Page 184 of Sweet Venom
“Yours.” She gasps, and I grow bigger inside her.
Can’t help it. This girl speaks, and I’m a goddamn animal.
“Are you also mine, Jude?” she asks in a voice that’s trapped between a moan and groan.
“Always.”
She’s kissing me then as she shatters against me, her noises and groans spilling into my mouth like an aphrodisiac.
I kiss her deeper, faster, matching my tongue to my cock’s rhythm until I’m grunting and spilling inside her in long fucking spurts.
I come like I’ve never come before.
Like the world is ending, and Violet is my sanctuary.
And when she holds on to me like I’m her lifeline, I promise that I’ll protect her till the end of my days.
However long thatmight be.
36
VIOLET
I’m nervous.
Anxious, even.
It’s like I’m back in that tiny place I used to share with my mother, waking up in the morning with dread about what type of mood swings she’d have that day.
Times when I made myself smaller, quieter, and tried to breathe as little as possible just so she wouldn’t notice me and take out her aggression and grievances on me.
Though she’s no longer here, the bracelet she left has put me in this predicament. A bracelet that belongs to a family I’m now sitting amongst.
Adifferentkind of family.
Unlike my mother and me, they have all the money, prestige, and shadowy power, but they still can’t mourn Preston properly.
Maybe I’m biased, but I hold a grudge against them, except for the little girl who’s not present today.
We’re at a grand office with a leather sitting area surrounded by large bookshelves full of leather-bound books. Across from us, there’s a mahogany desk against which Lawrence and his younger brother, Atlas, are leaning, both crossing their feet at the ankles. Atlas seems more preoccupiedwith his phone while Lawrence’s arms are folded, and a frown is etched deep between his brows.
Winston and Marguerite Armstrong, respectively the patriarch and matriarch of the family, are occupying the large sofa.
The grandfather has a death grip on his cane, his expression solemn and unreadable. His black clothes scream wealth and stature, but his complexion is sickly pale, his eyes an eerie mix of blue and green.
His wife is wearing a dark-blue tailored dress and a neat bun, her blonde strands shining in the light. Elegant pearls decorate her neck and ears as she stares down her nose at the room, her thin red lips set in a line.
Beside her sits Preston’s stepmom, Lilith, wearing a floral dress as if this is some form of celebration. In fact, her face looks radiant, her smile genuinely glowing, as if she’s reveling in Preston’s death. Her posture is as upright as her mother-in-law’s, legs tucked to the side, revealing diamond-studded shoes.
Jude, Kane, and I are on the other sofa. Even though I wore a beautiful, knitted dress that Dahlia bought me, I feel severely underdressed in the company of elegant gowns and tailored suits.
A hand strokes my shoulder, then rests on my thigh. A rush of warmth seeps into me, and I stare at Jude, who gives me a smile.
It’s small and definitely out of character for someone like him, but it’s comforting. Especially knowing that he goes out of his way to make me feel better.
This morning, after I woke up in a blissful achy haze, the happiness only lasted a while before the doomsday-like feeling rushed back in.
Jude had to talk me out of not coming here today.
