Page 5 of Venomous Kiss
After pressing end on the recording, I put the phone down and finish my vodka.
Something beeps, and he looks this way.
His gaze locks onto mine, and he freezes.
My husband, Deven Davenport—fucking his co-host in our pool—freezes and then pushes her off him like some discarded object. I pour myself another glass of vodka and drink it all in one gulp as he tries to rush to the edge of the pool, looking like some panicked animal fleeing a predator. I watch as he climbs out, his dick still semi-hard, and grimace when I see he didn’t use protection.
Shit. I need to get myself checked.
Whatever has been on that dick could be inside of me.
His pretty little co-host, whose name I don’t even remember, calls out to him, but he reaches for a towel and wraps it around himself before he strides to the door. I see the panic in his eyes. The lies that are starting to form as he approaches. But there is no way he can get out of this.
You, sir, are a piece of shit.
Even when I thought I should leave him, I stayed.
Why? Don’t ask me because I have no answer.
“Lil.” He steps inside, water still dripping from his body. He looks at my glass of vodka and then at the knife still on the table. I look at it, as well, and smile.
“Do you plan to kill me?” he asks and shakes his head. Those were the first words to come out of my husband’s mouth.
I glance past him to see her stepping out of the pool and quickly getting dressed.
“It was a mistake,” he says. “She needed me, and you never do. So, one thing led to another…” Again, I say nothing. “Sometimes a man wants to be desired, Lil.”
He never uses my full name. I merely smile sardonically at him, watching him dig himself in deeper. His excuses, lies and blame all thrown onto me. But where is the accountability anywhere in sight? It’s amusing to watch him squirm.
“I didn’t start this,” Deven begins, trying to form the perfect lie.
She steps into the house, avoiding eye contact with me, but turns to face him. Her hair is wet, and I take my chance to look her over. A loose dress clings to her wet body, and she has this perfect mole next to her lips, a little like Marilyn Monroe.
She’s more his type than I am. I’ve seen pictures of Deven’s exes. And none of them look anything like me. I’m not skin and bones—I have some meat on me. I like to eat way too much chocolate, and I never work out. I don’t have the perfect hair he likes, even though he once asked me to dye it blonde. No, today I am copper. Tomorrow, I may be a redhead. Only time will tell what surprises I’ll bring home.
“Leave,” Deven tells her.
She turns to me, and I wait for her to say something. Instead, her gaze falls to the knife on the table, and her lips thin as her eyes widen.
I wonder what it would be like to slice her open and play with her insides. Would I find my husband’s cum inside of her?
At the sight of the knife and the look on my face, she listens to him and turns to walk out, trailing water behind her as she leaves.
He reaches for my hand, which is wrapped around my glass.
“Touch me, and this knife will end up in your hand,” I say with a smile, and he pauses.
“Look, Lil, there isn’t any need for this. We can work on it.”
I stand. I’ve finished the bottle of vodka, and there’s none left in the house.
“I wouldn’t follow if I were you,” I warn, then look down at the towel wrapped around his waist. The towel he’s using has splotches of blood stained into it like some kind of seedy Rorschach inkblot test.
“Did you fuck in the pool because she’s on her period?” I ask. His cheeks turn red, and I know that’s exactly why. I reach for my wedding ring, slide it off and place it on the table before reaching for the glass of vodka. I take the last sip and place the glass back on the table next to the ring as I reach for the knife. Deven’s face turns ashen, and his hands go up in the air as he pleads with me.
I smile as I stab the knife directly into the expensive wooden table, sliding my tongue over my lips, then I walk over to him and pat him on the face twice before I give him a wink, “Goodnight, Deven.” I offer him a wave over my shoulder, grab my bag from the hook, slide on my heels, leave the house, and start walking down the street. Only to find her gone. Truth be told, I was hoping to run into her again, maybe to have her blood running into his perfect grass. Because, clearly, he has it on his not-so-perfect fucking cock.
Fuck, I need another drink.
