Sweetest Venom (Virtue #2)(7)

“Unless what?”

“We don’t go inside and go somewhere else.”

“Where would that somewhere else be?”

I lift a hand and pull her hair to the side, revealing her porcelain-white shoulder, and caress it with the back of my hand. “My apartment.”

“And what would we do there?”

I lean down and kiss her shoulder. “Take a guess.”

Short of breath, her chest rises and falls rapidly. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”

“Yet I can practically smell you getting wet.” I close the space between us until I can feel her soft and supple body grazing mine, hardening my cock, and whisper in her ear, “But if you want me to spell it out for you, beautiful, so be it. If you leave with me now, we’re going back to my place to f*ck. And it won’t be nice. And it won’t be pretty, but you’ll love every second of it.”

She takes a step back, putting some space between us. Placing my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, I watch her run her palms down her dress, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. It allows me to admire how graceful her movements are. With her icy beauty, she reminds me of a Russian ballerina, from the curve of her pale neck to the elegant curves of her body hidden behind black silk. Briefly, the thought crosses my mind that I’m asking a complete stranger to go back to my place to f*ck, but I came here to forget and that’s exactly what I plan to do. With her or with someone else.

I’m thinking that she’s going to tell me to go f*ck myself when she looks up.

“Let’s go then.”

After we get in the cab and I give my address to the cab driver, she reaches for my hand. She leans her head back on the leather seat and turns to face me, her features made indistinguishable by the darkness surrounding us.

“I’ve never done something like this before.”

I squeeze her hand. “Me neither. Are you afraid?”

She nods.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can go back, go on our separate ways, and pretend like this never happened.”

Waiting for her answer, I watch the lights coming from outside dance with the shadows of the night on her body as we speed through the streets of Manhattan.

“It isn’t that. It’s just …”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid of what you make me want.”

“And what’s that?”

“To feel,” she says, her words barely a whisper.

I smile ruefully, lift her hand, and kiss it. “That’s exactly what I don’t want.” What I’m running away from.





TONIGHT’S FUCK ISN’T ABOUT connecting with someone. Tonight’s f*ck is about seeking an emotional stupor, where I can lose myself in her body and stop living in the hell that mine has become. It’s about reaching that point when I’m buried in her *, my cock surrounded by her warmth, pounding away my feelings for another woman in her. Where there are no emotions, no memories, no expectations—nothing. Just pure, unadulterated, and selfish ecstasy.

Beyond the few sentences we shared on the ride here, we haven’t said anything. It isn’t like there is no need for words—there is—but not of anything that is relevant to what we are about to do. Besides, the silence allows each of us to battle our own ghosts. I turn to look at her and take in the rich color of her blonde hair that looks as though it were spun out of pure gold, the two small laugh lines shaped like the curved brackets of a parenthesis that imprison her mouth, and the way she holds herself so upright. She reminds me of a soldier about to face his enemy. The only sign that betrays her cool and unperturbed exterior is her damp palm in mine. Or maybe it’s mine.

Standing outside my apartment, I turn to look at her. “Last chance to change your mind,” I say.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re trying to get me to change mine?” She glances in my direction, our gazes connecting briefly before she goes back to stare straight ahead. “Or maybe you’re afraid that I’m—”

I pin her against the wall, my front crushing hers. “I’m not afraid. I just want to make sure that you won’t change your mind, because once we walk past those doors”—I nod in the direction of my apartment—“I will f*ck you. And you will love every single second that I’m inside you, f*cking your *. Over … and … over … again.” Until I numb myself and forget that I can’t have her. “Do you hear me?”

Maybe I’m being purposely cruel to her because deep down a part of me is afraid. Afraid of having this woman erase the last traces of Blaire lingering in my apartment, in my body, and in my soul.

“So I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Shhh… Don’t say another word.” She cups my face with her hands and brings our mouths so close I can feel the whisper of her breath hitting my lips. “I’m here because I want you. Nothing else. Nothing more.”

Without saying another word, I push myself away from her and head to my door. I open it for her and watch her go in, her shoulder brushing my chest as she walks past me. When she’s inside, I bolt the lock and turn to face her.

She browses my small, messy apartment without touching a single item.