My Dark Divine

26. Venetia

T hese walls drive me to the brink of insanity. Cooped up for what feels like an eternity, I sense them closing in. Anxiety seeps from my very being, and not even Xanax can relieve it.

West is my only source of calm. The thought of seeing him stirs a blend of terror and desperation inside me—I’m terrified of his words or actions, and desperate to find relief for my nerves, which feel like exposed wires, primed to snap.

Night has fallen, and the room is bathed in a turquoise glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains. The darkness amplifies my unease, stirring paranoia. It feels like something lurks in every shadowy corner, poised to pounce the moment I lose focus.

I know it’s ridiculous. I’m the only one who has been here for the past two days. I even refused to let the maids in, cursing and screaming at them to leave when they insisted on cleaning the room.

My nerves are frayed, and I can’t even bring myself to turn on the lights. I’ve barely eaten, surviving on a quick sandwich I made a day ago. My stomach refuses to accept anything more.

I turn my head to the mirror before the bed, catching a glimpse of my silhouette. Staring at my reflection, I shake my head in silent reprimand, scolding myself as I often did throughout the day.

What a complete fucking idiot I can be sometimes.

If West doesn’t show up soon, I’m genuinely going to lose it. Spending the whole day sitting on the bed, staring at the front door, and waiting isn’t fucking normal. So when the lock clicks open, I think I’m hallucinating. Even when he pushes the door wider and steps inside, I refuse to believe my eyes.

His tall silhouette blends with the shadows that creep over the space. He’s still in his black suit, and I catch a glimpse of his shirt beneath, though it doesn’t look as pristine as before. Shutting the door behind him, West leans against it, reaching for the switch on the wall. With a silent click, the turquoise glow fades to dim white light.

I blink against the discomfort that the brightness brings, and when I finally find the courage to examine him closely, I become completely immobilized. His hair is a disheveled mess, suggesting he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. Exhaustion is etched on his face, and his normally vibrant eyes seem a shade darker.

And it’s not even his silence that disturbs me the most—it’s the way his clothes are drenched in crimson blood. His white shirt has lost its color, a mere ghost of its former self, surrounded by a sea of red.

Panic creeps into my mind, and fear spreads like wildfire through my veins. The space feels constricted with him standing there—so close yet so far away.

Feeling small, fragile, and utterly vulnerable, I grip the sheets with clenched hands. A tremor runs through my shoulders, raising goosebumps on my sensitive skin. I fight to swallow the thick knot in my throat while a bead of sweat trickles down the side of my head.

“West,” I rasp, my voice too loud in the stillness he brings with him. “ What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His frosted eyes are locked onto mine, unblinking, as if afraid that the moment he does, I’ll vanish—just like that cursed night in the club.

When he pushes off the door, every muscle in my body tenses. Dread licks at my exposed nerves, sending waves of shivers through me. My throat goes dry, and my pulse quickens as he slowly stalks toward me.

“I killed him.”

A swirl of warm sensations rises in my belly, an intense mix of emotions that travels up my ribcage. The feeling is so vivid that my eyes nearly roll back from how good it makes me feel.

I’m so fucking sick. I realized this long ago—but only now am I fully confronting it. So sick that I find pleasure in what he did for me.

“Are you going to kill me now too?” I ask, stumbling over each word. He seems too composed as he stands there, drenched in blood and shrouded in death. My mind races with thousands of thoughts about what he will do to me, and none of them feel reassuring.

He’s closer now. Not just in distance but emotionally as well. I don’t need his touch to feel him—his tendrils wrap around my skin, tight and possessive, claiming what is his. The room becomes so quiet that I can hear his breathing gradually escalate as he savors the sight of me trembling and completely exposed.

I bet he enjoys this.

West doesn’t rush to grab me or hurt me like I thought he would. Instead, this psychopath feeds off my fear. His gaze roams up and down my face and body, taking in every tiny tremor and every anxious movement.

“Strip,” he commands, and a barely audible gasp escapes my lips. I can feel myself growing wetter with each passing second, and his rough voice intensifies the never-ending fear that has become my new favorite drug.

He has both ignored and answered my question—he is going to kill me tonight, just not in the way he usually does with others.

