My Dark Divine

15. West

I ’m not sure how much more of these local government idiots I can handle. I knew they were all stupid, but I’ve never had to interact with them this closely. The absurdity of their words pushes me to the edge. I don’t know what I want more—to shoot them or myself.

I was supposed to drop Venetia off at her house and head back to my place, but Dad thought we weren’t exhausted enough. He talked with one of his friends and organized another meeting, this one about sustainability concerns. The senator, development officers, and all the important people will be there, so we have to participate. There’s some fancy event afterward, and that’s the main reason the place is located so far out, deep beyond the city.

We were flawless at the first meeting, but I can’t promise we’ll maintain that image now. Withdrawal is creeping into my body, consuming my focus, while Venetia looks as drained as ever. Plus, she’s a little drunk.

“Do you have anything for a headache?” she asks, her voice a strained rasp. “It feels like someone’s drilling into my skull.”

Without taking my eyes off the road, I point at the glove box. “Same. I’m not sure. Check the glove box.”

She does, and as soon as I hear it click open, she freezes. I’m too focused on not crashing to pay much attention, but curiosity tries to break through the fog in my mind, so I steal a glance at her from the corner of my eye.

“What is this?” she inquires sharply, lacking any trace of her earlier composure.

Turning fully to her, I see the lip gloss nestled between her dainty fingers, and a wave of strange warmth washes over me, sending a delightful shiver through my insides. “It’s lip gloss. Why?”

She tilts her head, an angry scowl settling on her perfect features. Her brows shoot up before furrowing together, as if she’s unsure of what emotions she’s experiencing. “Care to explain why there’s lip gloss in your car, West?”

I can’t resist smiling at what she says, a childish amusement bubbling inside me. “Jealous, are we?”

She huffs in irritation, pouting like the little angry thing she is. “In your dreams, maybe. But we’re getting married. If you’ve got someone, you need to tell me. I’m not planning on sitting and waiting for you while you’re off with someone else,” she blurts out, tripping over the last words. I can feel her fury rising, escalating to the point where she becomes an unpredictable mess.

God, that feels oddly addictive.

I pause briefly to steer the car in the direction we need to go. Once we’re outside the city, the traffic finally thins out. “Relax, Netia. I’m a jerk, but I have morals and respect for you. You don’t need to worry about me being with someone else.”

“So, what? You’re telling me you’re secretly putting on makeup?” she presses, and my smile widens impossibly. There’s something so satisfying in the way she refuses to back down after I assured her I’m not seeing anyone. Her lack of trust only makes me appreciate her possessive, jealous side more than I should.

“It’s Chloe’s stuff. She forgets things sometimes. That’s the only thing we have in common,” I finally reply.

Her body visibly relaxes as she sinks back in her seat, putting the gloss away and reaching for the painkillers. “Fuck. Only one left.”

I wave her off. What kind of man would I be if I selfishly denied her the chance to feel better? Besides, I need something stronger than a painkiller right now. “Take it. I don’t need one.”

“We can split it in half,” she suggests.

My muscles spasm with irritation. “Jesus Christ, just take the fucking pill, Venetia,” I snap, unsure why I’m reacting this way. I guess I never expected her to… suggest something like this.

After a prolonged pause, she replies, “Suit yourself,” her voice quieting. She takes the pill, washes it down with water, and then turns her attention to the window, deliberately avoiding me.

Great. Now I’ve hurt her for no fucking reason and ruined the little peace we managed to create. The drive ahead is long, and now that we’re out of the city with nothing but a straight road before us, things are going to get awkward. “Hey?—”

“Don’t.” She raises a hand to stop me. “I’m tired.”

Rolling down the window, she invites the cold evening air to kiss her face. I lean back in my seat, relaxing as I take a moment to examine her, absorbing every inch of her while she’s lost in thought.

The dress she’s wearing is one of the simplest my sister has, and when she walked out in it, I was taken by surprise. I thought she’d be angry about me ripping off her torturous corset and that she’d pick something outlandish. Instead, she chose something simple yet elegant, free from all the constricting things she obviously doesn’t need.

I don’t notice how I gradually increase my speed, my foot pressing harder on the gas pedal. The little needle on the monitor climbs higher, and the noise from the open window blends into something indistinct.

