My Dark Divine

36. West

I haven’t seen Venetia in days. Something I never thought I’d allow has happened—I’ve put my feelings above my duty. There was another meeting with her father, but I didn’t show up. I was too overwhelmed, too scared, and too fucking confused.

Venetia has always been the smartest person I know. The way she toyed with others’ minds has always fascinated and angered me in equal measure. Her talent isn’t something that can simply be ignored.

Now, I can’t wrap my head around what the fuck she did to me. As soon as our dads gathered in that room and announced our impending marriage, I knew that taking precautions had to be my priority. I couldn’t let myself soften or show her my vulnerabilities. I understood all too well that she would use them against me in the future.

It was a rule I adhered to. I’m still a human being, and if she figured out how to control me, I’d be in trouble. So I buried my feelings—whatever they fucking were—deep inside and maintained a facade of indifference.

Well, I fucking tried to.

So, what happened that night? She was drunk, yet somehow, she seemed more sober than ever. It was as if she had stripped away her pretense and revealed a genuine interest in me. I was completely taken aback by what she started doing. She touched and kissed my scars as if I weren’t an ugly piece of shit, but rather the most beautiful thing she’d ever encountered. She told me that she saw me and that she was proud of me.

Fucking proud of me.

I thought I was hallucinating when I heard that word. It’s something I’ve longed to hear my entire life but never received. It didn’t feel like she was mocking or humiliating me; it felt genuine. Frankly, that scared me more than anything I’ve ever experienced. I trembled like a leaf in the wind, and I’m sure she felt every quiver that coursed through me.

I couldn’t stop it.

At that moment, I stopped being an adult and became the child I once was, before my dad tore everything pure out of me and shattered it. She practically stripped me bare, peering deep into my decayed soul.

And the memory of her gaze, so vulnerable and soft before me... It seemed like she was ready to accept whatever consequences her little games might bring. I’m sure she didn’t even realize how big everything she was doing to me was until it was too late.

If I had shrugged her off and walked away, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be sitting here like an idiot, endlessly thinking about my feelings and what to do in the future. It had been a long time since I thought about things like that. Cocaine, alcohol, and the occasional torture and murder had dulled my emotions, and I was perfectly fine with that.

But she keeps me sober, conscious, and fucking alive.

I love it as much as I hate it. Part of me wishes I could split her open to see what she hides within her soul, to understand what has shaped her into who she is, and to requite like for like. I thought she’d helped Chloe get her ass kicked simply because she disliked her. But when she finally revealed the real reason, I genuinely considered getting high and forgetting it all. It felt like a mirage, a fleeting glimpse of goodness in a never-ending desert.

Yet, she felt so warm in my hands—so real, so fragile, so beautifully desperate. No drug can ever replace that. She’s the woman who fucks with my mind better than anything I’ve ever consumed.

The one who saw me through.

I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t fucking breathe the longer I postpone the inevitable. Being alone is killing me.

So I think it’s about time I confront her and have a proper conversation.

“Have you seen Venetia around?” I ask, trying to shout over the awful pop music blasting through the speakers. I fucking hate loud parties. But Venetia is here, and I can’t stay away from her any longer.

The guy I asked shakes his head, his half-open eyes staring at me like I’m an alien. The place is packed with sweaty bodies, the heavy scent of alcohol and chemicals hanging in the air. Most people are drinking and dancing; some are snorting and smoking, while others are making out right on the tables.

I’m going to kill Venetia. This isn’t like her—she prefers quieter settings. But if we’re talking about her behavior lately, it’s clear she hasn’t been acting like herself for a while. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I’m determined to find out and drag her out of here.

First, I need to locate her. I shove my way through the crowd, not bothering to be gentle or cautious. Driven by urgency, I jostle people when they move too slowly in front of me. I can’t fucking stand it when someone walks ahead of me at a snail’s pace. It makes me want to knock them out and walk across their bodies.

After about fifteen minutes of searching the first floor, I find nothing but a bunch of high idiots who can’t even recognize her name. I doubt anyone here is capable of recognizing each other at this point. This is some rich jerk’s house from their HR management team, a name I didn’t bother to remember. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s wealthy and thought it’d be a good idea to buy a large house with dozens of rooms for people like these irresponsible idiots to get high and fuck.

A fucking kip-house.

I make my way to the second floor, swinging doors open and shut. By the fifth door, I seriously consider buying some bleach after everything I’ve seen. People are tangled up on top of one another, beneath each other, and in every position imaginable—some even holding more than two at once.

