Page 143 of Craving Venom

Zane’s tongue flicks out, licking the remnants from my chin as his voice drops to a pleased whisper.

“Good girl.”

“So,” he muses, tapping a mocking finger against my lips. “What did we learn from the Garden of Eden?”

“That you’re a sick piece of shit who needs therapy?” I sneer.

His grip tightens instantly as his fingers dig into my jaw, forcing my lips apart just enough to make me feel breakable.

“Try again, sweetheart.”

I gasp as he shifts his hips, pressing hard against my still-sensitive core while his body pins me down effortlessly.

His breath skates over my lips. “Tell me what we learned.”

I know what I learned.

That I taunted him. That I tempted him when I should have known better.

And maybe I never had a choice. Maybe it was always destined to end this way—my body ruined, my pride shattered, and my soul marked in ways I can never undo.

But that’s a lie, isn’t it?

Because Eve had a choice, too.

She wasn’t forced to take the fruit. She knew what it meant, knew the risk, knew the cost, and still she reached out, took it in her hands, bit into it.

And just like her, I knew what Zane was capable of.

I knew, and yet I still opened my mouth and tempted him to destroy me.

I don’t say any of that.

Instead, I drag in a breath, and I spit the words that might finally make him bleed.

“You’re a sadistic piece of shit,” I snap. “You talk about respecting deadly creatures, about earning their trust but you made her spit venom when it wasn’t even needed. That’s not respect. That’s cruelty.”

He just says, soft and sure, “No.”

He strokes a phantom line along my jaw like he’s still holding the memory of her there.

“I asked. And she answered. It’s not cruelty if it’s trust. She knows I’ll never take anything she doesn’t want to give me.”

The words are quiet, but they hit like a whip. Because they’re not about the snake anymore. Not really.

They’re about me.

And I hate that my mind latches onto it—that part of me, the part that’s so fucking broken, starts wondering if that’s true for us too.

If this was never about force.

If it’s always been about the way I look at him. The way I don’t run. The way, deep down, I stay.

Because I could’ve screamed louder. I could’ve fought harder.

But I didn’t.

And if that’s trust…

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