If I can’t get her attention with words, then I’ll do it with my actions.

As Venetia pulls away from the window, I catch a tremor running through her small frame before she meets my gaze. Confusion rapidly gives way to concern when our eyes connect.

“West,” she whispers, a slight warning tinged with fear beneath the surface. “What are you doing?”

My senses are on fire from the withdrawal, and for once, I’m grateful for it. Every sensation is heightened, my gaze fixed on the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickens. Goosebumps dance across her pale, tender skin, creating a raw masterpiece laced with fear as she glances between me and the speedometer.

She looks vulnerable. Innocent.

Aroused .

Her legs press together, lips slightly parting as she places her hand between them, fisting the silk of the black dress that had seemed perfect just moments ago. Now, all I can think about is ripping it off her, just like I did with her old one.

“West, please, knock it off,” she pleads, her trembling voice echoing the quakes in her body.

Little does she know, her words only fuel my resolve. I don’t look at the road ahead; instead, I take my time, pulling my hands away from the steering wheel, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips as I hold eye contact. “I’m not doing anything,” I lie, pressing the gas pedal down, the thrill inside me deepening.

I watch as she swallows hard, the movement traveling down her slender throat. She shifts back against the seat like trapped prey, her panic settling in. The wind from outside tangles her long, wavy hair, whipping it against her flushed cheeks and caressing her chest as it heaves with staccato breaths.

I’m fucking mesmerized. The woman beside me is infuriatingly perfect, as if she was created just for me. Only I, in my current state of mind, can truly appreciate her beauty and absorb her emotions like no one else can.

I can barely hold back the urge to lean in and claim her right now while we drive to that fucking meeting. I fist my hand until I hear the crack of my bones, trying to distract myself, but it hardly works.

Her eyes roll, and if it weren’t for the loud noise outside, I’d catch the little whimper that escapes her lips more clearly. Pressing the pedal to the floor, I ramp up the speed to a dangerously high level. Her thighs brush together as she fists the fabric of her dress, trying to deny the sensations coursing through her body.

“Fuck, West,” she gasps weakly, trying to scoot farther into the corner in an attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations. Her body tenses like a chord, and I can feel— fucking feel —how her pussy clenches around empty air, begging for me to help her.

She’s frightened, and that’s what turns her on.

“Are you going to come, Venetia?” I ask, inhaling her cherry perfume, the scent trapping me with no chance of resistance. It mingles with the fresh air from outside and the barely detectable scent of her arousal. “Right here, right now, from how scared you are?”

She bites her lower lip, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “No?—”

“Liar,” I interrupt, sensing the battle between her resistance and the desire that clouds her mind. “Come on, baby girl. Show me how much I scare you.”

My words shatter her composure. Her lips part wider, a silent scream caught in her throat as her hand grips the windowsill until the tips of her fingers turn white. Her inner thighs clench together, the silk fabric catching between them as she comes all over herself. The seatbelt is probably the only thing keeping her from collapsing under the force of the orgasm that crashes over her.

Fuck . She’s so beautiful when she gives in.

Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away, easing off the gas pedal as I lower our speed and roll up the window. The sounds from outside blur into the background, leaving only her ragged breaths beside me. Each panting gasp nearly chokes her as she struggles to get the precious oxygen she craves.

My cock throbs with a primal need, one that wins over the withdrawal, which begins to feel like distant noise. I place my elbow on the windowsill, my hand scrubbing across my chin as I try to come up with something to distract myself from what just happened.

Gradually, the aftermath creeps in, and my familiar anger pierces through the haze she cast. A scowl contorts my face, and I feel my muscles twitching, ensnared by the tendrils of irritation. Her hurried breaths only add to my annoyance, and I struggle to hold back a biting remark I want to direct at her. It’s not her fault for making me feel weak, but now I’m fucking stuck, unsure of how to proceed. I don’t understand why I let things spiral out of control, complicating our already tangled relationship.

I’m confused.

She annoys me while simultaneously fueling my desire. I can barely resist the urge to stop the car and pull her into my lap. She’s so close, yet it feels like she’s a world away—innocent and disoriented, nibbling on those soft lips I desperately want to taste again.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can’t stop thinking about her.

I just fucking can’t .

