Sweet Venom by Rina Kent - 12

12

I t’s Jude.

Why is Jude inside my home?

I mean, he was here before, considering the note and that he read my journal and messed with my stuff, but he’s never stepped foot inside while I was here.

It’s that escalation again, isn’t it? Like when Mario started to watch me twenty-four seven or when Jude came into the bar and started a fight, then forced me to go with him and made me watch the recording of his mom’s murder.

Before he murdered someone in front of me.

I had to literally block that from my memory and shove it in with the skeletons in my closet so I wouldn’t break down.

After he left me alone, I thought he might have lost interest.

Hoped so, even.

But he’s here.

In the flesh.

Of course he’s here when I chose to go braless after the shower. And now, I feel self-conscious.

My body, which usually locks up when facing danger, is disturbingly pliant as he pulls me against him with the hand on my mouth and the other around my stomach. His large, gloved hand flexes on my belly over the apron covering my shirt as my back presses against his rock-hard chest.

He feels like a wall behind me, towering, impenetrable.

I tilt my head slightly, catching a glimpse of his handsome face that, as usual, is set in a disapproving scowl.

A sheen of darkness.

An overload of violence.

And it’s all directed at me now. As if I’ve offended him in some way.

I try to pull his hand away, but he tightens his grip. So I let my arm hang at my side, losing all will to fight—not that I have that.

Maybe he truly got bored, and he’s now here to finish the job.

I shouldn’t feel relief about the possibility of death, but I’d rather face that than being the subject of Jude’s suffocating fixation.

He stares down at me with unhinged focus, as if he’ll miss whatever he’s reading on my face if I blink. “Who wants you dead, Violet?”

I mumble against the glove and shake my head, but he doesn’t remove his hand.

“Who else did you do wrong with that innocent act and those hollow fucking smiles?”

“Mmm.”

“But you can’t die when I haven’t allowed it yet. The only one who gets to cut your lifeline is me. Your fucking god.”

I’m trembling, my ass rubbing uncomfortably against his jeans.

No, not uncomfortably.

I feel weird whenever he looks at me with that intensity, as if he’s stripping me naked and looking at my unsightly body .

A chilling realization settles through me—the reason for my unease around Jude isn’t only because of fear; it’s the shards of something foreign beneath the fear.

“So next time you’re being shot at, you don’t stand up and try to be a savior. You fucking hide, do you hear me?”

My eyes widen.

“I’ve seen the footage from the security cameras and your feeble attempts at being a superhero.” He releases my mouth, then slides his hand down and wraps it around my throat. Not enough to choke, but it’s firm enough to not allow me to move. “Too late for that, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” I whisper, my voice slightly low.

“What?”

“Well, you might make me watch you torture and kill people if I let Mario die. You seem to think people are all courageous and can act when faced with danger, so superhero it is, I guess. Did my actions satisfy you? Or should I have been shot, too, to prove the nobility of my sacrifice?”

His upper lip lifts, and I recoil, but that pushes me farther into his hard, warm body. I don’t know what comes over me whenever this man is around, but I kind of just blurt out all my unfiltered thoughts.

“You seem to have a death wish.”

“You already read my journal, so you know that’s true.”

“Violet…”

“What? You blame me for not saving your mom, but still blame me when I turn around and save Mario? Will you ever be satisfied by anything I do?”

His gloved fingers tighten around my throat, still not choking but a little constrictive, then he turns me around in a blur of motion and shoves me back toward the counter, leaning dangerously close to me as the cool edge of it meets my lower back. “You need to learn when to shut that mouth.”

“I thought you said I need to learn how to defend myself? Provide a better manual to avoid confusion.”

He pushes me farther until I’m sort of sitting, sort of slumping on the counter, my back up against the wall. My heart lurches in my throat when he steps between my legs, and something hard pokes my belly.

Did this guy get hard from…manhandling me?

That would be creepy as fuck if I weren’t horrified by an entirely different thing.

At his touch, warmth spreads through my belly and flows down…

Down…

Oh God. What’s happening?

I don’t really get turned on. I’ve always been told I’m dry, and if they don’t use lube, I bleed. There’s no way⁠—

“You seem to have mistaken the fact that I didn’t kill you for tolerance. Wait. No.” He grabs the largest knife from the washed dishes and places it flat against my face. “You’re provoking me to kill you, aren’t you? End this nightmare on your behalf and take the step you’ve always cowered away from.”

“Not here. I don’t…want to traumatize Dahlia, please.”

