Page 182 of Craving Venom

I creep past the glass walls and marble counters, moving silently until I reach the bedroom where the soon-to-be dead bastard sleeps soundly under the heavy darkness of blackout sheets.

I step to the edge of the bed and draw my Glock, pressing the barrel hard against the man’s lips until they part in instinctivepanic. I push deeper, scraping the steel against his teeth as I watch his eyelids flutter.

“Rise and fucking shine.”

He jolts awake, gagging on cold metal.

And I smile, because now I finally get to let this energy out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THE BEAUTY

Isit in the farthest corner of the lecture hall, as far from the front as possible.

It’s the first time I’ve done that all semester, and I know Professor Harrington’s sharp eyes are going to catch it. He doesn’t miss shit. If he calls me out—and fuck, he probably will—I won’t even be able to answer and I’m not about to risk having to explainwhymy voice sounds like I’ve been deepthroating a monster cock for hours.

Which, well… I did.

Zane’s cock rewired my entire neck, and now every swallow reminds me what he did. Every tiny shift of my jaw makes the soreness flare. And fuck, if that thought doesn’t send a flash of heat straight between my thighs, I might actually be beyond saving.

I’m so fucking angry. At him. At myself. I almost let him fuck me last night. I wasthisclose to begging him to put his cock inside me and split me open. And when whatever black magicspell he has me under finally broke, all I wanted was to scrub his scent off my skin.

Why the fuck did I let him do that to me?

Because I’m a dumb bitch.

A dumb bitch who started this by stabbing him, thinking that would make him leave me alone. Thinking hurting him would scare him away.

Instead, it did the opposite.

At first, I felt bad. For a second, I thought I went too far.

But then…

Then he reminded me exactly why disgust is the only thing he deserves from me.

It’s almost like… My body doesn’t want to hate him. And that’s what makes me really hate myself. Because Zane gave me an out. He told me he’d answer one question. Honestly.

I could’ve asked him anything.

Anything.

Why he killed his mother. Why he murdered his little brother in cold blood. Why he became the monster he is today. Any one of those questions would’ve made sense.

Instead, I opened my stupid mouth and blurted out, “Why haven’t you kissed me?”

Seriously?

Not “why are you a murderer?” Not “what the fuck is wrong with you?” No. I asked why he hadn’t kissed me.

Why do I care?

My eyes drift to the corner of my desk.

The half-finished project stares back at me, taunting me like a reminder of how fucked up last night was. If I had known that my night would end with his cock down my throat instead of getting answers, I would’ve gladly gone to sleep when he’d asked.

But no.

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