With shaky hands, I grasp the waistband of my sweatpants and slide them off, kicking them aside before turning my attention to my top. I pull it up, letting the fabric fall carelessly beside my sweats. He takes his time, his eyes scanning over my exposed skin, and even though I’m still in my underwear, it feels like I’m completely naked.

“Take the rest off.” Another command, only this time his voice slightly wavers. It feels like he’s barely holding himself back. “Now.”

A flicker of confidence breaks through my numbness, and I turn my gaze to the front door—so close yet so far. I can feign compliance, making it look like I’m about to do exactly what he said, but instead, I can trick him and make a run for it. His legs are longer than mine, but if I can pick up speed and put in some effort, I might have a chance to escape.

Because I don’t even feel anxious anymore. What’s swirling inside me is much stronger.

I’m fucking terrified.

Standing up, I let my hands move to my bra, stealing his attention. He’s menacing and intimidating, but he’s also predictable. A surge of boldness washes over me as I dash from my spot, sprinting toward the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense his focus shifting, but by then, it is too late.

I nearly laugh out loud as I reach for the door handle, but the sudden pain that explodes across my scalp pulls me back to reality. In the blink of an eye, he yanks me by my hair, spinning me around and throwing me to my knees.

The impact of my bones hitting the hard laminate sends a jarring vibration through the space, and a scream of pure agony rips from my chest. For a moment, my vision goes dark, and a wave of nausea rises in my throat, leaving my legs numb.

“Oh, Netia,” he coos, clicking his tongue in disappointment. My eyes are tightly shut, but I sense him moving closer, positioning himself before my face. His voice has lost its vividness, now feeling fragmented, as if it has broken into countless pieces that echo within my mind. “Why do you always have to complicate things?”

I force my eyes open, feeling a hot, wet trail slide down my cheek. The pain begins to release its grip, and just when I expect him to grab my face or slap me, he cups my jaw, his thumb slowly and tenderly wiping away the tear. Electricity dances beneath his touch, and I instinctively nestle into his hand like a shadow settling into the curve of the earth.

But just as quickly as it came, his touch vanishes, leaving a hollow void in its wake. A whimper catches in my throat, but I swallow it back, the remnants of my pride flickering dimly within me. West strides over to the bed and sits down, his gaze fixed on me. He brings his fingers to his mouth, releasing a long, weary breath as if grappling with how to handle the situation.

“Come on,” he murmurs roughly, using his other hand to pat his knee. “Crawl to me.”

Oh, God . I can’t help but wonder if this was his plan all along or if my attempt to escape prompted him to devise it. Either way, I have no choice but to comply.

Still on my knees, I press my palms against the cold laminate floor, ignoring how its icy surface cuts into me, only adding to the fear that paralyzes me from inside. That streak of defiance I held so tightly is now crushed beneath the heavy weight of dread and sick pleasure clouding my mind.

Perhaps this time, I’ll allow myself to be someone different—just like I’ve always wanted.

“There you go,” he hums in approval, his eyes never leaving me as I do exactly what he told me. “You can be a good girl, Venetia. I don’t understand why you keep trying to deny what you want.”

I keep my gaze lowered, magnetized by the sight that sucks all the air from my lungs. His cock is pressing against his pants, hard and ready for me to take it. I’m anything but inexperienced, and I’ve seen a lot in my life, but this… It’s already too much. A single thought of being under him while he’s going to drive himself inside me sends another wave of electrifying fright through me.

His hands move to the waistband, and he slowly—agonizingly so—slides down his pants along with his underwear. I lick my lips, seconds from drooling over myself like I’m an animal, not a grown-ass woman with morals and principles. I have no idea where my self-respect just vanished, but Jesus fucking Christ .

“See what you do to me?” His timbre—low and possessive—wraps around me, melting me even more. Instinctively, I lean in, and he runs his hand through my hair, bringing my face closer to his cock. “See how ready it is for you, baby?”

Without giving me a chance to answer, he brushes his tip across my lips, smearing the warm pre-cum all over my mouth. My eyes flutter shut, and I open for him, my tongue ready to give him what he wants. But then, his grip on my hair tightens, and he yanks my head back, sending dozens of skittering tingles across my scalp. I yelp, tears welling up in my eyes at the burning sensation that overtakes me in an instant.