Bracing myself for the worst, I swing open the sixth door, and when I catch a glimpse of the perfect face that haunts my dreams, I exhale in relief. The worry I felt dissipates as I see her sitting in a chair near a neatly made bed, with no sign that anyone else has been with her.

Good. She’s learned that if she pulls any shit like that again, I’ll kill the fucker.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks as I close the door and step closer. “How did you know I was here?”

I shrug, as if I needed to be a genius to connect the dots. “I’ve killed for you, baby. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to find you?”

“Since when did you start stalking me?”

“Since now,” I reply, sinking onto the mattress across from her. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

Her brows furrow, and she rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed by my question. The room is dim, with the moonlight casting soft rays through the curtains, illuminating her pouty face in a perfect turquoise hue. “I went out to socialize,” she finally says.

I give her a questioning look, then glance around the empty space, raising my arms in the air. The corners of her mouth twitch as she fights back a smile. “Yeah, I see that. Nice try, what can I say?”

“I needed to go somewhere my responsibilities wouldn’t catch up with me,” she admits, her voice dropping to a whisper. “To think.”

“So, what have you thought about?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but just then, the door swings wide open, startling us both. I turn my head to see her best friend, Grace, along with some random guy with his arm draped around her shoulders.

Grace laughs nervously upon spotting us. “Did we interrupt something?” she asks, a drunken smile plastered on her face.

“No, not really,” Venetia replies, and I look at her, silently questioning what the fuck that answer means. Of course, she doesn’t turn to me. “What are you guys up to?”

“We were just about to watch a movie,” the random guy drawls, his eyes barely open as he pulls Grace closer and tightens his hold on her. “Did you know there’s a full-on home theater in this place?”

After a moment, Venetia turns to me, and our eyes meet. “No, not really,” she says, her tone awkward. “What’s the movie called?”

“I’ve been waiting forever for it to hit digital,” he says, tilting his head as if to build anticipation before adding, “ Midnight Massacre .”

Venetia’s brows shoot up to her hairline, and a laugh wells up in my chest, breaking free before I can stop it. It feels as though Elijah continues to haunt us, even in death.

“That’s the dumbest fucking title I’ve ever heard,” I say, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. Venetia bows her head, clearly uncomfortable, yet she stays quiet. “We’re not watching this shit. Just leave us alone.”

The guy groans, throwing his head back in frustration and almost losing his balance, but Grace catches him just in time. “Well, the rooms are all busy. We can do a group session with you both,” he mumbles, pointing at Venetia and then at me. “What do y’all think?”

A surge of anger jolts me upright as I sprint toward the door. They have the audacity to barge in, interrupt our conversation, and then throw out that kind of offer. “Get the fuck out of here before I decide to wipe the floor with your face,” I snap, pushing the random guy out of the room.

He stumbles, still holding onto Grace, who staggers and nearly falls, but I don’t care. I just need them to leave before things escalate. Ignoring the curses and groans from him, I slam the door shut and twist the lock.

“That was rude.” I return my focus to Venetia when she speaks, finding her standing with her hands on her hips, looking all bossy and irritating again. “What have we discussed? About your impulsiveness?”

“I never said I wanted to get rid of it.” I bridge the gap between us, my hands wrapping around her waist as I lift her up, tearing a shocked gasp from her chest. “And it seems to me like you don’t want me to get rid of it, either.”

“Put me down, you asshole!” she squeals, slapping my chest as I gently lower her onto the bed, hovering over her. “What do you want from me?”

I wish I knew the answer to that. “To talk, at first.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“About the way I killed people for you,” I begin, and she finally stops fidgeting, her gaze locking onto mine. “The way I helped you when you were falling apart.” I thread my fingers through her hair, brushing it slowly. “Or the way I covered your ass with a blanket so you wouldn’t get cold. Or the many, many other little things that made you melt.”

She swallows hard, and I can sense her desire to run away and hide from her feelings. But she can’t. We’ve been silent for too long, and it’s time to talk.

“You manipulated me. What else is there to discuss?” Her voice carries a sharp note of defiance. “The way you list these things, sounding so proud... You planned it all to get inside my head. I know that. If you think any of it made me feel something, then you’re wrong. I still hate you, and I will never stop hating you.”

“Mhmm.” My fingers trail from her hair to her cheek, lightly grazing her flushed skin as I savor the way she tries to pull away. “Keep telling yourself that, baby girl. You know me better. I would never stoop to such cheap manipulations with you. I’m far more skilled than that, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care about your psychotic bullshit, West,” she retorts, and I almost roll my eyes at the way she says my name. It sounds better coming from her, especially when she’s all pouty and angry. “We pretend, remember? None of this is real.”