I can’t let her find out what effect she has on me. It would ruin everything, and the last thing I want is to fuck it all up. She clears her throat, and I shake my head, recognizing that she’s about to ask me something. But she brushes off my disapproval—or pretends not to notice—as she starts, “West, I?—”

“Shut up,” I cut her off, feeling her eyes on me from the corner of my vision. The conflict of betrayal and confusion plays out on her face, and I fucking hate myself for my harshness. But I can’t let that small flicker of warmth expand. “Shut the fuck up, Venetia.”

After a long moment of staring, she folds the fabric of her dress between her fingers and turns silently to the window, her palpable hatred for me shoving aside any pleasant thoughts.

Just what I need.

Each knock on the door feels like a hammer slamming into my skull. My nose burns from the sting of the coke I inhaled moments ago, and I rub the spot under it, desperate to speed up the process.

I usually do three long lines—there’s only one left. But the persistent knocking is distracting as fuck. We got here early—I can already fucking imagine the fines I’ll have to pay in the morning for tripling the speed limit—and I left her, retreating to the bathroom for my routine.

The fact that my craving for this shit has dulled since I started spending time with Venetia confuses me. I’m forced to be around her constantly, yet I feel freer than I ever have. Here’s the thing about her—with Venetia, I don’t have to pretend. She knows who I am and hates me for it, just as much as I hate her. It’s mutual. When the doors close behind us, we’re free to bite each other over and over again until there’s nothing left.

It’s suffocating, but at the same time… it feels effortless. I don’t have to think about what I can or can’t say. If I’m tripping out, she’ll call me an idiot. I prefer this to the usual pretentiousness, silent treatment, and lies. She’s straightforward, just like I am.

I’ve never been one for change. I prefer things the way they are, and I’ll die on that hill. So these fresh, out-of-character feelings confuse me. I don’t like feeling something so new and profound, and I don’t want it to last. I don’t deserve to feel better. My impulsiveness will inevitably fuck everything up, and then I’ll hear the same things my father loves to remind me of—the truth about myself.

That’s why I have to bury myself back in the pit.

“West! Open the fucking door!”

I don’t know what she wants from me, nor do I care. I focus on the single white, powdery line before me and, in one swift motion, snort it all up. I don’t even bother to roll the bill like I usually do—that’s how impatient I am.

With a trembling hand, I reach for the toilet seat I’ve been using and wipe off the excess product, gathering some with my fingers before rubbing it into my gums.

A loud thud slams into the door, making it shudder. “I’m going to fucking break it, I swear to God!”

My head spins as the burning sensation travels up my nose and settles inside me. I rub my sweat-covered forehead, sniffing in any remnants that might have stuck to my skin before rising to my feet. The world shifts, and I slam my palm against the wall to brace myself.

The chemical aftertaste burns in my mouth as I muster all the strength I have left, unlock the door, and swing it open. Venetia’s startled face greets me, her eyes widening in concern, swiftly replacing the annoyed scowl.

“What are?—”

Ignoring her, I push past, ready to walk out of the room. I have no power or desire to stand there and take in the questions she already knows the answers to.

“West! Are you fucking serious?” She trails behind me like a pesky insect, stepping on my heels. “Wait!”

In a second, she grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around. My body has no choice but to comply, the effects of the coke beginning to kick in. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this.”

My half-closed eyes watch as her hand reaches beneath my nose to wipe off the remnants of cocaine I hadn’t noticed. The warmth of her skin pleasantly tickles mine, and I have to stifle a giggle that threatens to escape.

“Give it to me,” I rasp, my mouth reaching for her hand to clean off the traces of the drug from her fingertips. But she slaps me away, destroying the remnants by wiping her fingers on my shirt.

“I’m not here to fucking babysit you,” she snaps, spite dripping from every word.

“I wasn’t asking you to,” I retort, shrugging her off and stepping back. “You do your part, and I’ll do mine. Stop getting in my way.”

Her eyes blaze with fury, and I turn away, ready to leave. I don’t have time to talk to her any longer. The drugs are kicking in, and all I want is to throw my head back, close my eyes, and revel in the high.

“I wasn’t signing up to deal with a weak junkie,” she throws at my back, and I freeze, allowing her words to sink in. “You’re pathetic , and you’re making me look the same.”

This little bitch.

