Page 119 of Sweet Venom

Then everything went still.

I couldn’t see what he was doing behind me but I felt his hand move away.

Then I heard it.

The softshhhkof metal sliding from a sheath. The sound alone made my breath hitch. If there’s one thing you should know about Azariel is that he’s never without his favorite knife. When he was younger he carried it everywhere and I guess nothing had changed.

I stayed perfectly still. Not because I was afraid.

Because I was thrilled. I wanted this side of him. The wild and untamed side. The one who craves mayhem and chaos.

And then?—

Rip.

A sudden tug.

The back of my gown split open in one clean, deliberate motion. The wet fabric gave way like it wanted to, parting down the center of my spine leaving me completely bare to his eyes.

Cold air kissed bare skin. So did his heated gaze. I could feel it like fire, crawling down my naked back as the ruined gown slipped lower and pooled around my feet.

His voice followed, dark and sinful, lips brushing my ear: “Fuck. Look at you.” He then slipped his hand around my neck, and my breath hitched at the contact.

His breath fanned across my neck as his hand stayed firm at my throat—not choking, not restraining. Just owning. Every part of me was aware of him. Of the way his body molded perfectly to mine. Of the tension in his muscles as he held himself back, barely.

“Hold on to that statue,” he growled again, voice gravel and heat. “Don’t let go.”

I obeyed, fingers gripping the slick, rain-slicked marble sword before me. A fitting place for both of us to lose our self-control.

He moved behind me, the ruined fabric of my dress now pooling around my ankles, leaving nothing between his heat and my skin but the tension sparking in the air.

Azariel’s hands traced my sides slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of me with his palms. Possessive. Devout. As if he hadn’t hunted me—as if he’d prayed for me.

“I could never run from this,” he said, low.“You were made for sin, baby. For me.”

I nodded, words stolen by the feel of his mouth pressing to my shoulder, then lower, then back up—biting, tasting, reverent and ravenous all at once.

“I would’ve found you in any lifetime,” he whispered, voice thick now. “And I would’ve chased you in every single one.”

I gasped as he pressed closer, his hips aligning with mine, his presence wrapping around me like smoke and thunder. My pussy was getting wetter with every word out of his mouth and his touch.

My voice finally came, quiet but certain.

“Make me yours.”

He chuckled darkly against my ear. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

The rain kept falling. The garden held its breath.

“You asked for it.” His voice came dark and husky.

And then I heard the distinct sound of his zipper lowering.

I bit my lip in anticipation as I waited for him to make me his.

He slowly bent me over until his cock stood ready at my entrance.

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