19. West
“ Y our father has been a prominent business leader. How do you see that translating into his political platform?” the interviewer asks, shoving a mic right into my face.
Another question, another answer, and honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this. I fucking hate press tours, interviews, and all the bullshit we have to endure. I prefer the quiet of closed-door meetings.
However, I understand the consequences of fucking this up, and I’m honestly relieved she has stopped torturing me with questions about why I look like I’ve just come from a battlefield. I’m growing weary of repeating the same ridiculous story about losing a fight with some jerk who tried to grope my fiancée. First of all, I would never actually lose in a situation like that, and second, it seems a bit unfair to my Venetia.
So I straighten my posture, flash a practiced smile, and respond, “My father has always focused on creating opportunities. He knows how to manage resources effectively and aims to bring that same efficiency and innovation to address issues like homelessness, environmental challenges, and more—not just within our state but across the country.”
She returns my smile, her expression tinged with flirtation as she nods in approval. My attention shifts to Venetia, who stands not far away, dealing with her own version of this nightmare.
I have to admit, I’ve been on the verge of snapping, wanting to throw her over my shoulder and lock her up somewhere. Her incessant whining and screaming have been driving me fucking insane. She even attempted to jump out of the car on the way to the airport, which took me completely by surprise.
But despite how irritating she can be, a part of me loves it. The part that remembers the way she came all over my fingers and licked it all off. The part that wants to spank her for everything she does before I fuck her raw until she can’t walk.
“What’s the next step for the campaign?”
Fuck. The fucking campaign.
Reluctantly, I pull my gaze away from the troublemaker herself and redirect my focus to the persistent lady, who seems to be getting annoyed that I shifted all attention to my fiancée.
“We’ll continue working with local organizations and leaders to raise funds and awareness.” I pause for effect. “It’s a team effort, and we’re just getting started.”
Camera flashes invade my vision, and the relentless clicking of the shutters amplifies my simmering anger. At this point, I feel like I could suffocate in it, the rage thundering through my fucking ears while my mind races between two things.
Venetia. Craving for coke.
Craving for coke. Venetia.
And more fucking Venetia.
“Venetia, over there!” a cameraman shouts, and she complies, stepping closer to me after finishing her conversation. “A little more to the left. West, come closer to your girlfriend!”
Fuck this. We should already be on our way to the hotel, but no—the fucking paparazzi and their insatiable thirst for photos are stealing our time. I sense the hesitance in her movements, the way her eyes avoid mine. And it’s not just because she despises me. She’s afraid of me. I felt it in the car, and now I can taste it in the air.
“You already have enough photos,” I joke, flashing another practiced smile as I close the distance between us in a few strides and wrap my hand around her waist. She freezes, a shudder rippling through her body as she visibly tenses up, struggling to maintain her smile. “Relax. I’m not going to kill you here,” I say, leaning closer.
“You’re as scary as a baby lion,” she responds with a laugh, attempting to pull away, but I tighten my grip, eliciting a weak whimper from her. “So desperate to grope me, aren’t you?”
I’m not exactly groping her. As much as I want to see her bent over my knee, stripped and vulnerable, I won’t allow myself to act on those desires. There’s a thin line between passionate, chaotic energy and outright madness that can traumatize her.
So I hold back, keeping my hands where a loving fiancé would—wrapped possessively and warmly around her waist. “Trust me, if I decided to grope you, you wouldn’t be in one piece afterward.”
When the spaghetti strap of her black dress slips off her shoulder, I seize the moment. My fingers lightly brush against her bare skin, eliciting a wave of goosebumps. She takes a shaky breath as I slide the strap back onto her shoulder, her full lips twitching and her eyelashes fluttering like butterflies in the wind.
She’s so beautiful when she’s scared. It feels as though her fear is the sole window into her soul, stripped of any pretense.
I move my fingers across her shoulder, resting them gently on her jawline as I turn her face toward me, my touch soft and tender. The crowd erupts in cheers, their shouts blending with the incessant clicking of cameras. Some scream nonsense, while others chant a single word over and over.
Kiss.
We definitely need more good pictures of that. “Come on, baby girl,” I whisper, slightly tightening my grip on her jaw as I pull her closer. “They want us to kiss.”
A flicker of unease crosses her face, and her cheeks flush deep crimson. I can sense the resentment simmering beneath her heated skin, especially with the muscle clenching under her eye and the way she wrinkles her nose. She rises on her tiptoes, and I lean in, making it easier for her. But just as our lips meet, she pulls away so quickly that I barely register the kiss.
That’s not what I want.
Before she pulls away completely, I shift my hand from her jaw to her hair, lightly gripping a handful of strands. Her breathing quickens, and I feel her resistance, but she knows she can’t make a scene in front of the crowd.
And me? I’m just a man who wants to kiss his fiancée.
