Sweet Venom by Rina Kent - 26

26

“ Y ou think you deserve peace after you ruined my life, you worthless piece of shit?”

I gasp awake, my throat closing and my limbs shaking uncontrollably.

It’s over.

Mama’s face with protruding cheekbones and flashing hatred in her eyes was just a dream.

And that dream is over.

I shift and pain explodes all over my body, but mostly my ass and sore pussy.

Memories from last night flash back in.

The ambushing, the spanking, and the fucking—a lot of fucking.

Pretty sure Jude kept at it for hours and probably only stopped when I kind of fell asleep in the shower.

He must’ve been the one who finished cleaning me up, dressed me in his shirt, and carried me to bed, because I don’t remember leaving the bathroom, let alone going to bed.

The man is a machine. It seemed as if he couldn’t get enough. As if he suffered from an acute thirst that couldn’t be quenched, and it turned me on for some reason.

The whole thing did—from the way he couldn’t stop and was hard again so soon after he came, to how he wanted to fuck me in all positions possible while speaking dirty words in my ear and calling me a good girl.

His good girl.

The girl he couldn’t get enough of.

No wonder I can barely walk. I even have to hold on to the nightstand for balance.

Damn.

I don’t think I’ll be able to go to class today. I’m so sore and achy all over. I remove the shirt, and my body is full of dark-purple hickeys.

Usually, I don’t like seeing my body naked, but I don’t seem to mind when Jude’s ripping my clothes off.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and study the marks he left everywhere. My neck, collarbones, breasts, thighs, and my ass are full of hickeys, handprints, and bite and finger marks.

Damn. I look abused, but I’m blushing.

Because every mark brings back memories of how he touched me. It was rough and unapologetic and out of control, but I felt…worshiped.

And he didn’t really hurt me. He always slowed down when it started to be too much, and he could tell from just the look in my eyes.

As if he could read what I was feeling.

That’s stupid.

Jude only sees me as a tool. Whether for revenge or sex—I’m still a tool.

He’s nowhere in the bedroom, probably having left in the middle of the night like the other time.

I check my phone and there’s nothing from him.

My shoulders hunch as I trudge to the bathroom. It’s not that I expected him to stay or text, but it still tightens my chest.

It shouldn’t.

I’ve never expected anything from the men I’ve fucked and have always had zero expectations. In fact, I was glad some of them didn’t get in touch again. Some of them told their friends I was like a dead fish and that a fuck doll had more emotions than me. One guy said fucking me was creepy as fuck because I had a poker face the whole time.

Maybe it was because I didn’t feel anything.

I definitely didn’t have a poker face last night. Not when Jude made me feel him instead of seeing him, talked dirty to me, praised me, and couldn’t get enough of me.

Maybe that’s why it feels like my chest will explode. The only man I’ve ever enjoyed sex with disappeared, and I’m…

I pause brushing my teeth, my eyes widening.

No. I can’t be disappointed or hurt. I’d have to care in order to feel those emotions, and I’d never care about Jude Callahan. I shouldn’t have even allowed him to fuck me, let alone enjoyed it.

But somehow, I forgot all about the safe word. Like, it completely slipped my mind.

It’s probably some stupid hormones that are muddying my head. That’s all.

After I finish freshening up and spend a long time putting on a hoodie and jeans, I grab my phone and pause as a text lights up my screen.

I rush to open it, but my heart falls when I don’t see Jude’s name.

Unknown number

Heeey! It’s the one and only, the man and the legend, Preston. Got your number from Daisy. Just kidding, she said no, so I had my methods. Anyway, want to hang out?

Me

Hi, Preston. I’m not sure why you’d want to hang out with me.

Preston

Because I’m better company than Jude and Dakota combined. And I’m definitely a better fuck. Not that I’m saying we should fuck, but it’s on the table just in case.

I’ll politely decline. Thank you, though.

Aw, don’t go hurting my feelings like that. Just think about it. I’ll see you around campus!

I’m staring at his text as I walk into the living area. Not sure why Preston seems hell-bent on getting close to me, but I’d rather stay away from anything related to Jude. Starting with the man himself.

“Who are you texting?”

I bump against a wall. A warm, tall, and broad wall.

My eyes widen, the phone nearly falling from my grip, as I stare at Jude. My neck hurts from how much I’m craning to look at him as he grabs my elbow, steadying me.

