Page 76 of My Dark Divine
He turns his face away, clearly annoyed by the truth in my words. But he doesn’t stop me, even as my fingers reach for the buttons of his shirt, brushing over them. “People are scared of you, West. Scared of what you might do if they fail to impress you.”
As I keep touching him, his body starts to relax and his breathing gradually slows, but his expression remains hardened, the scowl still cutting across his face.
Slowly, his focus shifts toward me, and the weight of his gaze causes my heart to race. I shift from one foot to the other, feeling trapped. “And you? Areyouscared of me, Venetia?”
“I am.” I absently play with the buttons, a quiet fear hovering just out of reach. “You’re unpredictable. Unstable. Sometimes I wonder if you’ll wake up one day and decide to hurt me just because I’m pissing you off again.”
He grabs my chin, and I flinch, a shudder racing down my spine as he looks into my eyes. “How much did you drink?”
I tilt my head, trying to break free from his grip, but he holds me firmly in place, reminding me that I have no control over the situation. “Does it matter?”
An indescribable emotion flickers across his face, and he lowers his gaze as if regretting our conversation. “It doesn’t,”he replies curtly before roughly releasing me and turning away. “We’ll talk when you sober up. We have business to discuss.”
A sharp ache grips my chest as he prepares to walk away, leaving me alone once again. He ruined my peaceful night with his unexpected arrival, and now he dares to cast his negativity on me and get annoyed because I’m drunk while talking to him.
“Fuck you,” I snap, my words landing squarely as he stops. “And your fucking business.”
A low, deep chuckle escapes him—a haunting melody so dark it could belong in a Sylvia Plath reverie. I straighten up as he turns back to me, doing my best to maintain a façade of indifference.
“Don’t start this again,” he warns, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “I don’t have time for this.”
“What do you have time for, then?” I challenge, taking a step closer. My body moves on autopilot, though fear coils tightly in my gut. I’m toying with fire, but I can’t help but inch closer to him. Like a void, his presence draws me in, its magnetic pull threatening to swallow me whole. “Running around angry at everyone? Or for a job you claim to love, even though every little thing sends you spiraling, on the verge of losing your mind?”
“You know better than that,” he replies calmly. “It’s never about loving it.”
“Yet you still act like you don’t care about anything but that,” I retort. I’m not sure why I decided to confront him like this, but it feels as though the words that had been hovering on the tip of my tongue finally slipped out. The weight I’ve been carrying for so long begins to lift, easing the discomfort that had been boiling inside me.
“You sound like you don’t believe it.” West swiftly closes the remaining distance between us, taking advantage of the fact that I’m rooted to the spot. He knows exactly what effect he has on me. “Tell me, Venetia. What doyouthink of me?”
I shake my head, attempting to turn away, but his hand grips my shoulder, holding me in place. “It doesn’t matter what I think of you, West. I?—”
“It does,” he interrupts, capturing my chin in his hand again. It seems he’s become obsessed with holding me like this. “To me, it does. So say it.”
My hands find their way to his undone buttons, gliding over them as I feel the rough texture of his scars beneath. “Come to bed,” I whisper, my fingers gripping the fabric, twisting it in my hand. “I’ll show you.”
He exhales heavily. “Yeah, you’re fucking drunk, that’s what I think. Out of your fucking?—”
“I don’t want to have sex with you,” I cut in, dispelling any doubts. His self-esteem is laughable. “It’s not about that.”
He’s quiet for a solid moment before slowly pulling himself away from his stance, allowing me to take him to my bedroom. His deliberate pace makes it clear he’s hesitant. It’s strange how only moments ago, he was ready to upend everything in my room, and now he seems so calm and composed.
I can feel how tense he is as we walk inside. Stopping by the bed, I push him onto it. I realize I can easily shift him from feeling safe and guarded back to his usual discomfort. The thought fills me with a sense of empowerment, though I don’t want to use it against him.
Not tonight, anyway.
I stand between his legs, my chest just inches from his gaze. I’m dressed in my silk short robe, and it wouldn’t take him long to slide it off me and take what most men would desire. Yet, no matter how close I am or what I do, he doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he looks rightthroughme.
I undo the remaining buttons of his shirt, my curiosity growing with each second as his tension increases. We’ve been intimate before, and it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy being touched.But whatever I’m doing now feels much more profound than that. I have no intention of turning this into something sexual.
He allows me complete control as I remove his shirt, revealing his bare chest. The dim lamp on the nightstand casts an orange glow, the only light in the room, creating a soft illusion of warmth and comfort.
My eyes roam over his body, drinking in the sight of him—so damaged, yet so beautiful. I thread my fingers through his hair, trying to draw his attention, but he turns his head away, clearly uncomfortable.
I’m not quite sure what I’m doing when I climb onto the bed and settle behind him on my knees, choosing to focus my attention on his back, which bears even more scars.
“Come on, West,” I whisper, tracing a finger over the top scar, sending a shiver through him. “I’m going to hate you again in the morning. Just let meseeyou while I want to.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice the flutter of his lashes. “I don’t need you toseeme,” he says, attempting to sound harsh, but his voice wavers. I brush my fingers across the damaged skin, moving slowly and deliberately, as if trying to memorize the details he keeps hidden beneath fabric. “Don’t try to make me your business.”
