Page 19 of Sweet Venom

She pulls a cleansing breath through her nose and nods as I stand and grab our drinks without another word. Vivian likes everything, but I know her favorite is vodka over ice with lime. While I don't have fresh lime, I do have lime juice. I quickly pour us two stiff-as-fuck drinks before making my way back to the bed. I have never been good with feelings—discussing them or having them—but I also know if I want to keep her, I have to try.

No sooner do I hand her the drink than she blurts out, "I let another man fuck me with a dildo."

My body instinctively goes rigid from her declaration. What man wants to hear that, especially when I have abstained from any relations while we have been apart, which is a first for me. Bringing my drink to my lips, I take a long pull, letting the alcohol wash over me and settle my nerves. I do not drink regularly; however, on occasion I make exceptions. Tonight is one of them. My parents were addicts, and I never wanted to become them. I'll toast or have a drink when making deals, but that's it, but tonight is for her and the words we both need to find to move forward.

"Say something. Please," she pleads.

"Did you like it?"

"Yes, more than I should have."

I feel a slight sting in my chest, and I try to understand what it means. Is what I'm feeling pain or something else? Vivian is here now confessing things to me that she knows will hurt me, giving me truths that I also know pain her. This woman stood up against my brother tonight to prove she wants to stand by my side. Unfortunately, her actions are what give her a bad reputation with my brother and even herself. It's clear she knows her behavior today was reckless and now she's here asking forgiveness that a normal person wouldn't grant. But I am anything but normal and so is she. Vivian is impulsive, anxious, and dismissive, but she's also never had anyone to put her in her place.

"I see," I offer in response as I allow my own reactions and feelings to marinate.

I've played the role of the other man many times, working to win the girl and steal her away, and as nerve-wracking as that can be for anyone, man or woman, there's always the thrill of the chase. But that's not what this is. I'm not trying to steal her. Instead, I'm attempting to come to terms with how I will define what a deep, committed, long-term relationship should look like with her. So, I ask, "Who?"

"Does it matter?" She moves to set her drink on the nightstand, refusing to take a sip.

"It matters very much. Was it random, or was your choice of partner someone you care about?" For the places I want to take her, there's a difference.

"It was Tate. I believe I told you about him before."

Ah, I see. Tate was the guy she used to run into at the gym occasionally. I'm not a jealous person, and she never gave me any reason to be. I followed her to the gym a few days after she first mentioned him, not out of jealousy, but because it's what I do. Her business was automatically mine. What she liked, where she went, and who she chose to spend her time with were suddenly daily tasks to keep up with on my agenda.

The afternoon I followed her to the gym, I watched her entire workout. I saw the guy Tate she mentioned, quickly recognizing him from the minimal description she’d given me, which was literally, 'Yeah, this guy covered in tattoos pretended to be my brother.' It didn't hurt that they had a brief conversation mid-workout, only solidifying that he was indeed the guy she’d spoken about. The guy maybe looked her way twice, which is saying something, because Vivian, in workout attire, may as well be wearing fucking lingerie. After both of them had left, I went into the gym and got Tate's last name easily, which I didn't like, considering it spoke to the overall lack of security and privacy the gym offered its clientele, which happened to include my girl.

When I looked into the guy, there was little there. He's the same age as Sebastian, has held a few physical trainer jobs, and works other odd jobs here and there to make ends meet. He has no college degree, which is neither here nor there—considering I myself do not have one, and yet I am very successful—but overall, he didn't seem like a threat. Just your typical millennial with a go-with-the-flow mindset I would never understand. I am nothing if not calculated and purposeful. At the end of the day, I didn't see Vivian and Tate becoming anything more than gym acquaintances.

When I don't immediately respond, Vivian adds, "I didn't kiss him, and I didn't let him touch me. Ellis, I was so wound up. I know it's not an excuse, and I understand if you want me to leave—"

I hold up my hand, silencing her before retaking my spot on the bed next to her. "Did you think of me when you did it? Did you do it knowing it could hurt me?"

"No," she says immediately, while adamantly shaking her head before adding, "You know I'm impulsive to a fault. I was in my office alone letting off steam when he walked in and then…" She pauses, refusing to meet my eyes before finishing. "And then I didn't make him leave."

Of course, she didn't. I own a sex club. So I am more than familiar with the allure of watching and being watched. Any other man would be livid, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bothered, but it's not for the reasons most would be. Setting my glass down on the nightstand, I say, "Come here," and gesture for her to sit on my lap.

She shakes her head no. "That is the last place I should be, Ellis, and you know it."

I grind my teeth and bite back my words, knowing they will fall on deaf ears. What I want for her, for us, can only be done through actions. But I am a patient man, and I've waited this long; what's a few more days, or hours, if I play my cards right?

"It wasn't a question. I didn't give you a choice. Now, come here." The woman can be as stubborn as a petulant child. When she continues to hesitate and twist her fingers. I place my hand over the top of hers, halting her movements and forcing her eyes to mine. "Do you still want me?"

Her eyes dart back and forth between mine before she says, "You know I do."

"Then get up here."

She moves to her knees, inching closer before throwing one leg over my lap to straddle me. But when she sits, it's on my thighs. She's playing shy, and we both know she is anything but. It's another reason I know her feelings for me run deep. Vivian is battling her own self-doubt and attempting to find worth all because she wants to be by my side, and I hate that she doesn't see what I do. Reaching for her ass to pull her forward, my hands find her cheeks bare, and I can't help but groan as I pull her forward onto my cock. Her lips part with a gasp before she softly scolds, "Ellis."

We both know her warning is futile. We have so many things to discuss, but I know the only way to get her out of her head is through her pussy. People are quick to forget the power of an orgasm and the release it is for not just your body, but your mind, and Vivian's mind is her own prison. I lightly drag my fingers up the side of her arm, drawing her eye to the movement. She watches as her skin pebbles in their wake, and when I reach her shoulder, I brush her long, dark brown hair over her shoulder. When I do, I see the marks left by my brother. Her breathing falters when I lightly brush my thumb over her sensitive flesh. "And this, did you like this?"

Her eyes close from shame, and I slide my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forward until her face is mere inches from mine. Vivian's eyes open from the move and crash into mine. "Tell me," I say.

Before the answer can even leave her lips, my mouth is on hers, my tongue diving deep. My fingers push through her hair, pulling her close until I feel her soft breasts pinned against my chest. Fuck, I've missed her body, but before I can get lost in having her back in my arms, she pushes back. "Ellis, why? I don't understand how you could want me right now. After everything—"

I bring my finger to her lips, halting her hate, and say, "It's simple; I like a girl, and I like all of her, even the parts she doesn't like about herself." Her eyes stay pinned on mine, and I know she's trying to look for words to argue. It's in her nature, but before she can, I slide my hands up her thighs until I reach the hem of the t-shirt she's wearing. I toy with the edges for a moment, making my intent clear, but giving her a choice, and then I ask, "Can you show me?"

Her brow slightly furrows, and she asks, "Why?"

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