The knife’s cool side lifts and then it’s at my apron, cutting the strap at my neck, making it hang around my waist.

“It’s amazing how you think your dead body would traumatize her, but not your death.” He cuts the tie at my waist, and the apron falls to the floor.

My T-shirt is bunched up now, reaching mid-thigh. And he’s staring at them, my thighs, where the shirt stops .

I grow hotter and warmer beneath his gaze, fighting the urge to fling my legs open.

Jude reaches a hand to my bandaged knee, then stops.

His unforgiving gaze slides up the length of me before meeting my gaze. “You don’t really care about her, do you?”

“That’s not true!”

“Hmm. You know how to yell?” He pulls at the collar of my shirt and places the knife there. “Let’s see if you also know how to scream.”

A gasp rips out of me as he cuts the shirt right down the middle. Since I’m not wearing a bra, my round breasts bounce free, the tips hardening in an instant.

It’s not only because of the air.

My palms, which are flat against the counter on either side of me, tremble, but I keep them there as I stare at an invisible point on the floor.

It’ll be over soon.

They all finish up quickly and get it over with.

If I remain completely still, it’ll be over faster⁠—

Rough gloved fingers slide from my throat to my jaw, gripping it tightly as merciless lips slam against mine.

He bites my upper lip, then my lower one, sinking his teeth so deep, I think blood will gush out.

I have no choice but to open as he thrusts his tongue inside.

Jude kisses like he speaks, walks, talks, and plays hockey.

With violence.

Bright red, rough, and completely ruthless violence.

He slurps on my tongue, biting down and nibbling, but he doesn’t break the skin as he consumes my mouth, kissing me harsh and deep, like I’ve never been kissed before.

Like I never thought I’d ever be kissed .

There’s an unrefined edge to him, a darkness that seeps from his tongue that’s devouring mine, or his unforgiving fingers at my jaw.

I’m trapped between the edge of violence and desire, with no choice but to submit to his invasion while willing my body to remain disconnected.

It’s too late, though, because I’m already moaning in his mouth. In the beginning, I think it’s a noise coming from outside, but I soon realize the shameless whimper is mine.

Jude pulls his lips from my bruised ones, and I stare, entirely dazed as he slides his thumb to the corner of my lip. “Seems you did that on purpose.”

“W-what?”

“I told you I’d kiss you if you looked away from me.” His gloved hand slides from my jaw to my throat, over my collarbone, then wraps tightly around my breast.

I gasp, my nipples aching at the feel of his large palm on the tender flesh.

“It’s time for that something worse.” He puts the knife on the counter and grabs the can of ginger ale.

I watch with held breath as he opens the can, the sound of the metal and the released fizz barely cutting through the buzz in my ears and the uncontrollable heat in my body.

I’m mentally trying not to push my chest farther into his palm or rub my legs together or something equally ridiculous.

Jude brings the can to his lips, and I gulp, expecting him to put his mouth where I always do. Right at the edge, licking the remnants of the drink.

But he stops, his eyes on me as he holds the can in front of my face. “I want to try your favorite drink.”

“How do you know… Right. Professional stalker.”

A small twitch lifts the corner of his mouth, and my lips part. It’s the first time he’s ever smiled and he…looks so beautiful and different.

I kind of feel sad that maybe he hasn’t had the chance to smile throughout his life.

But too soon, his mouth sets in a line, and he releases my aching breast, then grips my jaw, his gloved thumb pulling on my lower lip. “This mouth truly doesn’t know when to shut up. Open.”

“Why—”

The words are stuck in my throat when he pours the soft drink into my mouth. I swallow some, but he won’t stop, liquid splashing everywhere—down my chin, my neck, on my chest, and even below.

He empties the can on me until I’m soaked in ginger ale.

I’m panting in my attempts to swallow as much as possible. “How are you going to try it if you waste it like that?”

“You don’t like the waste?”

“Of course not. My biggest pet peeve is those who waste stuff just because they can.”

“I better not be your pet peeve, then.” He leans closer and licks my lower lip, then the upper one, sucking it into his mouth.

I flinch, but it’s not due to discomfort.

No, it’s something much worse.

Because my skin tingles where he licks me, his tongue drawing out sensations I’ve never experienced before.

It moves down to my chin.

“W-wait. I didn’t look away just now.”

“We’re at the much worse part now, remember?” He sucks on a sensitive spot on my neck as he looks up at me, his eyes darkening to a frightening edge. “Besides, you don’t like to waste, correct? ”

My back arches as his tongue glides down, licking every droplet of ginger ale off my skin, his mouth sucking and biting my neck and collarbone until a strangled noise escapes me.

