Page 179 of Beautiful Venom

“I’m not a fan of the taste.”

“Then what are you a fan of?”

“Fucking, chasing, choking, pounding, biting. Rough sex in general.”

A red blush covers Dahlia’s face and she chokes on the piece of candy in her mouth.

I suppress a smile. “You all right there?”

“You did that on purpose, asshole.”

“I was only answering your question ever so innocently.”

“There’s nothing innocent about you.” She nudges me with her foot, then rests it on my lap. “Have you always loved rough sex?”

“I suppose.”

“So…how many victims did you have before me.”

“Victims?”

“Women you chased.”

“I didn’t chase any woman before you.”

“You…didn’t?”

“Finding someone compatible with such a rough kink is harder than you think. Besides, I didn’t feel the real urge until you bulldozed through my life.”

“Wow. So it’s my fault?”

“Yeah.” I wrap my hand around her leg in my lap. “You’ll take responsibility for the monster you provoked.”

“Some would argue the monster has always been there. By some, I mean me.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who broke the spell.”

“I mean, you broke the spell for me, too, so I guess we’re even.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” She strokes my cheek. “I didn’t know I loved that type of sex until you. It kind of made me suspect my morals and consider therapy, but I accept myself now.”

I tighten my grip on her leg. “As you should.”

“Oh my God, I love this song!” She hikes up the volume and starts singing again, shamelessly loud, and tries to feed me the sugary things from the bag she’s holding.

Her cheerful mood, however, slowly withers when we arrive in Maine. It turns into terrible silence when I stop in front of her previous address in a small town by the coast.

The house sits quietly by the water, its silhouette framed against the early-morning light. It’s small, nothing like the sprawling estates I’m used to, but it’s well-kept. The white fence that borders the front yard is freshly painted, straight, and sturdy, though a bit weathered by the salt air and covered with a few layers of snow.

The ocean hums in the background, the faint sound of waves lapping at the shore just behind it. The air is cool, carrying the scent of saltwater and morning dew.

A couple steps out of the house, their soft laughter rising in the quiet as their kid bounces ahead of them, kicking the snow with his feet. The boy’s giggles cut through the air as the parents half laugh and half scold him.

The scene feels out of place, like something from a different world. A world where everything is simple.

Dahlia’s world.

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