“Too bad for you, Netia. You don’t have the privilege of having me in your mouth yet.”

The corners of my eyes widen in shock at his words, and a weak whimper of protest falls from my lips, eliciting a sinister smirk from him.

Fucker .

I open my mouth again, this time to say how much I fucking hate him, but then, with one hand still holding me in place, he reaches for his belt with the other hand. One quick, swift movement as he unwraps it, and, finally letting go of my locks, leans in, wrapping the leather around my throat.

My instincts kick in, and I claw at his hands, trying to stop him, but he pays no attention to my struggle. More so, the asshole brings his lips to mine and kisses me.

Confusion dulls much of my body as I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him closer. I can’t quite grasp the mind games he’s playing on me, but they work. The small spark of rebellion fades beneath the weight of his intentions, which I’m still struggling to understand.

“You wanted to stay silent, didn’t you?” he teases against my lips, evoking a memory of that cursed night when I pressed my finger to my lips and left him without a word. In a way, he’s reclaiming what I owe him. “I’m letting it be the way you wanted it to be.”

He threads the belt through the buckle, pulling it tight against my skin and cutting off my precious oxygen. My eyes widen at the sudden pressure, and tears spring up with renewed intensity. The metal bites into my skin, sending a wave of burning discomfort that swiftly overtakes my senses.

First, he sears me with his words from within, and now he inflicts pain on my body. This is what it means to be with West—it feels like I’m burning alive, with no escape in sight.

Choking on my breath, I dig my nails into his hands, trying to fight back. He merely smiles at my feeble attempts—a wicked grin that weakens my resolve. “You can breathe, baby,” he says, gently wiping away my tears with his thumb. “Breathe for me, slow and steady.”

With my face close to his, he helps me regain control over my breathing, guiding me to match the pace he shows. He’s right. I can breathe, just not very well.

“Spread your knees and touch yourself,” he commands, pulling back and scanning my face to ensure I’m not drowning in panic. “I want to watch you.”

I swallow hard as my trembling hand moves to my soaked panties. I slide a finger inside, and a gasp of pleasure leaves my lips—the intensity of being so wet and ready is almost too much to bear. With my eyes closed, I spread my knees wider and begin circling my clit with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Eyes on me,” he growls, and I instantly open my eyes, jolted by the intensity of his command. “How does that feel, Venetia?”

The pleasure is undeniable, but what truly sends my senses reeling is the fact that I’m doing this under his watchful gaze, obeying his every command. There’s a twisted satisfaction in being so vulnerable and exposed before him.

“It feels good,” I breathe, drinking in the sight of his chest rising and falling as he barely holds back.

“Do it faster,” he instructs, his eyes locked on my movements. My pace quickens, and I bite my lower lip, feeling the pressure intensify. “I said, faster .”

The harsh directive vibrates through me, leaving me no choice but to obey. The thought of what might happen if I defy him again fucking terrifies me.

“God, look at you.” His fingers wrap around his length as he begins to stroke himself, his gaze fixated on my every move. “You know how to obey. You know how to make me fucking proud of my baby girl, don’t you?”

I mumble something indistinguishable, barely able to keep my fingers on my clit. They slip off, sending tingling sensations across my sensitive flesh, and I feel the throbbing intensify with each circle I make. My eyes are half-mast as I watch him working himself before me—the sight is so powerful and terrifying that it pushes me closer to the edge.

“Are you going to come, Netia?” he asks breathlessly. “Are you going to come at the sight of me holding complete power over you?”

“Yes—” As the impending orgasm begins to crash over me, my eyes roll back, warmth curling in my lower stomach and traveling upward to wrap itself around my mind. “Yes, yes?—”

“And what makes you think you fucking deserve it?”

Just as I teeter on the edge, he grabs my hand and yanks it away, pulling me back from the brink. I lose my balance, and he grabs my hair, his grip the only thing anchoring me in place. The force of my interrupted orgasm leaves me breathless, and I let out a pathetic cry, squeezing my legs together in frustration.

He laughs—a cruel, sadistic sound that ignites anger inside me, clouding any lingering arousal. “Fucking motherf?—”

Before I can finish, his other hand clamps down on my lips with a sharp slap, muffling the rest of my curse. “Think carefully before unleashing those words,” he warns. “I wouldn’t enjoy hurting you more than I plan to.”

