Page 128 of Sweet Venom
The part that still believes I’m as ugly and worthless as Mama said.
The part that feels unsightly, unwanted.
But the way he looks at me forces those thoughts to scatter.
Because right now?
Right now, I feel alive.
I gulp, the sound echoing around us as he kneels betweenmy legs and then grips my hand and wraps it around his length. His cock grows bigger, pulsing like crazy in my palm.
“Mmm. Fuck. You feel what your touch does to me?”
I gape at him, my heart thundering so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. He can hear how his words are doing the strangest shit to me.
Because I’m stroking him up and down, using his precum as lube, and my core is getting slicker and wetter with each of his grunts.
“You’re making me nice and hard so I can fuck you?”
I bite my lower lip. “Why…do you want to fuck me, Jude?”
“Because you want to be ravaged, and no one but me can fuck you.”
“Shouldn’t you hate me?”
“I should.” His voice is a soft grunt as he grabs my hand that’s around his cock, squeezing slightly.
“Then why don’t you leave me alone?” I’m murmuring low as he guides my hand and his cock to my entrance.
“I can’t.”
I watch with pure fascination as he slowly slides inside me.
He stuffs me full of him, making my heart beat in sync with his pulsing cock.
“God damn.” He grunts, giving a harsh shove of his hips and burying himself deep in my pussy. “God fucking damn it, you’re tight, sweetheart.”
I’m soaking wet, like truly and utterly turned on by this monster of a man, but he’s still huge, like really big, and he stretches me more than I’ve ever been stretched before.
Then he fills me up.
To the brim.
Until he’s everything I can feel.
It hurts a bit, and a part of me believes I’m making a big mistake, but the other part—the part that scribbled and wrote all those fantasies in the journal, the part that had malevolent butterflies slaughtering each other when he kissed me in front of the world—is at peace.
I never thought I’d feel peace or even know the notion of it, but Jude sliding his hand to my throat and staying still, his face tight and his temples glistening with sweat because he’s forcing himself not to move, is somehow…peaceful.
Comforting, too.
Because he’s allowing me to adjust even though he’s struggling with it.
“Fucking hell.” He breathes harshly, squeezing my throat the slightest bit. “God damn…relax for me, beautiful.”
He called me beautiful.
“Breathe, Violet.” He strokes my pulse point back and forth.
