Page 72 of Sweet Touch of Venom
The urge is so intense, and after we killed him—well, technically, she killed him. She followed my words and went to work. She hated the blood, but her hands and arms was well coated in it, some splattered on her cheeks. My little snake lavished in it like it was her own crimson. Stained on her from the man who deserved a gruesome removal from this earth. She stayed silent after, allowing me to walk her over to the sink I have in the torture room and scrub all the red from her skin and nails like she was preparing for a surgery. For her first time at torture and body removal, she did spectacular. There’s a darkness hiding underneath those scales and real pretty fangs. And I wish to snuff it out.
After I took her to Dr. Rio, I then bolted to my place to relieve myself. I haven’t fucked in what seems like ages, so the release shot through me like an eruption, staining my shower walls. The image of my fingers wrapped right around that thick curly hair while she’s bound in my knots, screaming for my mercy.
Then guilt breaks into my lust-driven thoughts.
I can’t.
I tighten my jaw. Although my best friend is gone, it seems too …?wrong. Like I’m breaking a code or something. The truth of the matter is, I can’t help the situation; the more she’s near me, my brain switches, and I only want to kiss her savagely and taste those lips that she swipes her tongue over seductively. Then I’ll bend her over and fuck her senseless.
The moment she gazed back at me after our little dirty fruit talk, well, mine, I knew somewhere deep in that wild head of hers that she sensed it too. Especially when I know for a fact whatever she said in French wasn’t just her explaining the way a banana grows.
That has to be why I get this electric attraction. Ihaveto fuck her. But I know I can’t do that. I’m supposed to be protecting her, not only because of the promise, but from my own insecurity that marks my skin. I’m not prepared to see the disgust in her eyes if she sees them. It’s why I shouldn’t be fantasizing about it.
So maybe just a kiss. That should satisfy me.
The sound of my phone chirping jerks me out of my thoughts. “Fuck.”
I pull out my phone, already frustrated because I know who’s contacting me. My father. If not my father, then my brother. To say I’m not close to them is an understatement.
I view the message popped on my screen.
Cruz
Papa wants you at the estate for dinner tonight.
More bubbles pop up.
Cruz
No exceptions.
Fuck. Now I have to deal with this mess.
I shut off my phone, letting out an exasperated breath. I can see his pompous smile now, staring at his finger while he typed. I’m thirty-four years old and still am expected to speak and sit with my father like I am twelve. Every time this occurs, it leads to disappointed expressions and a waste of time that could have been allocated to something else.
I stand up, gathering myself, and crack my neck and back to relieve the tension—that I’ll soon experience again after sitting in front of people who pretend to give a damn about me.
“Talk shop tomorrow.” I drank my last bit of water. Boone’s gaze never leaves the wall behind me, his jaw tightening and grim expression. He’s been worse than he normally is, all zoned out into another world. I made a note in my head to look further into Anita’s venomous crew.
But for now, I have other things to tend to.
Chapter 29
Ronan
Once upon a time…?it was still shit
It was true when I said Anita’s family mattered to me more than anything. And that meant my own family. I cherished everything about them because it was the opposite of what I had. Your home is supposed to be your safe haven, the place you can unwind and be yourself. Have peace. Unfortunately, I was gifted with a father who had a different kind of way of showing his love.
Including the world, my own father and brother don’t know my other lifestyle. Truthfully, they know nothing about me but my tragic past. How terrible. They are also the only ones I’ve kept in contact with from my old life. At that time, I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe consolation for once from my father or a relationship with my brother to at least make me feel normal.
Let’s say I regret ever contacting them years ago. I wish I would’ve stayed dead to them. But I was alone, and had no one.
We only choose to tolerate each other when papa wants to pretend for a split second we are a family. We are not and never have been.
I pull up to the forty thousand square footage house that stands out like a cotton ball in a mud puddle. It’s bright, white, and obnoxious. I ignore the parking spot that’s presented for me, and I also ignore the personal valet that resides at the front, awaiting me.
My tongue tingles for something else, something stronger and more potent. A stiff drink. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, and I have to get through this dinner now with no mental void.
