Page 86 of Craving Venom

I don’t know how much time passes before I finally force myself to open my eyes. It takes everything. A wave of nausea hits me as I struggle to lift my lashes.

The first thing I see is his hand. Jagged pieces of glass are lodged deep in his palm, buried into the already torn flesh from the knife wound I gave him. The blood is smeared across his skin. I suck in a sharp breath, before jerking my gaze to the bottleneck.

It is cracked.

It is splintered.

But it is intact.

It didn’t shatter inside me.

Relief slams into me so hard my body sags again. “Thank God,” I whisper.

Zane chuckles, and my eyes snap to his. His stare is molten, heavy with satisfaction.

“Am I… am I okay?”

He lifts his bleeding hand, fingers curling around the bottle as he brings it to his lips. His tongue flicks out, dragging slowly along the glass, tasting the blood and come smeared across it. He groans deep in his chest, then licks it clean.

“You’re perfect.”

Nothing.

That’s all I feel at first. Not pain, not fear—just empty, bottomless nothing.

Then the rage slams into me.

It’s slow at first, curling hot in my belly, then spreading, climbing up my spine like a fucking wildfire. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything else.

He’s still watching me. That sick satisfaction still simmering in his molten gaze as his tongue drags one last time over the bottle, tasting the ruin he forced out of me.

Fucking bastard.

I shove him.

It’s barely anything. I expect resistance, expect him to tighten his grip, but he lets me go. I shouldn’t feel at ease. I should feel sick. Ashamed.

But I don’t.

My mind is clearer than it’s been in days. Like I just walked through the gates of hell and came out the other side baptized in pain and pleasure. My body, though—my body is giving up on me. I grit my teeth against the pain that crashes into me the moment I move. My muscles scream, my skin feels raw, my pussy throbs with the kind of overstimulation that borders onunbearable. My legs almost give out, but I lock my knees before I can fucking collapse.

Slowly, I step away, dragging in a breath that does nothing to settle the fire inside me. My dress is on the floor, but I don’t have a choice. My fingers shake as I grab it, dragging it over my head.

The second the fabric drags over my skin, I bite back a gasp.

It feels like barbed wire against the bruises he has left on me. My nipples are so sensitive the friction alone makes me flinch.

I let out a slow breath and give him the nastiest look I can manage. “Had your fun? Or do you need to jerk off to the blood, too?”

His gaze darkens as he lifts the bottle again. His tongue flicks over the rim before he grins at me. “You want to watch?”

“You’re gross.”

I turn on my heel, ready to put as much space between us as possible, but I don’t make it two steps before his rough hand wraps around my wrist, jerking me back. My breath catches, and then I’m slammed against the window.

“What the—”

His hand leaves my wrist and fists in my hair, jerking my head back until my throat is bared to him.

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