Page 210 of Craving Venom

“They remind you that some kinds of love are meant to be survived, not escaped.”

Instead of giving me what my body’s begging for, he retreats the barrel and drags the silencer through my folds, making sure I feel every cruel inch of what he’s making me survive.

“You think you’re chained to me.” The gun thrusts against my folds harder, grinding into my clit with brutal precision until another broken, wrecked scream tears from my throat. “But the truth is—”

He pulls me back against him, forcing my spine to bow painfully against his chest, his mouth dragging across the side of my neck, burning every inch it touches.

“I’m chained to you.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the hollow of my shoulder.

“And I’d wrap these chains around my own throat just to feel closer to you,” he rasps, dragging the silencer between my legs again, soaking it in my ruin. “You’re the fucking sentence I’d spend a thousand lifetimes serving and still beg for more.”

The gun lifts away from my clit and the sudden absence shatters the fragile control holding me together. My body cries out for him, but I clamp my teeth down on the scream, swallowing it whole, burying it so deep it burns.

If I open my mouth now, I’ll beg him. Beg him to shove the gun back inside me. Beg him to ruin me so thoroughly that even the pieces left behind would still belong to him.

So instead, I seize onto the part of him that sounds almost as desperate as I feel.

“Does that mean...I’m your prison?”

For a moment, everything stops breathing. He presses his forehead to the side of my head and answers with a truth ripped from somewhere deep in his bones.

“You’re not only my prison, baby,” he rasps. “You’re my fucking resurrection.”

He turns me around with a harsh grip on my shoulder. My back slams into the bars. The gun disappears. His hand comes up, and his thumb brushes my lips. The softness of it knocks the air from my lungs harder than anything else he’s done.

What I wouldn’t give to feel his lips on mine.

I try to focus. His thumb rests against my mouth, dragging across the seam, desperate to tear it open and pour sin down my throat. I remember his mouth between my legs, his tongue moving with a hunger that belonged nowhere but inside me. I’d screamed his name. I’d tasted heaven and hell at once.

I want him and every desperate beat of my heart is proof of it, but if I give in now, it means I’m willing. Not forced. Not cornered. Not a victim of circumstance. So, I choose being a victim because being a wronged saint is much better than being a willing sinner.

Zane’s hand reaches up, threading beneath the curtain of my hair. Fingers curl, knotting tight at the nape of my neck. He yanks back just enough to tip my head, exposing my throat, making my breath hitch. His body presses into mine, bare chest searing against my tits.

“Get on your knees.”

His words hammer into me, dragging my body into submission while my mind screams for a way out. I know what happens the second I drop to the floor. He’ll ruin me. Not just my body, my fucking life. There’ll be no other man after this. No casual dates. No vanilla touches.

I’ll be his.

He starts to push me down anyway, forcing my head to dip, and I grit my teeth through the heat building in my cunt, through the shame curling around my heart.

“You don’t have to force me,” I grit out, wetting my lips, giving him just a sliver of submission, tempting him to loosen his grip.

The pressure in my scalp eases, just slightly. Enough for me to move.

I let my body sink lower, handing him the illusion he’s been starving for, pretending I’ve caved, pretending I’m ready to fall to my knees and be the obedient little slut he’s trying to make me.

Just before my knees hit the floor, I lunge for the door. My hands fumble at the lock, reaching for the bar, desperate to escape before I ruin everything, but I don’t make it.

Zane fists his hand in my hair again, yanking me back so hard I see stars. My kneecaps crash against the ground in a brutal scrape, shooting pain jolting up my legs.

“Fuck!” I snarl, reaching for balance, but he’s already turning me, dragging me to face him.

He crouches down, holding my hair tight as his fingers trace my jaw, pressing into my cheeks until my mouth falls open under his hand.

“You’re a goddamn tease.”

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