“This is the kind of kiss you give your dog on the nose,” I murmur against her lips, aware that she’s still reeling from our fight in the car. She deserves better than me forcing myself on her right now, but I can’t help it—not when she looks so fucking vulnerable and completely mine. “I deserve better, don’t you think?”
A scowl flickers across her beautiful face but vanishes just as quickly. She presses her lips to mine once more, this time not pulling away. My tongue slides into her mouth, swirling around hers, and suddenly, everything else fades away—no screaming crowd, no responsibilities, no hate, nothing.
A moan tears from my chest, echoing into her throat, the heat of our connection igniting my skin. She tastes so fucking sweet it feels unreal—Venetia Ross looks and acts like anything but that.
But at this moment, her sweetness rivals that of the finest candy.
As our bodies near the point of grinding against each other, I pull back, the absence of her warm mouth nearly driving me to my knees in agony. If we were alone, I’d want more, but with all these idiots around, it’d be a bit awkward.
She turns away from me, breathless, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and I can’t help the smug grin spreading across my bruised face.
This is just the beginning.
Completely exhausted, I flop onto the bed, the mattress bouncing from the force of my landing. A groan escapes as I sink into the softness of the sheets, ready to warm up the icy silk beneath me. Grabbing my pillow, I settle my cheek against it and close my eyes, the tendrils of sleep already reaching for me.
It’s been a long fucking day.
“Are you seriously thinking you’re going to sleep in here with me?” Venetia asks, disbelief dripping from her tone. Yeah, the room with a single bed was already booked for us, no questions asked. Unfortunately, we have to stick to our little legend, even behind closed doors.
I exhale a ragged breath, lacking the energy for an argument. “Yes. Don’t worry, I’m too tired to care about you.”
She pauses, and I can feel her intense gaze boring into my back. “No. I don’t want you here. You’re… you’re taking up all the space. I can barely move!”
“Then leave if I’m bothering you so much,” I mumble drowsily, already halfway to sleep. My face aches from nagging bruises, my throat is dry from all the talking I had to do, and my back and legs hurt from all the walking we’ve done. I’m anything but up to giving her what she wants. This is one of the most comfortable beds I’ve ever slept on.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman?” she retorts. “You’re making me uncomfortable. Take the couch, please .”
I chuckle at the last word. “Well, if you say please, then sure.”
She keeps staring at me, waiting for me to get up like I’m some obedient dog. When she realizes I’m not moving, she huffs in irritation, angrily turning to the side and slamming—yes, slamming —her head against the pillow.
Seconds turn into minutes, and even through my haze, I can hear her huffs, grunts, and the clicking of her tongue. But with the heavy fatigue weighing me down, I eventually drift off to sleep amidst the distractions. My mind carries me to a safe place until something sharp radiates through my arm, jolting me awake.
Slowly, I turn to Venetia, immediately catching the wild gleam in her eyes, even in the darkness. “What the fuck was that?”
“You snore,” she states firmly. “I can’t sleep when someone snores.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. There’s no way she woke me up for this. “So?”
“What do you mean, ‘So’? You’re the problem, not me. Take the damn couch.”
I scrub a hand across my face and turn back, ready to fall asleep again. “Your idea, you’re the one who’s going to take it,” I mutter into the pillow. “Just fucking fall asleep, Venetia.”
More irritated noises follow—tosses, turns, and the mattress bouncing—yet strangely, I manage to relax once more. But then, another sharp sting hits the same spot. Irritation flares up, slicing through the haze, and I turn to face her, ready to lash out. This woman needs a fucking lesson. “I said, fucking stop. How many times do I need to repeat that? What am I, a parrot to you?”
“You’re an idiot who won’t let me sleep,” she screeches, slapping my arm again as if she can’t stop herself from touching me. “Why can’t you just be?—”
“One last chance, Venetia,” I warn. “Stop touching me, or I’ll make you stop.”
She stills for a moment, and when I think she’s finally learned her lesson, she hits me again.
This time, I don’t hold back. Snapping, I catch both her wrists, pin them above her head, and press my weight against her. “I warned you, didn’t I?” I tighten my grip as she tries to wriggle free, and a pained groan slips past her lips. “You’re getting handsy, Venetia. First in the car, now here. I’m tired of your bullshit.”
She pants, grunting with the effort she’s putting in, and I almost laugh at her stubbornness. She’s a real fighter, but that won’t work with me. “I thought you loved getting beaten up,” she breathes out.
Those words flip a switch in me, and in an instant, I roll her onto her stomach, one hand gripping her hair while the other travels down her belly.
“On your knees,” I command, not bothering to wait for her to comply. I know she’s too stubborn and startled to understand what I want. My hand wraps around her thighs, and I lift her ass up before returning to her stomach.
“West!” she squirms, trying to lift her head, but I tighten my grip on her hair, forcing her still. Her cheek presses against the sheets while her perfect ass nestles right between my legs, giving me a taste of my mania. “What the f?—”
“I see you’re not as exhausted as I am,” I whisper, not wasting any time. My hand dives inside her sleeping shorts, and I roll my eyes when I feel just how warm she is. “We need to wear you out, don’t we?”
