5. West
I thought my mood couldn’t improve any further, but my father proved me wrong. Today, I won’t be lurking like a creep near Venetia’s house as I originally planned. Instead, Dad has scheduled a meeting with her, her father, and me. He insists it’s important, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck about business today.
My mind races with plans to confront Venetia, sleepless and driven by a force beyond mere desire. It’s a need to define her, to place her where she fucking belongs, that consumes me. Today, I’m going to cut down those baby fangs she’s so desperately flashed at me.
I sit in my less flashy car, my fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. She always arrives early, and I plan to take advantage of it.
When her car pulls in, a rush of anticipation sweeps over me. Every muscle tenses as I sit up straight, my eyes glued to her movements. I chuckle at the image of her checking her makeup in the rearview mirror.
It won’t look as pretty once I’m done with her.
In the next moment, she steps out of her car, triggering another surge of adrenaline that sparks every nerve in my body. I chew on the corner of my lip, trying to ignore the burning discomfort of withdrawal. I fucking hate this constant craving for coke; it makes me feel weak. I want to be able to choose whether to get high or not, but this withdrawal is slowly taking control of me.
I can’t let myself use this morning. I want to experience everything with a clear mind—to witness the subtle shift in her eyes, the cascade of her tears, the delicate pout of her lips—a feast for all my senses. I need to commit every single second to memory before I inevitably fall into the white pit again.
I wait for her to approach the entrance of the building before I get out of my car, shutting the door quietly behind me. I follow her at a measured pace, careful not to draw any attention. She’s not supposed to notice me until I want her to.
I’ve never really paid much attention to how she walks—like a model strutting down a runway rather than a woman headed to a job she clearly despises. I don’t need to be an expert to see how uncomfortable and anxious she feels in this setting.
Not that I give a fuck.
The doors slide open, allowing her inside, and I calculate the perfect moment to slip in right after her, keeping my pace deliberate and quiet. She greets the staff members before quickly glancing away, and I press my finger to my lips, urging the secretary and cleaner to keep quiet before they ruin everything. With a small smile on my face, it looks like I just want to pleasantly surprise her.
With each step, my impatience grows. The anticipation bubbles within me, and I can practically feel myself glowing from the inside. I’m not high right now, but the rush this situation gives me feels better than any drug I’ve ever taken.
Venetia steps into the elevator, her expression entirely unbothered, while I linger just around the corner, granting her a few moments of peace. As the doors begin to close, I rush in, stretching my hand between them and ignoring the jolt of pain as they smash against my arm, sending a vibration through my body.
When the doors part and her eyes catch my silhouette, she instinctively takes a barely perceptible step back. I bite my lower lip, relishing her reaction as I stroll into the elevator, unashamedly locking my eyes on her. I settle right beside her, facing the closing doors, and I swear, I can almost hear her silent scream, the desperate urge to escape echoing in her mind.
We’re heading to the 28th floor, so I have more than enough time. I allow her this fleeting illusion of peace, just as I did a moment ago before stepping inside.
Now, I understand her fascination with witnessing the dwindling light of hope a little more.
A tremor runs through her, a subtle earthquake beneath her carefully constructed calm. The air crackles with her unspoken anxiety, an electric current that burns its way into the space between us.
I cross my arms, creating a barrier against the laughter that threatens to escape. Her eyes dart like trapped birds, desperately searching for a way out. She’s on the brink of snapping, and the thought amuses me. I could revel in her agony for hours, and it would still be a mere drop in the ocean of my desires.
There’s something intoxicating about being the only one who can provoke any emotion from Venetia Ross.
As we reach the 20th floor, I take a small step forward, casting my shadow over her face as I lean toward the panel and press the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a halt, sending a slight ripple through the cabin that elicits a quiet whimper from her lips, causing my cock to jerk in response.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, a tremor lacing her voice. That sweet, frightened tone is like music to my ears.
Slowly, I turn to face her, and in the next second, my hand finds her throat, fingers wrapping around it as I push her back against the wall, caging her with my body. She squeals, her hands immediately curling around my arm. I press against her, erasing any chance of escape, feeling her muscles tense, instinctively responding to the threat. Her lips part in a silent scream as I apply pressure, relishing the way her heartbeat thrums against my fingertips.
Right now, I dictate the fucking rules.
“Cold, calculating little Venetia suddenly snaps at her partner and burns his fucking car down,” I muse, disregarding her throaty whimpers and the way her eyes squeeze shut from the force I’m applying. “They won’t believe me if I tell them this, you know?”
I ease the pressure slightly, and she gasps, the color rising in her cheeks. “I’m going to scream, you fucking?—”
She’s cut off as my other hand slips beneath her blazer, pressing two fingers into her liver. My dad taught me a lot of things, and one of the most important was knowing the most painful spots to exploit on a human’s body. “Scream all you want, baby,” I whisper, leaning closer to her face, blocking her from the light and the camera in the corner. “It’ll only make things worse for you.”
