Page 40 of Sweet Venom

Her eyes narrow, and she says, "I could say the same thing about—"

I cut her off before she can finish, halting any more words by covering her mouth with my own. I can't help it. The confessions in the car, her touch, and the way she just handled Monica, I'm in fucking awe. I know she feels something for me, and it means everything. It's been too long since I've felt anything or had someone who wanted to help me. My mouth on hers catches her off guard. Vi wasn’t expecting me to make that move. Her lips are tense, but when I tighten my hold around her back and bring my free hand to the side of her face, cradling her in my embrace, she relaxes into my arms, and when my tongue seeks entrance into that sweet mouth, she grants it. The second my tongue swipes against hers, I'm a goner. I know I'm not technically her man, and I haven't forgotten the bullshit excuses she gave me last night about how Ellis is her man, and nothing is going to change that, but he's not here now. I am, and she's letting me take what's meant to be all his.

Her warm hands glide up my chest, and for a moment, I let myself believe she wants this as much as I do, but those same hands that slowly made their way up my chest are now pushing me back. "Tate, stop. I was only returning the favor. You helped me all those months ago. It's how we met. I could tell by your body language that woman made you uncomfortable. I was only trying to help."

As I look into her eyes, I feel a slight tinge of regret tighten in my chest. I hate that she just saved me out of goodwill when my own good deed was, in fact, a setup. I hate that her first fond memory of me wasn't authentic but rehearsed and set up because she was a job. But that wave of regret vanishes as quickly as it came when she says, "I want to know that story." She fucking cares, and that's all that matters. I gave her pieces, and she hasn't run yet.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you the story if you admit you might have been the slightest bit territorial just now."

"I was not." She slaps my chest and tries to wiggle out of my arms.

But I stop her, not ready to let her go, and say, "You're lying. When I saved you, I didn't call you my girlfriend. In fact, I didn't even touch you. None of those things you did were necessary. You did them because you wanted to do them, and Vi, I know damn well you were trying that title on to see how it felt." And because I'm a glutton for punishment and can't help myself, I lean down in her ear and lightly graze the shell before saying, "No takebacks. The title stays."

I watch as her skin pebbles from both my proximity and the breath on her neck, and I take a second to savor the effect I have on her. Her lips can lie, but her reactions can't. When she doesn't immediately try to pull away, I kiss her neck and reach down to grab a handful of her perfect ass. I've wanted to grab it since day one, and I won't miss my opportunity now when she's letting me touch her.

I squeeze it hard and pull her into me, but as I do, her stomach meets my throbbing cock, and she notices. The slightest moan creeps up from deep in her chest as my arousal assaults her senses. My length pinned against her front, my mouth on her neck, and my hand gripping her tight ass. She fucking wants it, but before she lets herself have it, she pushes back and says, "Stop it, Tate. We've been over this. I'm not your girlfriend. You need to let it go."

"So you kiss all your friends like that?"

With a sigh, she gives me one last push, and this time, I let her go for two reasons. One, we are technically standing in the Chinese restaurant, and while we might be the only patrons in the front dining room, this isn't the place I want to be sporting a boner I can't do anything about. As for the second reason, I can only push her so much. I can tell I'm breaking through her defenses, and I fully intend to shatter her walls.

The bell rings, signaling our order is up, and I say, "I'm keeping the title, Vi. I told you last night, me and you are happening. Now sit while I grab our food, and I'll tell you the story when I get back."

She crosses her arms, annoyance written all over her face, before throwing herself into the chair and saying, "But I didn't admit anything."

I smirk before turning toward the counter and throwing over my shoulder, "You didn't have to. That sexy little moan said it all."

For now, I'll take her any way I can have her, because I already know what she's not willing to accept. She's mine.

Chapter 17

The Viper

Tate's story shocked the fucking hell out of me. It explains why I've always felt a pull to him. He's been bent just like me. I hate the word broken. It seems so absolute, and I don't believe our fucked up pasts damaged us beyond repair. They did, however, shape us differently. We don't think, feel, or love the way normal people do. We can't because we never lived it. I've been fucking sick over the details he shared for the past two days, and to make things worse, it's been that long since I've seen him.

When I saw him with that woman at the Chinese restaurant, I could tell something wasn't right. I initially thought he didn't want to be caught talking to another girl, knowing I would be walking out of the bathroom any moment. And yes, while I didn't admit it at the time, when I saw her place a hand on his arm as if she knew him intimately, a pang of jealousy flared in my veins. I had this innate desire to mark my territory.

