Page 43 of Beautiful Venom
“No, thanks.” She swallows, fighting against a blush or rage, I can’t tell. “I just want to know what’s expected of me. What’s the point of being a Vencor member if I’m kept in the dark?”
“You’ll be contacted if something is needed of you. Not the other way around.”
She pauses and I can see the wheels in her brain working in overdrive. I like how she thinks before she talks. The time between thinking and speaking could be elongated, but it’s a good trait.
It’s also how I knew she was plotting to infiltrate Vencor. I’m not entirely sure why, but that’s why I put on the whole fucking show to have her initiated.
Best way to watch a potential hazard?
Keep it under your thumb.
Squash it if it wiggles around.
Now, I didn’t need to fuck her, but it’s still a power bargaining chip and she didn’t use her safe word, so it’s game on.
Everythingis a game.
She tucks a few flyaways behind her ear and I follow the motion. How her lean fingers outstretch. Her nails aren’t painted and are cut short, but they somehow look elegantly neat.
Then she speaks again, trying—and failing—to sound detached. “How about meetings and stuff?”
“Stuff?”
“You know. Whatever happens in said meetings.”
“Whatever happens in said meetings is not for Trial members. Unless you get invited by a Senior.”
“Invite me, then.”
I step close to her, erasing the distance between us.
My chest expands with her scent again, and I resist the urge to pluck the goddamn wildflower in her and crush it to pieces.
There was a time when I liked beautiful things. Now, I want them all ruined.
Trampled upon.
Reduced to dust.
Dahlia glances up, her plump lips parting, the bottom one slightly fuller than the upper one. As I look down at her, a choppy breath spills out of her slightly parted mouth and I notice a mole on the corner of her lip, tiny and barely there.
And now I’m staring at her lip.
I rip my gaze to her eyes, slightly wide. Expectant, even. “What will I get in return?”
“What do you want?” Her low whisper sends an electric shot down to my dick.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Despite my better judgement, I grab her chin with my thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back so that I’m invading those eyes. Preston has always said mine are unsettling, and I can tell she feels it as I stare her down for several long beats.
“If I say your body and soul, would you offer them?”
Her lips part again, the perfect opening if I want to thrust my cock down her throat, then decorate her face with my cum.
Again.
“Do I have a choice?” Her murmur is haunting, somewhat lifeless.
