Page 42 of The Bitterness of Venom

I knew I was fucked at fifteen, and I know I'm fucked now. I would always love Blaise Sheffield.

Even if she never loves me back.

TWENTY-NINE

It seemsas if we've come to some kind of truce since we've returned to campus after Thanksgiving break. Every night he slips into my bed, bringing me to an epic orgasm with his mouth, fingers, or dick. Then I fall asleep in his arms and wake up cold and alone.

I won't lie and say a little part of me didn’t die when I found out his secret. Why the darkness lies in his eyes. While he was cleaning my wounds when we were children, his were bleeding. And no one had any idea. Makes it hard to hate him when he's always put me first. Not that it gives himany right to treat me as he has. But I now somewhat understand the anger he has toward me. I abandoned him, and it feels as if he never cared—or it did feel that way until recently.

Desmond hasn't brought up my debt to him lately, nor has he had me do any extreme tasks to feel the void in his chest. I won't lie, though. I kind of miss the thrill of it all.

When I make it to my room, I notice a black box on my bed. Pink ribbon the color of my hair tied around it. I drop my bag, taking slow steps to the bed as if the box is a bomb and, let's be honest, it might be. Especially after learning who Desmond’s uncle is. Said uncle has been extra quiet lately and that's made me… nervous, to say the least.

Plucking the white card from the box, I fight the smile that tries to break through.

Once upona time, my doll wore this dress to the charity event with me.

-D

Tossing the card, I pull open the box to find a black dress. It's simple yet elegant. With sheer sleeves that continue down to the middle of my stomach, black satin that hides the girls and hugs my hips, one slit that goes up my right thigh. No underwear or bra will be needed, I see.

I lay the dress on the bed, turning on my curling iron and pulling out my makeup. I curl my pink strands, brushing them out—I’m going for the “old money” look. I paint my face, picking a red so dark it almost looks black for my lips. The only piece of jewelry that works with my outfit are the earrings I put on. I look like a gothic princess, and I love that.

I don’t even jump when I see Desmond sprawled out on my bed. I was too focused on what I was doing when he must’ve snuck in, though his presence alone should have alerted me the moment he walked into my room. His suit jack is thrown to the side, shirt untucked and hair in that hot messy way. Paying him no mind, I grab a strappy black pair of heels. I slip them on, pushing the heel of the rightshoe to Desmond’s chest so he has no choice but to buckle it for me.

He chuckles, grabbing my ankle and placing a soft kiss to my calf as he does the strap before trading it for the next. His hand skates up my calf, the callused skin sending goosebumps over my flesh as he trails under the skirt of my dress.

"You look beautiful. My beautiful little doll."

I look away so he doesn't see my blush. But then he sighs. "As much as I'd like to stay here and eat your sweet cunt, we have to go. If I don't show up, Coach will bench me."

"And we can't have that," I say sarcastically.

I lift my foot from his chest and watch his hand fall away.

"Fuck it, you'd be worth it." He goes to grab for me, and I laugh, dodging his advances and slipping out the door.

The historical libraryholds a ballroom at the very top. It's decorated in a black-and-white theme. Obviously, it's a black-tie affair if I had to guess by the different shades of black and white floating across the room. I clutch harder onto Desmond’s arm as he leads me through the crowd. I've never felt comfortable rubbing elbows with the rich. It's like they can smell the poverty on me. The way they peer down their noses at me. But no one seems to do that tonight. I'm not sure if it's the dress or the man attached to my arm, but I don't question it when people smile at me.

Desmond leans into my ear. "Every man in here wants a taste of you." I shiver when he nips my ear. "But they can't have you, can they, Freckles?"

I find myself shaking my head.

"Because you're my dirty little slut. And only mine."

I'm thankful for the low lights that hide my blush and theheavy black material of my dress for hiding the evidence of my arousal. I decide to change the subject before he takes me on the nearest table. I wouldn't put anything past him at this point.

"So, what is this event for anyway?" I ask.

"For rich fucks to tell us about their glory years and for their wives to have a reason to touch us. Also, it's for children who have been abused, but if they took all the money they spent on this fucking party and gave it to the charity, they would have donated triple the amount of what they get tonight."

"Fucking rich people," I grumble.

He laughs, pulling me in close. "But since we are here, how about we dance instead?"

I hit him with a lackluster grimace. "I don’t know how to dance."

"Just follow my lead." And I do. It's easy once I get the hang of it.

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