted with dried blood.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, brushing my thumbs over her abused skin. “What triggers you?”
She shakes her head, trying to pull her hands back like the stubborn little serpent she is. Why can’t she learn that I can easily overpower her?
“Nothing. It’s nothing, West.”
“You’re going to tell me sooner or later,” I say, leaning in and kissing each of her fingers.
She sighs deeply. Her hands are still the center of my focus, but I can feel her heavy stare on me. Shewilltell me, and when she does, those who did this to her better fucking run because I’m coming for every last one of them.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she groans, using every ounce of her strength to break free from my grip. “Why can’t you understand? I don’t need you, West. I don’t need anything from you.”
“You still believe that?”
“Iknowthat,” she snaps, stressing the second word. “What we did… It means nothing. Just sex. I’m still?—”
“Fucking mine,” I interrupt, my patience running out. “But don’t mistake this for a one-sided deal. Just as you belong to me, I belong to you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, baby girl.”
Her face contorts into a cute, angry scowl, nostrils flaring as she simmers with that intoxicating fury. “I think I’ll have to kill you eventually.”
The thought of her pressing a blade to my neck or aiming a gun at my temple sends an electrifying heat through me, blood surging to my cock. “I’d like to see you try,” I mock. “But I thought you preferred to tear people apart with that sharp tongue and your cunning tricks.”
“You’re right,” she says firmly. “I might not be able to physically overpower you, but trust me, if I get angry—and I will—I’ll find a way to break you, West.”
It’s an adorable little threat, but one that’ll never come to pass, since I’m already fucking broken.
We’reskilled at faking feelings. But tonight, our love isn’t the main focus of the pretense. Instead, we’re pretending to feel guilt. Well, Venetia is. I couldn’t care less about Elijah.
Curious eyes surround us, whispers filling the air as everyone wonders where the main star of this terrible movie is. It’sexhilarating to realize I’m the only one who knows the real answer. Venetia hasn’t asked what I did to him, and even if she did, I wouldn’t tell her. My lady doesn’t need to know about the mess I made or how I dissolved every part of him in acid.
The venue is expansive, with two floors, fancy decorations, and—much to our fucking surprise—velvety upholstery draping the seats. It’s the kind of place that will haunt our dreams. A large screen looms before us, its black surface absorbing everything around it, including our reflections. Dozens of round tables, covered with white sheets, are scattered throughout the space. Venetia keeps shifting from one foot to the other, anxiously scanning the space for a better place to sit. She’s nervous, but not because of what I did to Elijah.
I can see through her façade. She hovers on the brink of her sanity, afraid to let her true feelings emerge—and with good reason. Pretending to be someone you’re not for your entire life will do that to you.
“Come on,” I urge, squeezing her hand as I guide her deeper into the room. She struggles to keep up with my pace, huffing and muttering curses under her breath, but I ignore her. As I spot a table at the far end of the room, a smirk spreads across my face when I see it has only one chair.
Perfect.
“West!” she whisper-shouts, trying to halt my progress and pull me back. Her little struggle makes her look like a stubborn child reluctant to leave the playground. “There are better places to sit!”
Finally, as we approach the table, I swiftly pull out the chair and plop myself down, spinning her around and pulling her onto my lap. She gasps and tries to squirm away, but I press her closer to my chest, ignoring her feeble attempts to escape.
There’s a whirlwind of feelings inside me toward Venetia. While most confuse me, one thing is clear—she’s the firstwoman I want to keep repeating everything with, including our intimacy. As strange as it sounds, sex has always bored me. I never found much enjoyment in it, and my time was consumed by work, leaving little room for indulgence.
But with her, I want to keep going.
“Stop fidgeting,” I murmur softly into her ear, burying my nose in her hair as I take a deep breath, intoxicated by the sweet, smoky scent of cherry. “Be good, Venetia. You don’t want anyone to see how much you dislike me.”
