Page 36 of Making Choices

Because the tingle in my lower belly seems to appreciate Venom’s presence.

“Venom.”

His voice is monotone as he responds, “Little Cherub.”

The use of my nickname tells me everything I need to know.

By the time Venom is finished with me, I’ll feel his darkness in every cell of my body.

“Tell me your safe word?”

The time to choose is now.

Do I want to spend our last night together for God knows how long like this?

His fingers travel from my stomach to settle around my throat. I glance forward, still in two minds, even as my own depravity welcomes my lover’s promise of brutality. My man’s fingers flex and tighten. I swallow deep as my anticipation builds. His cock hardens against the base of my spine.

Venom’s tone is all grit and determination as he voices his demand. “You know how this works. Say. It.”

“Carnage,” I tell him.

“Good girl.”

His praise settles my remaining doubt. It’s been a few months since Venom paid me a visit in the bedroom, and I’d forgotten how he manages to balance the stygian depths of his need with enough light to make me feel safe. In those two words, I find the salvation I’ve been searching for since Alex desecrated my barely healed body and mind with his filth.

Venom or Zeke.

It doesn’t matter which.

They’ll fix my broken bits in their own unique way.

Although his grip on my neck is tight, I manage to turn to face him fully. Water rushes down the back of my head and my eyelashes stick together when I press my closed lips to his mouth. The contact is chaste. It’s also a sign of my acceptance.

I’m his tonight.

Whatever way he wants me.

I ignore the exhaustion in his eyes to really look at him. His bronze-brown hair as it darkens in the water. The shaved sides and the longer locks on top that plaster to his skull. Eyes that could be pure hazel if the green and brown wasn’t flecked with gold and circled by a bright-blue ring. Wide shoulders. His Adam’s apple that moves violently every time he swallows. I know every inch of this man—from the top of his head down his tapered waist to the strong thighs and calves and onto his toes. The tattoos. The scars. The worry creases around his eyes. The smile lines that bracket his full lips.

Every part of him belongs to me.

He’s my peace.

My liberation.

The prize at the end of my struggle.

When I try to drop to my knees to take the hard length that was pressed to my belly in my mouth, Venom stops me. The perverse delight that shines in his gaze when he squeezes my throat makes my pulse jump. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and bite back a groan when he says, “Open your mouth, sweet thing.”

Despite my bad temper in real life, I rarely need to be told twice when he utters his carnal demands. I kneel before him with my mouth open. Tongue out, expectant gaze on his, I wait for his next order.

He doesn’t speak.

Instead, he grips the base of his cock, slaps my cheek with it, before he forces his hard length between my lips. Pumping his hips, he hits the back of my throat with his swollen head. I gag. Tears stream down my face. They mingle with the water that’s rushing over my head.

“Fuck you feel good.”

Venom uses my mouth how he wishes. Shallow thrusts. Deep pumps. I gag. I splutter. I can barely breathe, yet I don’t care. He could choke me now, to the point where I never draw another breath, and I’d consider my death a victory because the sounds of pleasure that are dropping from his lips will be the last thing I hear. When the pad of his thumb brushes one of the bruises on my face, I keep my eyes open so the memories in my head can’t take hold.

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