My thighs tremble, my lips parting as I feel something I’ve never experienced during sex.

Animalistic need.

The dark, wild type that I only read about in novels.

And it’s…because of Jude?

No, that can’t be right.

“Mmm. I still can’t form an opinion.” He grunts, his lips so close to my wet nipples, I shiver at the feel of his breath, but he doesn’t touch me.

And I refuse to thrust myself in his direction.

A dark gleam flashes in his eyes. “About the drink, I mean.”

“You’re messing with me,” I say in a voice so hoarse, I barely recognize it.

“Am I?” His teeth sink into my nipple, and he tugs on the tip until I’m whimpering. As if that isn’t enough, he twists my other nipple with his gloved fingers.

I cry out. Because it hurts.

But it’s also so…strangely titillating.

My thighs clench around his, chasing something I can’t quite reach. But since my legs are spread so wide, I can’t get any friction.

Jude bites, twists, and pinches my nipple, and my thighs throb with every touch, my core tightening with something primal and ancient.

“You’re shaking.” He speaks against my nipple, his eyes meeting mine. “Sex with me isn’t so disappointing after all.”

He slides his tongue down, both hands pulling at my nipples, sending jolts of wild need through me with every twist .

But I can’t stop looking at him.

At the confident and easy edge he touches me with as his tongue swipes over my belly and to my now-soaked panties.

He pulls at the hem with his teeth, sliding the fabric against my throbbing clit.

The moan that rips out of me is shaky and hoarse, as if I’ve never moaned before.

Because I haven’t, not even for show.

If the men from my past weren’t pleasing me, they knew it. Despite my people-pleasing habits, I’ll never feign an orgasm for a man. I also rarely gave head. They could fuck me, but I wouldn’t put in the effort if they weren’t going to reciprocate.

I’m not my mama in that regard.

And they hated that about me, and because of their fragile egos, they made it known that I was the bad person in all of this.

There was a running joke that I was like Sleeping Beauty, because I was like a lifeless doll in bed. I made no sound or expression.

They must’ve seen it as weird, but for me, I was just questioning my life choices, really.

However, right now, I can’t help the noises that fill the kitchen. Even when I sink my teeth into my lower lip.

Even when I try to not be affected.

Jude lowers himself and slides my panties to the side.

“There’s still some ginger ale here.” He glides his hot, wet tongue over my slit, and I slam both of my palms on the wall on either side of me as my head drops back.

“Holy shit…”

“Mmm.” He nibbles on my clit with his teeth, and I arch my back as my pussy throbs in his mouth .

Damn. Goddamn.

One gloved hand pinches my nipple as the other smacks the side of my ass cheek.

Hard.

Did he just spank me?

Yes, yes, he did, I think as I all but thrust my pelvis into his mouth, chasing, searching, needing something.

“You react well to pain. I like that.” He spanks me again and I lurch, my hands turning clammy against the wall.

“Your cunt is soaking my mouth. Interesting.” He licks my clit, then bites again, and this time, I’m thrashing, wanting…

No, needing more.

“Looks like you can be a very good fucking girl, sweetheart.”

My insides clench, a hot wave rushing over me at what he called me.

A good fucking girl and sweetheart?

From Jude?

This must be a dream.

But the way he touches me doesn’t feel like a figment of my imagination. He devours me thoroughly, even more enthusiastically than he did my mouth.

I’ve never met a man who was so…passionate about eating pussy, let alone who did it so fucking well.

I’m shamelessly shoving my core in his face, grinding against his mouth, but he grabs both my legs and lifts his mouth from my pussy. “No. That’s not how it works.”

My lips press together, suppressing a sound of protest, and he goes back to eating me out, thrusting into my opening with his tongue.

This time, I can’t urge him to do it faster or harder when he’s holding my legs wide apart so that only his tongue and lips offer me any form of friction.

Just when I think I’ll die, he pulls me so hard against his tongue, I throw my head back and scream.

I actually scream as the pleasure rips through my bones, riding his face, mumbling something unintelligible as I come the hardest I ever have.

Not even my little vibrator has given me this, let alone a man.

As I stare down at his dark eyes, I realize with horror that I just came on my stalker’s tongue.

The man who wants to kill me gave me pleasure I’ve never experienced before.

Jude licks his lips, making me observe my own arousal glistening on his mouth, as he says, “You only had disappointing sex before me, sweetheart.”