Page 140 of Craving Venom

A hiss.

Fucking hell—

My body jolts as instinct takes over, but Zane’s already there, pressing my hips down, keeping me still.

“Zane, get it the fuck off me.”

“Calm down. She’s just exploring.”

My fingers tremble as my arms strain against the belt. “I swear to God, I will fucking kill you—”

“You won’t.” His lips press against my inner thigh.

The snake slithers across my navel.

My stomach contracts as panic claws up my throat. I’m going to scream.

I try to remember everything Zane’s said in the last ten minutes. I repeat them in my head, over and over, trying to convince myself this little creature gliding across my stomach is harmless, but my brain claws for logic, for anything that can drag me out of the panic spiraling behind my eyes.

It’s easy for Zane because he’s probably spent years around them, knows their movements, understands the rhythm of their bodies, their behaviors.

But me?

I’ve never been this close to one in my fucking life.

“Relax.” Zane’s breath fans over my inner thigh. “You’re doing so well.”

“Get. It. Off.”

He kisses the inside of my knee.

“You don’t like being touched by something that could kill you?” A pause. A cruel smirk in his tone. “Or is it just the snake that bothers you?”

I want to tell him to fuck off, to shove his poetic bullshit down his own throat, but as the snake moves higher, I lose the ability to think.

“Zane.” His name is a plea wrapped in an order and a prayer.

“Do you know why I love snakes so much?”

I am not going to answer that because I know what he’s doing. He’s making conversation to pacify me, to keep my fear manageable, to soothe me just enough to keep me still, so that I don’t scare the snake. And I don’t want that. I don’t want any version of him calming me through the panic he caused.

I want to spit in his face.

Maybe then, he’d see what defiance really looks like.

Maybe then, he’d understand that I’d rather fucking die than let him have all of me.

But the words never make it out because two thick digits force their way in my pussy. His knuckles grind against my entrance,shoving deeper and forcing me to take all of him whether my body is ready or not. The only downside is my body is desperate for him. A cry rips from my throat as my back arches and my muscles lock too tight.

And then—fuck, fuck, fuck—

His tongue joins the assault.

A long, slow lick drags over my slit as his mouth savors every inch of me. His tongue drags lower, licking up his own fingers, savoring me like a meal he’s been starving for.

“When I ask a question, I expect you to answer.” His fingers curl and press againstthatspot, dragging a wrecked sound from my throat as my hips snap forward. “That’s how conversations work, good girl.”

I snarl. “Go to hell, you psychotic—”

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