The threat lingers in the air, and I stop struggling against his hold, resigned to whatever his sick plan entails.

“Get on the bed,” he whispers, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of my lips like he didn’t just threaten to hurt me. “On your hands and knees.”

The ache from the loss of orgasm courses through my body, rendering me too weak to resist. His gaze traces my every move as I crawl onto the bed, feeling like prey beneath his watchful eye—he takes his time, savoring every second before he makes his move.

“You’re so breathtaking when you obey,” he murmurs, his hands gently gliding across my hips. My eyes flutter shut as his touch moves slowly up and down my body, tracing soft patterns, as if he intends to imprint every detail of me in his memory. “God fucking damn, Venetia. Why does a woman like you have such a poisonous soul?”

Slowly, his hands travel up to my breasts, and he squeezes them tightly, spreading an electrifying sting through me. My nipples harden against the thin fabric of my bra, the friction creating a discomfort that flirts with exquisite pleasure.

When his touch vanishes, stealing warmth and comfort away, I look up and realize I can see him in the mirror before the bed. The same mirror I was just looking into, scolding myself for my actions. And now, I’m almost naked, my face flushed, with his belt tightly wrapped around my throat—a stark symbol of his complete control over me.

West begins by shrugging off his blazer, then moves to the buttons of his bloodied shirt, undoing them one by one to reveal his tanned skin beneath. A rush of anticipation floods through me, and I bite my lower lip, realizing this will be the first time I see him shirtless.

When he finally removes the last button and takes off his shirt, my brain short-circuits, burning away any remnants of rational thought.

Scars. So many scars crisscross his broad shoulders, chest, and abs, each one telling a story of its own. Some are small and faint, while others are long and thick, marking the landscape of his skin. Veins bulge in his hands and shoulders, prominent with every movement he makes.

He’s devastatingly beautiful—a jagged masterpiece forged from something raw and tragic. With a physique reminiscent of a god, yet marred by undeniable damage, he embodies a hauntingly beautiful contradiction.

“My god, West?—”

His hand is back on my mouth, silencing me as he leans in, pressing his body against mine. I can feel the rough texture of his scars, each one a testament to the untold horrors he lived through.

“You’ve upset me, Venetia,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. I try to shake my head, to break free, to apologize, but his grip tightens, holding me in place. “After everything that happened between us, you abandoned me like I was fucking nothing.”

I feel the tip of his cock pressing against my pussy, and my body instinctively tenses as I hunch forward, seeking to escape him. He releases my mouth, sliding off my panties and unclipping my bra, letting it hang loose before reclaiming control with the belt dangling from my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I squeak out, my voice thin and pitiful, like a frail twig snapping under pressure. “I’m sorry, West, I?—”

“You’re not sorry yet, baby girl,” he interrupts, nuzzling his nose into my hair and inhaling deeply. “But you will be.”

My mouth falls open in a silent scream as he pushes inside me. Eyes bulging from the pressure, I grip the sheets, fighting to stay on the damn bed as my inner thighs tremble from the effort.

“Oh, fuck!” I yelp as the burning discomfort spreads rapidly, consuming me like a fast-moving storm.

“You’re doing a good job,” he reassures, his free hand trailing down my stomach until he finds my clit, thumb rubbing circles across it to balance the agony with pleasure. “You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to fuck, but you chose the wrong fucking man for it. Now, you’re going to take what truly belongs to you.”

Every sense in my body ignites as I feel the stretch he creates. His slow, measured pace on my most sensitive nerve bundle provides a slight reprieve, but it doesn’t erase the pain.

It doesn’t feel natural.

He continues pushing deeper inside me, and I wonder if he’ll ever stop. Despite the anger radiating from him, he manages to restrain himself from ruthlessly driving into me. Instead, he allows me to adjust, gradually thrusting back and forth, each push burying him deeper.

My head bows down as I finally begin to melt around him, the pain transforming into undeniable pleasure. A moan rips from my throat, and I arch my back, inviting him to take more of me.

But he doesn’t give me much time to relax. With a sudden yank on the belt, he pulls me up. His pace quickens, and when he hits that sweet spot, I let out a pathetic scream.