Her choked scream washes over me like a tide, so pleasant that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a groan. She no longer tries to wriggle free, her expression contorted in agony as I press down on the sensitive spot. A tear glistens in her eye before rolling down, tracing a path across her cheek, adding to my satisfaction just as I’d imagined.
“You really upset me, Venetia,” I say, and she turns her head away, desperately trying to escape me. “Don’t you want to apologize?”
I feel her swallow against my hand, her sharp nails digging into my flesh, creating tiny red punctures that send a strange ache through my stomach. My mind begins to envision all the ways she could mark me, deepening these wounds. I circle my fingers on her liver, digging harder and making her squirm in my grip like a trapped worm.
“Why did you lie to Eli?” she chokes out, and I tighten my grip around her throat, his name erasing any pleasant sparkles she might have ignited in me.
“I’m so sick of how you humiliate yourself. Eli this, Eli that—he fucking ignores me. Get a fucking grip, for God’s sake.”
“You don’t,” she licks her lips, and I can almost taste the saltiness of her tears on them, “get to decide?—”
“Oh, I’m not deciding. He does. He’s a grown-ass man—” I trail off, narrowing my eyes at the absurdity of that phrase. “A grown-ass boy who makes his own decisions. He never fought for you, not even once. And you waste your time obsessing over him, but it’s not because you truly love him.” I laugh. “Honestly, you don’t even like him, Venetia. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. The way you let him wipe his feet on you doesn’t sit well with your character.”
More tears stream down her face, and I don’t feel the same satisfaction I did before. It’s clear she’s upset over her idiotic Eli, not because of me. Everything I say is the bitter truth, but I don’t care how much it hurts her. She needs to stop running around like a needy child. She’s been right under my nose the whole time, and that annoys me.
“Now,” I begin, slightly easing the pressure on her liver and throat. I need her full attention. “Now, you’ll look into my eyes and apologize for burning down my fucking car.”
Her emerald eyes burn with a fierce, consuming fire. Every inch of her radiates anger, a heat so intense, so intoxicating, that I crave to be engulfed by it. “Fuck you, West,” she rasps, and I have to close my eyes as they roll involuntarily at the way she says my name. That desperate, furious voice, each syllable coated in scorching hate for me .
Slowly, I shake my head, a smirk curling the corner of my lips. “Wrong answer.” This time, I apply pressure not with my hands but with my body. The heat between us intensifies—a potent cocktail of desire and my dominance. She feels so fucking easy to break right now.
“So strong yet so breakable,” I murmur softly, trailing my lips down her neck. The cherry-flavored scent of her perfume fills my senses, making my head spin. She shivers, and my cock twitches, a raw need pulsing through me. “What are you hiding, Netia?”
I pull back slightly, my face hovering mere millimeters above hers. Her warm, erratic breath lingers on my lips as she gazes up at me, her shimmering eyes filled with contempt. At this point, she barely struggles while I hold her captive. Her panic escalates to a dangerously intense level; I bet the people behind these walls can hear her heartbeat. She’s my little mouse, trapped with no chance of escape.
Power has always given me the deepest pleasure, but right now, I can’t even describe the feeling in such simple terms. It’s so much more than that—bordering on something surreal, something that only I can experience.
I don’t know when or how my brain sends me the wrong signal, but I find myself leaning closer. My gaze locks onto her lips, their glossy surface seeming to invite a smudge.
Her embrace, once so tight, loosens as her arms withdraw from mine. She stands rigid, a sudden shift in the energy that crackles and explodes between us. I no longer try to choke her; my hands stay in place, but my grip transforms into something merely possessive.
My eyes flutter shut as my lips brush against hers, a jolt of electricity shooting through my body before something sharp slices across my face, leaving a burning discomfort on my skin.
A groan of pain rips from my throat before I can stop it, and in an instant, I’m yanked back, my shoulder slamming against the wall as my hand instinctively clutches my cheek. I look down, catching the sight of her hairpin in her little arm, the sharp tip glistening with my blood.
She doesn’t waste a moment, pressing the right button on the elevator panel while I remain frozen, my fingers trailing along my damaged skin. This doesn’t feel like just a scratch; the bitch has cut me deeply enough that I can hear the blood flowing, the droplets staining my white shirt.
“Next time,” she begins, her voice breathy as she wipes the tip of the hairpin against her palm and secures it back in her hair, “I’ll slice open your fucking chest with it.” She smooths the creases in her clothes before her hands travel to her throat, fingers tracing the red imprint I left behind.