My body reacts on autopilot. I turn to her, my hand wrapping around her throat as I slam her against the nearest wall. The sound of her bones colliding with the surface merges with her choked scream as she tenses, immediately attempting to break free from my grip.

“Trying to relive the elevator moment?” I taunt, a wicked smile spreading across my face. “I didn’t know you were so fucking desperate, Venetia.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she hisses through clenched teeth, her hands wrapping around mine. The sensation of her sharp nails digging into my skin sends a different kind of pleasure through me, the feeling pulsing in my temples. “You psychotic fuck who can’t even accept the truth about himself.”

No matter how thick my walls are, her words cut deep. A dull ache spreads in my chest at the way she delivers each syllable, and I can taste the fucking malice. The hate and disdain she emanates are palpable—I don’t understand how she can stand to be in the same room with me.

“And you act like you’re somehow better,” I snarl, a chuckle slipping past my lips. “You’re just like me, if not worse. Don’t you think I see it?”

My free hand travels down her stomach, mirroring the movement I made in the elevator. But this time, I’m not aiming to bruise her skin. Instead, I go lower, my fingers sliding beneath her dress and disappearing inside her panties.

“Hateful.” I press the tip of my index finger against her clit, sending a violent shudder through her. “Desperate.” Slowly, I drag it down, seeking refuge between her slick lips, feeling the warmth I craved back in the car. A fresh wave of moisture seeps from her, blending with the icy blooms of earlier pleasure. “ Broken .”

“It’s not true,” she breathes, struggling to keep her expression neutral. The pleasure my touch gives her is undeniable, and her eyes darken with each agonizingly slow stroke. I’m certain her precious Eli didn’t think about what would make her feel good. She’s fucking starving. “You’re delusional, and I fucking hate you, West.”

I lick my lips, blending the taste of her hate with the lingering chemicals in my mouth. “Try saying that again when you’re not dripping all over my hand, baby.” I drag my finger back to her sensitive bud, drawing a circle around it, and a quiet moan rips from her throat. “Bad, bad liar. Scared of me, hating me, yet ready to come again. What a shame, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” she manages to choke out, her cheeks turning crimson. “Only these thoughts will make you feel less pathetic.”

My blood boils with impending anger, that familiar negative emotion crescendoing into something new. My arousal thickens as I apply pressure to her throat, cutting off her air and silencing another sharp remark she’s so desperate to throw at me.

“Keep talking, baby,” I jeer, eroding her control layer by layer. “What? Can’t say anything now?”

A tear slides down her cheek, and before my fogged brain can process it, I lean in, my tongue tracing a path upward until my lips magnetize to hers. The taste of her sorrow blends with the sweetness of her mouth, drowning out the chemicals. She responds to my kiss, her teeth sinking into my lower lip until my skin splits, a sharp spike of pain igniting the fire within me. Colorful spots dance behind my closed eyelids, and before I can stop myself, I moan, the sound escaping into her mouth.

Time ceases to exist as my desire to take everything from her consumes my thoughts, drowning out the world around us.

We ravage one another, lost in the moment, while I draw circles across her clit, pressing myself harder. A whimper flows from her mouth, raw and needy, as her fingers clutch at my hair in a desperate attempt to hold onto whatever control she can find.

The tip of my finger begins to throb from how wet she is, and when I pinch her clit, she unravels. Even though I’m not inside her, I can feel how tightly her walls clench, how every sense in her body comes alive. She fists my blazer, pulling me closer, urging me to do more.

It’s hard for her to breathe, yet she keeps tugging me in, her lips crashing against mine. I can’t remember how she managed to take away all my control, but now it’s her who dictates the rules. I stop responding to her mouth, remaining still as I let her consume me. She kisses me as if it’s our last time—the kind of kiss that lingers long before you let someone walk out of your life for good.

My hand moves from beneath her dress to cup her face, momentarily forgetting the wetness coating my skin. I smear it across her jaw before sliding my fingers between our lips. And then, I nearly fall to my fucking knees when she takes them into her mouth, moaning as she sucks the blooms from my skin before withdrawing and allowing me to mirror her actions. The unique taste wraps around my tongue, washing away the remnants of my fucking sanity.

She tastes like the deadly poison I’m willing to drown in.