He looks so beautiful in jeans, a black T-shirt, and his full-sleeve tattoos that are on display.

“W-what are you doing here?” My mouth feels dry, and my belly tightens as his intoxicating scent triggers memories from last night.

“Brought some breakfast.” He motions at the table that’s stacked full of pancakes, eggs, toast, and three types of juices—orange, strawberry, and green. Who drinks three types of juices in the morning?

Jude, apparently .

I ignore the flutter in my chest as I step back, then wince, because, really, I feel him inside me with every move. And the fact that he’s actually standing in front of me fills me with flashes of warmth.

“Why did you bring breakfast?” I ask.

“Why not?” He glares at my phone. “And you’re not changing the subject. Who are you texting?”

“So now I can’t text anyone without telling you?”

He narrows his eyes the slightest bit. “Preferably.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I walk past him, mainly to escape the trap of his intense gaze and the way my body is reacting to that gaze. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“You’re following my hockey schedule?” There’s slight amusement in his tone.

“I don’t have to. You and the Vipers are kind of everywhere in this town.”

“Apparently not everywhere, because you still haven’t come to see me play live. You should do that sometime.”

“And watch you beat up people up close and personal? No, thanks.”

He narrows his eyes but says nothing.

I pull out a chair and even my arms hurt, probably from when he held them in a tight grip behind my back and fucked me on the edge of the bed. “This is too much food. I could’ve cooked instead.”

Jude strides to the chair across from me, watching me with his head cocked to the side. “I figured you’d be too sore to move properly, let alone cook.”

“That’s not—” I wince when my ass meets the chair, and I have to hold on to the table for balance.

“You were saying?” Amusement laces his voice, and a small smile appears .

I feel spoiled by his smiles, and I can’t help but think this will backfire exponentially.

“Whose fault is that?” I grumble. “You’re the one who can’t have sex like normal people.”

“Neither of us are normal people, sweetheart. You know that, your body knows that, and even your journal knows that.” He swallows half a boiled egg. “Will I find other fantasies after last night?”

My cheeks heat, but I spread butter on my toast, pretending I’m not actually dying of embarrassment. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“The fantasies, Violet. The ones I’m putting so much effort into making come true. Shouldn’t I get some recognition?”

“Why would you?”

He pauses with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Why would you put so much effort into making my fantasies come true?”

“Why? You’d rather it’s the man you’re fantasizing about?” His eyes darken to a frightening color, and I look down, scared he’ll see my chaotic emotions written all over my face.

A hand shoots up in my direction, and I gulp as he stands and grabs my jaw. “I told you, didn’t I? No one will satisfy that cunt aside from me. You’re mine, so there will be no fantasy men or anything in fucking between.”

The possessiveness rips through my flesh and flows into my blood, but I still whisper, “Why would you want me to be yours?”

He releases me and sits down. “As I mentioned. It’s because your life is mine.”

“I don’t see the correlation.” I take a bite of my toast. “My life being yours doesn’t mean you’d want to fuck me. ”

“It does. Because I own every inch of you.” He sips his coffee, then sets it back down. “Your fantasies included.”

“Right.” I let out a scoff. “Will you have someone following me again? Like Mario?”

My voice catches on his name, and I fill my mouth with toast to stop it from trembling.

“No.” The word is firm, but I also sense something underneath. A tension of sorts, and now, I feel like shit.

I know I thought Jude attacked us, but that’s obviously not true. Dahlia said he visits Mario regularly, and even now, I can tell he feels some form of guilt about him.

“I’m sorry about Mario,” I whisper. “He’s in a coma because he tried to protect me. It’s all my fault.”

“If we’re playing a my-fault game, then it’s mine. I’m his boss and the one who put him in that position.”

“But it was because of me⁠—”

“Enough, Violet.” His voice booms in the silence. “Blaming yourself and being a martyr doesn’t make you a saint or anything grandiose. It only allows predators to prey upon you.”

“Predators like you?” I ask, then regret it immediately because why the hell am I saying what I’m thinking without a filter?

“Yes, predators like me.” He doesn’t seem offended, just…accepting, I suppose.

I clear my throat. “Do you think he’ll ever wake up? Mario, I mean.”

“I don’t know.”

“Can’t you ask Julian for help? He seems to be way ahead in developing drugs for comas and stuff.”

He narrows his eyes.

I gulp the bite of the most divine, fluffiest pancake I’ve ever had. “What? ”

“Don’t bring up Julian or praise him.”

