Page 83 of My Dark Divine
Slapping her ass, I jolt her upright and draw her back to me. I don’t have to wait for her to notice me, and when she locks her half-mast eyes with mine, neither of us can look away. I let my grip become comforting rather than overly tight, giving her slight encouragement. She takes the hint and begins grinding against my mouth in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
There’s not enough oxygen as my nose presses against her clit. My chest tightens with pressure, sending a rush of blood to my cock, a perverse satisfaction flooding my veins. And honestly, I’d gladly die like this.
I fuck her with my tongue before dragging it up and down her folds, balancing the shallow movements with deeper ones. She quickens her pace, her chest rising and falling with staccato breaths as she nears her release. I can hear her frantic heartbeat from down here, the euphoric adrenaline seeping out of her.
My pleasure swells at the base of my spine as I scrape my teeth along her flesh, drawing another sharp inhale from her lungs. She’s cautious, yet she doesn’t pull away, ready to accept the pain if I decide to act on it.
My girl.
I can feel her breaking even before her mind registers it. My tongue dives deep inside her, and her walls clench around me as she shatters on my face with a tearful scream. Venetia slightlybends forward, the force of her orgasm overwhelming her, her chest on full display before me. I wish I could tear off her sweater to enjoy the view, but it’s too fucking late for that.
She pulses around me, violent shudders rippling through her body while I never stop fucking her, drawing out every bit of her orgasm. It’s only when she throws her head back and, with a whine of protest, her hands begin to slap the sheets, that I force myself to stop. Her taste lingers in my mouth after she slides off my face, settling back into my lap while muttering something about God under her breath.
My hands wrap around her legs, holding her in place before I press a kiss onto her inner thigh, an involuntary chuckle cracking from my throat.
“What’s that?” she asks breathlessly, still struggling to gather her pieces back together. “Do I look funny to you now?”
I lick my lips, tasting the remains of her essence before shaking my head. “No. Not funny. You’re cute.” I skim my fingertips across the side of her legs, sending goosebumps in their wake. “All flushed, blissfully exhausted, and fucking beautiful.”
Her emerald eyes shine with bliss as she looks down at me, a weak smirk tilting the corner of her mouth. “And you’re a real charmer. I forgive you. But next time, it won’t work. Don’t even try—words or nothing.”
I can accept that. Words usually lead to fights, and as a result, we always end up in a situation like this.
Flashback
Age 18
Ican smell a faint, feminine perfume lingering on him. I see traces of red lipstick on his shirts—the ones he makes me wash every time he comes home. He used to be clumsy, but now he’s become someone else entirely. Something is happening to him. He’s always on edge, exhausted, his pupils dilated, sweat soaking through his clothes.
This routine has become unbearable, to the point where I start shaking each time he comes home. It’s always the same: he falls onto me, finishes in minutes that stretch endlessly, then passes out—sometimes right on top of me. I clean up what’s leftof him from myself, sometimes throwing up afterward. Over the years, my disgust has transformed into something deeper, sharper, and stronger.
It transformed into pure hate toward myself.
Only music and my time at the rescue center keep me afloat, providing reasons to hold on instead of falling back into the emotional state I found myself in after that doctor’s visit. It’s been a while since then, but it feels like yesterday.
I even stopped looking in the mirror for a while. My face had become so unfamiliar, so revolting, that I couldn’t bear to see it anymore. I had gotten better, finding comfort in avoidance. But Zayden’s comment—about looking sick and scary without makeup—changed everything, throwing me back into the pit. He said I needed to look good for the business meetings as if those businessmen cared about my face. Or maybe he just wanted me to cover the bruises he left on me. If that’s the case, I get it—no one wants to see how imperfect he is.
He’s been distancing himself. The suspicion gnawed at me like background noise I could almost ignore. But now, I know it’s true.
I know he’s cheating.
I know he avoids coming home.
I know it, but I don’t understand what I did wrong. I’ve given him everything—every part of my body, mind, and soul. I molded myself to be perfect for him, to become the version of myself he wanted. I let him tell me what to eat, wear, and say. I forgot what it’s like to be me—or maybe I never knew in the first place.
And now, I’m terrified he’ll leave me. I’ve seen the woman he’s cheating with. She’s everything I’m not—more beautiful, like a doll with perfect features and a flawless face that needs no makeup. When she laughs, it’s as if flowers bloom with each sound, her smile lighting the way.
I glance at my bandaged palm, a wave of shame sweeping through me. Last night, she was at the charity event with us. I watched them talk, my fingers clutching the glass of wine until a sharp pain ripped through my hand. People rushed to help, picking shards from my skin and trying to stop the bleeding, but the pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside. My attention stayed fixed on them, even with the crowd gathered around me.
Neither of them noticed. They never even glanced my way.
I feel like something Zayden has accidentally burdened himself with—a weight he’s forced to carry, keeping him from truly living. With me, he’s merely existing. With her, he’s alive. Thriving. I see it in the way he looks at her, the way his eyes light up whenever she’s nearby. Three years ago, he looked at me like that, back when we first met.
It feels like an eternity since then. I don’t have that spark anymore. Dark circles shadow my eyes, my voice barely above a whisper, and I’ve become someone I can hardly recognize—someone weak. A jealous shell trying and failing to reach the level of perfection everyone else expects of her.
I’ve morphed into someone I don’t even recognize, and now, I feel like I’m running out of time.
“I’m so sorry,”he whispers, a sob shaking his entire body as he drops to his knees beside me, causing the floor to tremble beneath us. “I’m so, so sorry, baby. I blacked out. I—I don’t even remember how this happened.”