“No—” Her protest is cut short as I drag a finger down her slick lips in a slow, torturous movement before going back up. My thumb finds her clit, and while I maintain that little dance across her folds, I draw circles around it, igniting a twitch that ripples through her body and makes her wetter.
“So wet,” I taunt, maintaining the pace that tears little moans from her throat. “If you enjoy hurting me so much, I might as well learn to fucking love it, too.”
“My god?—”
“Yeah, look at you. Right on your knees, worshiping me while your cunt soaks my fingers.” I pinch her clit, and she cries out—a sweet melody to my ears. Her muscles tense and relax repeatedly, as though her body can’t decide whether to trust me. “What happens if I slide them inside you, huh?”
Without waiting for an answer, I push one finger inside, groaning at how tight and perfect she feels. My cock is about to fucking explode from all the blue balls she gives me every time.
I lean in, my voice a low growl as I ask, “Feel that, baby? Feel how painful the punishment for being a fucking brat can be?”
My bones still ache with a dull, nagging pain, but with her beneath me like this, it fades into background noise. And as much as I want to fuck her mercilessly, I can’t just tear her apart like an animal. It takes time, and I need her to be at least a little prepared for what’s coming.
So I work one finger in, gradually adding a second, my thumb easing the pressure as I continue to draw circles around her sensitive bud. Her hands grip the sheets, cries of ecstatic pleasure spilling from her lips. I wish the room wasn’t so dark so I could see every eye roll, every tremor of her lashes, and the pink flush that spreads across her cheeks whenever she’s aroused.
“ West ,” she moans, and my name has never sounded so fucking good. It always feels different when it comes from her mouth, and right now, I’m seconds away from coming in my pants just from the way she sounds.
I curl my fingers, hitting that delicious spot that makes her cry out louder, my body trembling with shudders as she melts around me.
A whimper rips from my throat—a needy, pathetic little sound that makes me want to slap myself—when she grinds against me, urging me for more.
Sweet Jesus. I’m not doing anything supernatural, but this finger-fucking that makes her so desperate feels like the best thing I’ve ever experienced.
She grinds again, and this time, I stop moving, giving her the control she craves. The sounds of her soaked pussy pushing against my fingers fill the quiet room, mingling with the soft moans she makes just for me.
“Throw it back, just like that,” I urge, my voice growing breathless as the sensations pull me toward unconsciousness. “Yes, yes, fuck my fingers—that’s it.”
The electric waves pulse through my body, heat overpowering all rationality as she picks up her pace, syncing her rhythm with my words. The sheets rustle with her movements, her little fists clutching them as she holds on for dear life.
Just minutes ago, I was ready to fucking strangle her for touching me. Now, she’s on the brink of coming all over my fingers, and I’m approaching my own release. I feel it building with each thrust she makes, with every sultry sound that spills from her lips, and every shaky breath that heaves from her chest.
“You’re such a fucking bitch,” I snarl, tugging at her strands. She squeals from the sharp pain that flares across her skull, yet she continues to fuck my fingers. “A bitch who loves to drive me fucking insane so I have to calm you down like this.”
Venetia lets out a louder cry, and although I’m frustrated with her, I can’t ignore the enjoyment I feel in every second of this. The dynamic of push and pull, the forward strides and backward steps, the explosive fights and name-calling—it all culminates in this .
In something we surely shouldn’t be fucking doing.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder what would happen if we acted differently. These thoughts are as confusing as they are terrifying, so I refuse to let them take root in my mind.
“Be a good girl and make yourself come on my fingers, Venetia,” I breathe out. “Show me how much you fucking hate me.”
My words are her last push as she breaks apart with a violent scream, her walls clenching around my fingers. My pleasure swells at the base of my spine, exploding through me like a high-voltage jolt of electricity. Our voices blend—a chant of pure ecstasy bursting forth, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. In this moment, the world ceases to exist as we surrender to the feelings that only we can draw out of each other.
Every nerve in my body ignites, and even as the muscles in my stomach unclench, I remain detached from the Earth. Whatever just happened has drained me of life. I can’t think, can’t hear, can’t move, can’t even pull my fingers out of her. She remains still, her fists gripping the sheets tightly, breathless gasps trickling from her mouth as her body wracks with aftershocks.
Fuck , I want to taste her. I want to roll her onto her back and slide my cock inside her while my mouth devours hers. I want to fuck her until she blacks out, ensuring she won’t have the energy for being such a fucking brat.
But instead, I pull my fingers out and shift to my side of the bed, fresh lethargy pressing down on me, forcing me toward the sleep I crave. I don’t bother to say a word as I close my eyes, certain that she’ll stop getting on my nerves after this.
At least for tonight.