I’m fucking stunned, unable to speak or move. Blood flows from the cut like a river, and as the shock fades, pain begins to creep in. It feels like she sliced off the outer layer of my fucking face.
The green light indicator for the 28th floor clicks to life, and the doors unlock. Venetia glances back at me, her eyes wide with anger and her cheeks flushed deeper than the blood now coating my hand. “Fuck you,” she mutters before turning on her heel and storming out, leaving me alone in the elevator.
Silence settles in, and just as my thoughts start to coalesce into something coherent, one of our employees attempts to walk in but halts before the doors. His eyes widen in concern as he takes in my state. I’m still doubled over, blood soaking my hand.
“Oh, God,” he squeals, his gaze darting around frantically in search of help. “You need?—”
I cut him off by storming out of the elevator, shouldering him aside as I force my way out. Ignoring his questions, I head to the nearest bathroom, my shock slowly giving way to pure anger.
The emotions escalate to a breaking point when I look in the mirror and see the extent of the damage this bitch has done. The cut is indeed fucking deep, and the longer I try to wash it off and stop the bleeding, the more futile it seems.
An intense heat floods my body, every inch of my skin prickling as if it were being scorched by invisible flames. Cursing under my breath, I rip off my blazer and toss it onto the floor. I pace the space, my hands running through my hair.
Withdrawal and Venetia fucking Ross weigh heavily on my mind more than ever before—two forces that drive me insane, pushing the remnants of my composure to the brink before shattering it completely.
She’s gone too fucking far. I would never hurt her like this; what I did in the elevator was merely a warning, a way to scare her off. If she’d just apologized, I would have backed off.
Lies, lies, lies.
I wasn’t planning on letting her go. I didn’t want to. But why?
Why?
How the fuck should I know? I’m not an expert at understanding my feelings and emotions. My head is a mess, one I have no desire to untangle, preferring instead to muffle everything with drugs whenever possible.
I was about to fucking kiss her. I was about to kiss the woman I despise, the one I have no desire to know better. It’s probably just the effects of withdrawal.
It has to be.
Before the flames consume me completely, I choose the one thing that always brings me relief. I walk to the bathroom stall and lock myself in, ready to pull out the little baggie with white powder I always keep tucked in my pocket.
But instead, I slide down my pants and underwear, my hand wrapping around my cock, which fucking itches with an unfamiliar need. Closing my eyes, I begin to stroke myself, my palm sliding smoothly up and down, smearing pre-cum along my flesh. The memory of her flushed face fills my mind, fueling my desire as I pick up the pace, envisioning a different scenario.
Drops of blood splatter onto my hand—I don’t need to look to know it’s there—but I hardly care. In fact, it only fuels me more, the tension in my lower stomach tightening with each stroke, each new drop of blood.
If I wasn’t so stunned, I would’ve fucked her with her fucking hairpin. I would’ve watched her eyes roll before making her come all over her mini fucking weapon. She’d beg me to stop, but I’d silence her with my mouth, finally—fucking finally—tasting that sticky lip gloss and gathering all the little glitters on my tongue. I’d steal every breath from her lungs, making her choke on her fucking tears.
God, I hate her. There aren’t enough words to convey how much I want to hurt her. To ruin her. To shatter the facade she’s built over the years and peer into her soul to see if our broken pieces might somehow fit together.
Because after witnessing how aggressive she truly is? Maybe we’re not so different after all.
A moan breaks free as I apply pressure, my pace perfectly syncing with each vivid image flashing through my mind. I don’t care if someone walks in and hears me jacking off like this. I’m lost in a haze of my pleasure.
For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for how imaginative my brain can be. I can almost feel her melting against me, the way I’ll make her break, the way I’ll make her pay for what she’s done while she kneels before me, that fiery gleam burning in her big, ivy-veiled eyes.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, the ringing in my ears a deafening symphony that merges with the pounding of my heart. Waves of heat crash over me, a primal rush of sadistic pleasure that leaves me breathless and drowning in its depths.
My lips part in a silent scream as the final blast vibrates through every inch of my body, igniting me from within and without. The world fades into a colorful blur as I come in my hand, picturing her mouth instead. Shutting my eyes, I can sense every drop spilling deep down her throat, feel her eyes roll back as she struggles to accept me.
Aftershocks make my knees buckle as I sense my consciousness starting to slip away. I slam my palm against the wall to brace myself, baring my teeth as electric vibrations continue to ripple through my body.
“Fuck,” I mutter, the weight of it all dragging my head down, making it too heavy to hold up. “Fuck, fuck ?—”
Seconds and minutes of bliss pass by, and gradually, the aftermath begins to creep in from all sides, reality closing in on me like never before. The world continues to spin around me, and I open my eyes, struggling to collect my thoughts before confronting the woman who has somehow invaded my fucking mind.