“We do pretend,” I agree. “But there weren’t any cameras during those moments. There weren’t any cameras a few days ago when you worshiped my ugliness. And there are certainly no cameras now, as you tremble beneath me, scared of your feelings.”

She falls silent, her eyes shooting daggers at me. Having her like this—vulnerable and exposed beneath me—stirs something deep inside. My lips gravitate toward her neck, trailing kisses across her skin, feeding off her reaction as she tenses, her hands running through my hair.

“You are,” she trails off as I move lower, kissing down to the open cleavage of her sweater, “delusional.”

My hand unzips her jeans and slips inside, fingers finding her soaked panties. “And you’re all wet because of how delusional I am,” I taunt, grinning against her chest before sliding her jeans off.

Her breathing quickens as I take my time, my gaze drifting to the wet spot darkening her light panties—a sight that brings me more pleasure than it should. Leaning closer, I sink my teeth into the fabric and slowly drag it down her legs. She releases a breathy sigh, slightly arching her back, trusting me with the process.

Once her panties hit the floor, I take in the view of her, my mouth watering at the perfect picture before me. She’s so warm and ready, and I can’t help but wonder how a man like me deserves any of this.

I turn my attention back to her eyes and spit on my fingers, preparing to sink them inside her. But she pulls her legs up, blocking my access, and sits up. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Confused, I glance between my wet fingers and her eyes. “Preparing you,” I reply, feeling like an idiot. Who interprets it this way?

She leans in so close that I can feel her warm breath on my lips. “This is how you treat your whores ,” she says, her voice dripping with disgust. She still doesn’t believe I wasn’t sleeping with every woman who clung to me, and I’d be lying if I said her jealousy doesn’t turn me on. “I don’t want it this way.”

“Then how do you want it?” I ask. Without saying a word, she moves to the edge of the bed, forcing my knees to hit the floor before pressing her foot against my forehead. My stomach knots with worry as she slowly guides my face between her legs. “Venetia?—”

“You asked how I want it,” she cuts in, her lowered voice an intoxicating aphrodisiac. No one has ever taken this much control over me, and I can only comply, no matter how much of a coward I feel. “This is the answer, West. Don’t you think I deserve it?”

She does deserve it—all of it, and more. But it’s not that simple. “I… I haven’t done this stuff,” I confess, shame slicing through me as the words leave my mouth. Here comes the worst fucking part.

Disbelief spreads across her face as her brows arch toward her hairline. “At all?”

“No, not at all—” My voice trails off as I realize I’m only burying myself deeper. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I might not be good at it.”

I’ve only done this once in my life, and I’m not sure I did it properly, because I didn’t feel anything. Maybe that’s the point—you’re supposed to make your partner feel good, not yourself. The woman I was with seemed to enjoy it—I could tell by how quickly she came—but I didn’t get much out of it.

“I want you to try for me,” she murmurs, leaning in as her hand slides through my hair in a soothing motion before cupping the side of my face and brushing her thumb across my cheek. “Can you try to make me feel good, West?”

Fuck . “Okay,” I whisper, nodding like the complete idiot I am. My gaze drops from her eyes back to her pussy, and I lick my lips, steeling myself to focus. She’s put in the effort and given me the most mind-blowing orgasms I’ve ever had. I can’t afford to fuck this up.

Leaning in, I bring my lips closer to her, hovering just an inch from making contact with her pussy. She stills, a tremor running through her body, and I take a moment to savor the anticipation before finally pressing my mouth to her flesh. A breathless gasp escapes her, and her back arches slightly as I begin to trace paths across her folds. Her unique taste explodes on my tongue, fueling my hunger. Growing bolder, I wrap my hands around her thighs and toss her legs over my shoulders, never breaking contact with her pussy. I feel like an inexperienced fucking teenager, unsure of the right pace. What if she doesn’t like it slow? Or what if?—

“Stop thinking,” she interrupts, cutting through my thoughts. “For once, just… make me feel good, West.”

I tighten my grip on her thighs and bury my face deeper, ready to do better. “Spread your lips for me,” I command, kissing her softly, letting my touch linger for a moment as I savor her blooms. “Come on, baby.”

She sighs, clearly irritated, as her fingers trail down to part herself for me. I sense her reluctance, a spark of annoyance in her movements. She doesn’t like to be told what to do. “Wider,” I instruct, relishing the simmering anger that emanates from her.

My eyes close as I push my tongue inside her, groaning at the warmth and tightness of her. I take my time before pulling back to run it along her slit. I can’t see her face, but I can feel the way her eyes flutter shut, her breathy gasps filling the space. Her hand travels to my hair, gripping it tightly as she guides my face however she pleases.