I could tell she was your typical snobby elitist, dripping in designer brands and filled with more collagen than blood, so I name-dropped. I wanted to put her in her place. It’s not public knowledge that I am no longer the heiress to the Fiori fortune. The girlfriend slip-up shocked me as much as it did Tate. That wasn’t the card I’d planned on using, not that I had a hand to play to begin with. Everything was sprung on me so fast I was thinking on my feet, but I didn't like the way Tate was acting. He was so quiet, almost timid, and I couldn't get a read on the cold emotion I felt radiating off of him in waves. I've never felt such a soul-deep unmasking. At that moment, I knew what he needed, and I reacted. But nothing could have prepared me for the horror of what he was about to deliver.

Of course, the man delivered the worst news while feeding me my favorite fucking food. How he knew I loved Chinese, down to my exact order, was somewhat unsettling. I know Ellis keeps tabs on me as well. However, Tate's tracking seems next-level. As I shoved a steamed dumpling into my mouth, he said, "Vi, there's no good place to start when retelling a nightmare, so I suppose I'll just rip the band-aid off. Monica Sweet is a sexual sadist. She gets pleasure from piquerism."

My exact response was, "Come again?" I know that a sadist gets pleasure from inflicting pain or humiliating others, but piquerism was new to me. He explained that it's someone who derives sexual interest from penetrating the skin with sharp objects. I had to remind myself to close my mouth and act calm when all I really wanted to do was freak the fuck out. I mean, I've heard of some fucked up shit. People like crazy stuff, and to each their own, if it's consensual, but I had this gut-wrenching feeling the second I heard those words that Tate was an unwilling participant—which explained his discomfort with her presence.

Tate went on to tell me all about Monica Sweet and her house of horrors. Monica was into cutting people, but her husband was the devil incarnate. The first week they arrived at the Sweet house, he witnessed Harold Sweet blatantly checking out Chelsea in a way no grown man should ever look at a minor. One night Tate got up to use the restroom and caught Harold outside her door. He immediately charged, catching him off-guard and taking him to the floor, landing punch after punch that had Monica coming out of the master to see what the commotion was about. Tate had been certain that would be their last night in that house, but he'd sealed his fate with that one move. Immediately, he'd put himself on Monica's radar, and what Monica wanted, she got, because she was more than aware of her husband's deplorable proclivities. Not only was she knowledgeable; she fed them. Harold let it go that night, knowing full well that Tatum would quite literally pay his pound of flesh for his brazen attack.

Monica went on to make a deal with Tatum to ensure that Chelsea was not only untouched, but that her medical needs were seen to in exchange for his services. It was then that he was fully aware of why such a wealthy couple wanted to take on their case. Monica was smart. She’d known she wanted Tatum all along. She’d hand-selected them and then waited, knowing full well she'd get her way, seeing as Tate refused to ever leave Chelsea's side. For three fucking years, he played the role of pin cushion for Monica Sweet. Tate was seventeen when they moved into the Sweet house. Still, he'd endured her torture for another two full years after he turned eighteen because he couldn't legally claim guardianship over Chelsea until he had a place to stay and a job.

Needless to say, I lost my fucking appetite that day, and it has yet to come back, mainly because I haven't heard from Tate. I told him to let me help him take them down. We could figure something out. Hell, I've even considered hopping back on a plane to ask my grandmother for a loan just to ensure money was no issue, but he assured me he had it more than handled. That's what worries me. Tatum Carroway doesn't have the means necessary to take down people like the Sweets, and I'm not ready to lose him over some reckless revenge plot.

Before I can give it any more thought, a throat clears behind me. "Are you seriously rolling out a wall in a cocktail dress?"

I close my eyes and pin my lips together. I look like a hot mess, but I was trying to kill two birds with one stone: stay on budget and clear my mind. The grand opening of Blush is just around the corner. Chipping in to paint helped me stay on budget, and it was supposed to help clear my mind and settle my nerves. The latter did not happen.

I've laid down my roller when Mark chimes in for me, "I swear I tried to talk her out of it, but I was on the losing end of a short stick. She's technically the boss, and the guys didn't mind the entertainment considering they're working late tonight. I know when to shut my mouth."

I roll my eyes at his remarks before saying, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Losing stick, my ass. I cut the checks, but you man the team, and you’re a man down. So I had to pick up the slack.”

I don’t bother responding to the other comment because he’s just trying to get a rise out of Ellis. Mark likes to poke the bear. I’ve never understood it, but hey, whatever. While I know guys will be guys and take a look, I also know that as a woman, I would probably take a look too. But there is a difference between a look and ogling or, god forbid, making lude and inappropriate comments. I'm genuinely going to miss this team when the jobs are done. They've become a second family of sorts over the past few weeks. Aside from being a man down, that bond is why I had planned on working tonight. Yes, it's my place; I'm personally fucking invested, but I also enjoy the company. However, tonight Ellis insisted I come to his anniversary party, and the man can be very persuasive when he's trying to get his way. Three orgasms before I left for work this morning had me giving in to any and all demands.

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