“You look right fucking there,” he orders, leaving the damn belt to cup my jaw and turn my face to the mirror in front of us. “Look in the fucking mirror and tell me who you belong to.”

“I—” I choke on my words as his measured thrusts turn into relentless pounding. The burning pressure around my neck intensifies the sensations rippling through me. The nagging ache in my bones from holding my head up serves as a reminder of how he steals the remnants of my common sense, turning them to ashes. “To you .”

He lets out a low, possessive hum of approval in my ear, his grip firm on my face. “I’ve killed for you, Venetia,” he states, holding eye contact in the mirror. “Not just him. I’ve killed the fucking senator because of how he talked about you. Because of the way he looked at you.”

Rationality tries and fails to penetrate the thick haze of lust clouding my mind. What? He never mentioned anything about the senator before. I recall our recent meeting and the situation he found us in, but nothing else. Did he really say something about me while I was in the bathroom?

Oh, God.

“I would do it again,” he continues, the tingles from his tight grip igniting into a blazing inferno that consumes me. “Over and over, I would do it until there’s no one left but me and you. Do you fucking hear me?”

He jerks me closer, almost to the point of suffocation—the fucking leather collar a reminder of how powerless I am, along with his fingers on my chin. I can sense the bruises beginning to form on my skin. It feels like I’m drowning, and I never want to rise from the depths.

“I don’t care what you think. You’re mine whether you love it or not, and there’s no turning back from this.”

Fuck . I love this. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I do. I find pleasure in the fact that my life is practically in his hands and that his obsession with me has driven him to the brink of madness.

Once, I dreamt of a knight in shining armor who would come and rescue me, stealing me from the fortress filled with monsters. But I’ve outgrown that idea. What I want now is a villain—one who will destroy the world for me and appear as unapologetically insane as I am.

I can feel myself approaching the edge of release, butterflies erupting in my stomach as warm, sparkly sensations travel through my body to my consciousness, transporting me to another dimension.

He killed for me. As insane as it sounds, he did it. And I understand what he’s doing now. This entire night hasn’t been about me since the moment he returned. It’s all about the possession he claims over me. He’s mercilessly fucking me, driving that concept deep inside until I can feel nothing but it.

It’s not love. It’s an obsession—psychotic and untamed. An obsession we’re both burning in. A normal person wouldn’t feel so good discovering her fiancé murdered someone for her. That’s why I’m not a normal person. I’ve always been sick, and this situation only confirms everything I’ve tried to bury deep inside.

Right now, I feel prized. Important.

I feel like I’m finally being heard.

And I fucking love it.

“What?” he taunts, leaning closer, the tips of his short hair tickling the side of my face. “You’re going to come, baby? You’re going to come from how good I make you feel, aren’t you?”

The loud slaps of our bodies fill the room, mingling with my cries. I try to force out a weak ‘Yes ,’ but it escapes my lips so small and choked that it sparks a chuckle from him.

“This is what you fucking get, Venetia,” he rasps, and I can hear his breathing grow more frantic as he approaches his own orgasm. “I can give you everything you want, so just fucking take it.”

Every muscle in my body tenses to an impossible level, and a loud scream erupts from my throat as I finally shatter around him. The ringing in my ears drowns everything out, and my vision blurs, but I don’t need any of that to feel him coming right along with me.

Everything feels warm and soft as I struggle to return to reality, tingles skittering across my body like millions of tiny insects running beneath my skin. I gasp for breath when I feel the leather loosening from my throat, providing space and a chance to avoid blacking out.

Strong hands wrap around me, and when my back meets the soft sheets, I close my eyes, shivering from the aftershocks rippling through me.

Everything that happened felt like a whirlwind, with my fucking life flashing before my eyes. Not natural. My body trembles so badly that I doubt I’ll ever return to this world.

Not that I would want to.

“You did such a good job for me,” West’s voice whispers, a gentle contrast to the chaotic noise filling my ears. I feel something cold and wet against me as he gently cleans my skin in slow, careful circles. “Go to sleep, baby girl.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, draping something soft over my body. “You deserve it.”

His tender words, like the sweetest lullaby, accompany the wave of exhaustion that crashes over me.

With a warm smile on my lips, I let the void embrace me, surrounded by calming, unfamiliar sensations that refuse to fade, not for a single moment.