Page 41 of Sweet Touch of Venom

She lifts her arm, ready to storm off, but I grip her shoulders, and quickly spin her around, slamming her against the wall, but not too hard. Learning my lesson from last time, I kick the inside of her boot with mine, spreading her legs and locking myselfin. With my chest now pressing up against her, I fall into the warmth from her body; it engulfs me. The smell of her is almost intoxicating.

My face dips slightly. I’m now inches away from her, so close I’m able to see her pupils dilating and constricting. Her curly bangs flutter from the harshness of my breath against her skin.

“There’s no chance inmyhell that I’ll let you roam this place without a watchful eye on you. Until you prove I can trust you further than I can throw you, then you will be in my vicinity at all times. Wherever you go, someone will be watching.”

Her lips squeeze, her chest raising and falling on mine. We’re so close together that her racing heartbeat pumps into me. “If I knew I was going to be trapped in my own personal prison, then I would’ve just given myself over to the feds.”

Her words affect me more than she knows. My intentions aren’t to hold her captive.

I shake my head, my grip still in place. “You’re free to go whenever you please. I would never want you to feel like you’re imprisoned here.”

She narrows her eyes. “What are you doing now, then?” Her eyes dip, and I follow her gaze, noticing I do have her completely trapped with my body. I was protecting my cock per se, but I tilt my head in touché.

I back away from her, letting her free. “Everything I have here goes against kidnapping or holding hostages of innocent people. Although you aren’t exactly innocent,” our eyes snap to each other, “but you also aren’t the target. I want to work together, and the only way to do that is to take the necessary precautions that allow you to be here before I can trust you. And for you to trust me too,” I add, tilting my head. It’s a two-way street. I’m not the only one who needs to see and know whom to trust. “The people here need totrustyou because their lives are in my hands.”

I stuff my hands into my pocket, dropping the snarl and sincerely looking at her for the thousandth time since she has invaded my life again. She can think I’m trying to keep her hostage and potentially have malicious intent, but this ismy wayof taking care of her.

The only thing that I want more than anything else is to fulfill my desire, the blood I seek from the men who ruined me and murdered Carter. Her misery is not part of that plan.

She stands off the wall, fixing her jean jacket. Her eyes divert down before looking up at me with a slow nod. “I understand.” She speaks softly, and oddly my chest caves with relief. I shouldn’t care whether she was going to agree or not.

“When will I get my own room?”

I haven’t thought that far, and I don’t know. I just needed to get her body in here and work out the rest gradually. “I’ll let you know.” I hope that gives her some comfort.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “That doesn’t give me much hope.” That shuts down what I hoped she would feel.

“Okay?…” The words trail off into the air as my eyes wander, searching for something to give her some solace.

“At least you have your own room.” I point at the door that’s behind her; she twists her head, looking over her shoulder, her curly hair bouncing along with her. She turns back around, crosses her arms, puts her weight on her right leg, and taps her left foot. Heat travels up my neck with the intensity of her deep brown eyes, watching me like the snake that she is. Her thumb goes to her teeth, biting down on it. I observe the move, my eyes drifting to her lips. I wonder if she does that when she’s nervous or thinking.

We don’t care. Remember?

“What are the rules and boundaries?”

I walk to the couch, leaning the side of my thigh against the sofa back, then crossing my arms. I shrug. “What kind do you want?”

“For starters, don’t go into my room. Don’t talk to me when we are in here. Anddefinitelydon’t expect a plate of food to be on that counter.” She turns around to walk to her door. Without hesitation, my eyes skate down her backside, landing directly on her ass. The black jeans she wears perfectly tug and tuck her plump, round ass. The under slit of her ass cheeks makes it perfect for grabbing and cupping when pulling her onto me. No, someone.

No, fuck no. Fucking shit, no.

I place my hands on my thighs and look up at the ceiling. My throat tightens from the way my brain just took hold and spiraling up my imagination on its own—even if it is wondrous.

That is not fucking happening. Though my best friend is dead, it still feels wrong. Although she is very much a woman, and the pigtail sixteen-year-old girl with innocent eyes is nowhere in sight. She’s still not on my agenda. I could never lose sight of that.

My eyes scrunch and I cock my head back. “Why the fuck would I be expecting that.” My tone is a bit rougher from making myself upset.

She snaps her head back, her eyes narrowing at me. “Why else would you have a kitchen in here if you don’t cook meals?” Her voice doesn’t match the way she daggers those dark eyes at me. She starts taking off her black denim jacket, then resting it over her arm.

I sometimes cook—that’s why. I am a fantastic cook when need be. I don’t need to tell her that. I roam my eyes over the black ink covering her shoulder and dipping into her tank top. It looks like scales, and I wonder where it leads, like a person in a maze fingering their way to the end.

“I won’t expect you to cook. Any other rules?” I cross my leg over the other for comfort.

Her chin lifts slightly, revealing her slender neck. Ideal for wrapping a hand around like I did during our brawl. The way her pulse quickened when I gripped it so?—.

Enough!I grit my teeth together to stop myself from what I’m thinking.

Noticing my on-edge demeanor, she squints slightly. “No, but my dagger.” She extends her hand.

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