“Jesus Christ, Venetia,” I groan, and she snaps her eyes open, meeting mine. Lust sparkles in the emerald depths of her gaze, reflecting my own desire. She licks her lips, smearing a glistening trail of her juices across them. “A junkie like me can easily get addicted if you keep acting this way.”

She smacks my cheek with her hand before wrapping her fingers around my face and tugging me closer. “Shut the fuck up, West,” she whispers as my hands slide to her waist, wrapping around her and pulling her against me. “It feels so much better when you don’t talk.”

Despite the sting her words evoke, I must agree with her.

The passion crackles and explodes between us, electricity licking at my heated skin as my lips magnetize back to hers. The drugs never made me feel this way, so I doubt it’s a side effect of the coke. It’s all her—she’s stealing my consciousness, transforming me into an obsessed, explosive fucking mess.

“Excuse me?”

We both stop, our mouths still connected, struggling to determine whether it’s a hallucination or if someone has truly interrupted our moment. Reluctantly, I pull back, licking the fragments of our passion from my lips. Turning my head, I catch the startled senator’s face, his eyes glued to the scene, unblinking.

How fucking rude. “You’re excused,” I say, irritation seeping into my tone. “Leave. We’ll be with you soon.”

He takes a cautious step forward, and my anger surges, wrapping around my insides like a venomous tendril. Quickly, I shift my attention back to Venetia, leaning close to her ear and savoring the shudder that ripples through her shoulders. “Go make yourself look decent. Wipe off that bliss from your pretty face. I don’t want any of them seeing you like this,” I whisper, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

Sucking in a deep breath, she turns away, her shaky hands twisting the door handle and locking herself in the bathroom.

“Senator Hayes,” I greet, struggling to mask the anger in my voice as I turn to face him. The fucker has the audacity to cut off our moment like this, and it makes me want to snap his neck right here. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He moves closer, his expression changing from shock to smugness as he slightly throws his head back, brushing some of his black hair aside. “You too, West. We’ve been looking for you both everywhere. The meeting is about to start.”

Ah, the meeting. I had completely forgotten about that. “Yeah. And you clearly don’t know what personal space means, do you?”

He chuckles, waving me off. “Oh, West. You remind me of myself at your age—same passion, same drive.” He speaks about me like I’m fifteen, despite being only six years older than I am. “Do you two do this often?”

I freeze, struggling to process the question. “What?”

A playful smile spreads across his face as he leans in, the smell of cigars wafting from him. “I mean, in public places. The thrill of being watched or caught… I know what it does to a person,” he says, each word fueling my anger.

My insides ignite with familiar desire as I look down at him, absorbing the garbage he’s spouting.

“The best part is when that feeling transforms into something far more dangerous after being caught. See, no matter how shy they act, there’s an adrenaline thrill inside them—something they’re so eager to deny. So when someone else witnesses the scene?—”

“Careful how you finish that sentence, senator,” I interject, my tone dropping several shades lower. I’ve crossed paths with him a few times, and it didn’t take long to piece together who he is. He has a beautiful family, but like most fuckers, he’s blind to it, ungrateful, and driven by the need to get his dick wet.

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just saying. More people, more fun.”

I hold back for a second before nodding, the thrill of a new idea spreading through my mind. “You came up with that as soon as you saw her, right?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even, hoping my little idea won’t reveal itself.

A frown crosses his face, but the stupid smile remains. “Yeah?”

“And what do you plan to do with her, Heyes?” I press. “What comes after just watching? Maybe touching her with your hands?”

“I don’t understand?—”

“Just say it,” I push, my patience unraveling with each passing second. “I want to know what you plan to do with my girl.”

An ugly laugh bursts from his chest. “She’s not your property, you know? You can’t own her.” He slaps my back like we’re friends, and revulsion rises in my throat. I fight the urge to butcher him, knowing it’s too early. Besides, as he continues to speak, my mind races with increasingly creative ways to deal with him. “So, well, yeah. Come on, you know how it works. Some talking, a little touching, before finally doing the deed.”

“And you’re not worried that I might kill you after hearing about these fantasies of yours?”

His expression remains one of indifference as he bares his teeth at me. “Kill a senator? Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not some random asshole from the local bar, West. It’ll be hard to kill a man like me.”

There’s a note of truth in that. It won’t be easy.

But it definitely won’t be impossible.