“I wasn’t praising him. He just seemed to know what he’s doing.”

“Like when he told you I tried to kill you?”

I frown. “Why do you think he did that?”

“So you’d be more terrified of me and take the way out he was offering. He loves cornering people so they’ll do his bidding.”

“He’s really cunning.”

His eyes are still narrowed, but he says nothing.

I make him some toast with butter and jam, and he pauses before he takes it, almost as if he’s never had someone make him some toast before.

I’m so used to making it for Dahlia, I didn’t even think twice.

“Are you close to him? Julian, I mean.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, which is why I’m asking.”

“He’s just a controlling pain in the ass.”

“Do you…have other siblings?”

“No. My mother had too many miscarriages while I was growing up.”

The words land like thunder on the table, and I gulp, afraid to breathe. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Why are you sorry?”

“I’m just… I know that must’ve been painful.”

“Yeah. She was in pain for a long time, but she still did everything and went to all the doctors so she could conceive.” He pauses, swallowing a mouthful of toast. “Thirteen.”

“What?”

“The number of miscarriages she had.”

“Oh. Were the pregnancies too close together? ”

“Her entire life after me, really. She had some form of an autoimmune system deficiency. Had many failed IVF attempts and refused the notion of a surrogate. Apparently, she lost quite a few before I came along, too. After me, she had one stillborn. Three were lost in the second trimester. The rest were miscarried early on.”

“Why did she keep doing that?”

“She wanted a girl so badly.” His lips twitch a little. “Pres looked girly when he was growing up. Probably why she loved having him around. But…”

“But?” I lean forward in my chair, looking at his hair that’s falling over his forehead, hiding the scar I know is there. The one his mom gave him.

“But it was hard on her body and mental state. Especially the stillborn and the second trimester losses. It didn’t help that she’d try to conceive as soon as she could, despite the doctors’ warnings that it was turning into an obsession.”

“Your father didn’t say anything?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Julian said he tried to stop her, but that motherfucker is the source of all evil. If he hadn’t married her, she would’ve had a perfectly normal life.”

“But you don’t know that.” I speak softly. “She could’ve had the same problem with another man.”

“Maybe, but he made everything worse.” He pauses, runs a hand over his face, then looks away. “She had uterine cancer last year and needed a hysterectomy.”

“Oh God.”

“She…had a mental breakdown.” Jude’s voice becomes deeper as he stares at the toast in his hand. “I’ve never seen her so broken and frantic as when it was time for the surgery. She begged me to stop them, but I couldn’t, because she would have died. That fucking father of mine made them sedate and operate on her. When she woke up, she kept touching her belly and crying. She didn’t die of cancer, but three months later, she was stabbed to death in broad daylight.”

“I’m sorry.” I wipe the moisture that’s gathered in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Your apologies won’t bring her back, Violet.”

“I know. I’m just sorry because you had to go through that. It must’ve been so hard growing up dealing with the fallout of her miscarriages, then her cancer.”

He pauses, looking at me as if he’s never heard those words before.

Wait. He has, right? From Julian or his dad?

Hopefully, his mom?

She must’ve cherished the actual child who survived, right?

“Do you also tell yourself that?” he asks.

“Tell myself what?”

“That it was so hard growing up with a mother who only belittled you and made you feel worthless?”

“My mom was different.” My fingers shake on the cup. “She was a gorgeous socialite, but pregnancy killed her lifestyle, and she had no one to rely on, so she had to sell her body to feed me.”

“How is that any of your fault? Did you choose to be born? Because if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t have chosen to be a degenerate, narcissistic woman’s daughter. Don’t make excuses for her.”

“I’m not. She did me wrong on too many levels that I’m slowly unpacking.” Like how sex is meaningless, and I shouldn’t get attached.

Last night was the first time in my life I’ve enjoyed penetrative sex and didn’t have images of my mom lying like a lifeless doll as all sorts of men rammed inside her.

“But?” He tops off my orange juice glass.

“But she was my only family, so yeah, it kind of hurt not to be loved by your only family, you know.” God, why am I even telling him this?

Maybe because he opened up about his own mother, and I got to see the human side of him in full-blown colors.

Maybe it’s because this is the first time we’ve actually sat down and talked, and I feel oddly comfortable around him.

Jude rolls the black ring on his index finger and his next words hit me in the chest. “You don’t need that type of love, even if it’s from your only family.”