7. Masked Trust
7
MASKED TRUST
~JESSICA~
"I 'll do anything you want, masked Daddy."
The words spill from me like something broken and bare, laced in wicked delight and dangerous truth. A line meant to provoke, to challenge, but also to confess—a truth I didn’t realize I’d speak aloud until it was already floating in the air between us like smoke off a gun barrel.
Viper stills.
That blade doesn’t dig in.
Instead, he lowers it. Slowly . His eyes never leave mine, and for a moment I wonder if I broke the game we’ve been playing—tipped the scale into something we can’t undo.
Then he turns, tugging open a drawer behind him. The sound of sliding metal draws my attention, and I watch as he pulls a single black glove free.
He slips it on, fingers curling into the leather like he’s preparing for war.
I should feel fear.
I don’t.
I feel seen.
His gaze returns to me, burning as it always does. But there’s something else swimming just beneath it—an interest, a depth. Not just the hungry obsession of a feral Alpha but the way a man looks when he’s cataloging every inch of you like you’re a map, and he’s determined to memorize the terrain.
He likes watching me think. That much I’ve figured out.
Even when I act like I don’t give a shit—when I smirk and roll my eyes and pretend I’m unaffected—he sees it. The curiosity. The edges of something softer I refuse to show the world. He sees the version of me that still hopes. The one that wears her own kind of mask, only mine isn’t made of crimson leather.
Mine is made of control.
He picks up the blade again.
This time by the sharp end.
I inhale sharply, panic flaring for a heartbeat before I see the glove.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Our eyes meet, and I feel it—the precise moment he sees the flicker of uncertainty in me. Just a flicker. Not fear. Never fear. But something just as dangerous.
He smiles.
Slow.
Sinister.
"Do you dare trust me, Venom?"
His voice is smoke and velvet and sin.
I whisper, "Yes."
No hesitation.
His eyes widen slightly, like I’ve surprised him. He could taunt me for it, turn it into a joke, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he leans in and kisses me.
Not rough.
Not savage.
Not like the way he fucks me with his cock or his mouth or his fingers or words.
This kiss is slow.
Tender.
He kisses me like I’m real.
Like he forgot we’re poison.
Our lips move in perfect sync, tongues sliding, breaths syncing as he pulls me towards him and steps in between my spread thighs like I’m the only thing keeping him alive. His hand cups my cheek, the other resting against the edge of the desk beside the blade.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless.
We don’t say how good it was.
We don’t have to.
Instead, he distracts himself. Retreats.
The cool press of metal against my folds makes me gasp.
The handle of the blade—thick and carved—drags gently up my slit, spreading slick in its wake.
I shudder.
He watches me like a beast studying the break of prey.
"Slowly," I whisper.
He freezes.
Something in my voice— soft but clear —holds him.
He nods once.
"Slowly, Venom," he echoes. My name a vow on his tongue. "I swear."
He presses the handle inside me with infinite care, and I swear to god, I’ve never felt anything so insane.
It’s cool at first, foreign.
My back arches, hands gripping the edge of the desk as he slides it deeper.
My moan is long and low, helpless.
His groan mirrors mine.
"Fuck, look at you," he mutters. "Clenching around it like you want to swallow the whole fucking blade."
He fucks me slowly with the handle, twisting, angling until every thrust sends tremors through my thighs.
My top slips lower with every jolt, the black silhouette no longer modest but stretched across my breasts. He leans down, mouth latching onto the neckline, teeth worrying at the fabric.
Then he rips.
With his teeth.
Animal.
Savage.
My top tears open, fabric ripping in jagged lines, exposing my lace-clad breasts to the cool basement air.
He growls.
Tugs the laced bra down with one hand, freeing me, baring me to him.
"Perfect," he says, voice rough.
His tongue is on my nipple a moment later, swirling and sucking, while the handle continues its slow, steady pump into my dripping cunt.
I moan, arching, overwhelmed.
My hips grind into the rhythm he’s building, breath hitching with each pass, each lick, each kiss. His other hand fists the desk beside me, anchoring him while he devours me.
"Viper, I’m—I can’t?—"
He bites my nipple.
I scream.
And I come .
Hard.
My orgasm crashes into me like a truck, my body seizing as I clamp down on the blade handle, crying out with abandon as wave after wave rolls through me.
When I finally slump, boneless and wrecked, he slides the handle free.
My slick clings to it, dripping.
I’m still twitching when he lifts it to his lips.
Licks it clean.
My eyes lock with his.
I should be scandalized. Embarrassed.
But I’m too far gone.
His eyes darken.
Concern filters in for the first time.
"I shouldn’t push you," he murmurs, brushing my hair from my face. "Not like that. Not when I don’t know if you get Heats."
He kisses me again before I can respond.
A mouthful of me.
A taste of what I gave him.
When he pulls back, I blink up at him.
"I should shower."
He raises a brow.
I wince. "Actually, I should go. Before it gets too late and I have to do the walk of shame through campus with ripped clothes and cum-slick thighs."
I try to stand.
My legs betray me.
I pout.
He chuckles. The sound is another rarity in itself, with the depth of the haunting rumble.
"Don’t look at me like that," I mutter.
He scoops me into his arms before I can protest.
"Viper—"
"Shower first," he says. "Then you can drag your broken pride back to whatever hellhole you call home."
He carries me into the adjoining bathroom, sets me down gently on the toilet seat.
"Pee."
"Excuse me?"
He crosses his arms.
"Be a good troublemaking Omega and pee. Then we shower."
I roll my eyes.
"You act like we can shower together without round two. Or five at this rate"
His grin is pure sin.
"If we do, you’ll end up spread like a bald eagle again. Or some crazy shit."
I huff. "That doesn’t even make sense."
He chuckles.
And the sound—fuck.
It’s real. Deep and unexpected.
It makes my chest hurt.
I blink, startled.
He shrugs. "I get what I want. You?"
He leans down, brushing his mouth across mine again.
"You get the best sleep of the semester."
"It’s barely begun."
His eyes gleam.
"Exactly. Gives me plenty of time to give you multiple bests."
I try to scowl.
I fail.
I smile instead.