“Rub your clit,” I murmur against her skin, alternating between lapping at her and kissing the flesh. “Play with yourself right in my face.”

A genuine, melodic moan rips from her chest—a sound that fills me with pride—as she obeys my command. For a moment, I stop to watch, mesmerized, as her finger finds the most sensitive bundle of nerves and begins to rub circles across it. My knees give way at the sight of her arousal glistening and dripping, and my mouth waters, unsatisfied, craving more .

“Get it juicy for me, baby,” I whisper, my words sending a ripple of sensation through her. She becomes more sensitive with every moment, and I can feel my patience wearing thin. “I’m fucking starving.”

The slick sounds of her playing with herself fill the room, and I lose all restraint as I crush my mouth against her pussy, drawing a loud, ecstatic cry from her throat. Unable to maintain the gentle rhythm from before, I pick up the pace, pressing her folds flush against my face so I can lick her deeper than before.

“Oh my fucking god—” She grips my hair tighter, anchoring me in place while her other hand stays busy with her clit. “Yeah, fuck, that’s a good boy ?—”

A wave of electric heat from her praise surges up my spine, exploding into a shower of tingling sparks inside me. My skin flushes as I groan, the sound muffled by her cunt.

This woman. I’m not her good boy—I’m eight years older. And I know I shouldn’t feel anything from this, but I fucking do—her words travel all the way to my toes, driving me to push myself harder, to be everything she wants.

Even if it means being her good boy.

But I can’t allow her to take it all from me. Fighting against her grip, tingles swarm my scalp as I sink my teeth into her inner thigh in defiance. She squirms, her feet swinging at me, but I disregard her small attempts to fend me off. I switch to the other thigh, making sure the marks will be vivid by morning.

When her voice cracks, my tongue returns to her slit. She slips back into bliss, her hold on my hair easing, which I take as my signal to go further. I press my face harder into her, reclaiming control as I catch her clit between my teeth, pulling it lightly to the side, then releasing and repeating.

“West!” she cries out, and the moan I let out reverberates through her body. As I continue to feast on her, her hand massages my scalp, delivering a sensation that feels like pure heaven. “Fuck, that’s it—You’re going to make me come?—”

A memory flashes through my mind, and without a second thought, I clamp down on her clit. Hard. She screams in a mix of agony and bliss, a convulsion rippling through her frame. Everything around me fades into mere background noise; the only thing that matters is the goddess I’m worshiping—the one I intend to break and mend in the way I need.

She wriggles against me, and I tighten my grip on her thighs, longing for her to wake up tomorrow with my bruises on every fucking inch of her skin. I clamp down again, then soothe the abuse with a kiss and lick the pain away, all while ignoring the sharp ache spreading across my scalp. The sweet sounds she makes bleed into my name as she pleads, torn between begging me to stop and wanting me to keep going. It’s a cycle of pleasure and agony, more profound than mere physical satisfaction.

She finds ecstasy in pain, just as I do.

I never realized how perfect she is. Venetia embodies so many traits—smart, pretty, hardworking—and those are the ones everyone notices. But those qualities pale in comparison to what lies beneath. Her true beauty is as tragic as it is captivating—a jagged soul that thrives on pain and transforms it into something far greater.

She was truly made for me.

My dark divine.

The darkness within me pushes me to keep going, to explore every possible way to show her the beauty of balance and deliver what she truly deserves. But I know it takes time, and for now, this is all I can offer. So, I plan to make it even better.

“God—” Her back arches against the bed as she finally stops trying to push me away, surrendering to bliss. I can feel the wear in her muscles, the ache gripping her body. “Fuck, West, I?—”

One last time, I drive my tongue deeper, burying myself so completely that it feels impossibly intense, yet it still isn’t enough. A violent moan erupts from her chest, escalating into a thin, unnatural squeal as she comes all over my face. My body tightens with primal need as I feel her throbbing pussy so achingly close.

Fuck. That was, undoubtedly, the best thing I’ve ever experienced.

Pulling away, I gasp for breath, my lungs desperate for air. Her arousal drips down my chin, smeared across my mouth and cheeks—she’s fucking everywhere.

But it is still not enough. The way she unravels awakens something in me, making me want to continue until she screams for me to stop, too consumed to take any more.

I gaze at her through half-closed eyes, a new surge of desire sweeping over me. She looks as if she’s been caught in an act of wild abandon—her wide eyes gleaming with fear and shock, her cheeks flushed, and her breaths coming in unsteady gasps. She’s still the Venetia I know—that unmistakable spark unblemished—yet she seems as if she can’t quite understand what just happened. As if she can’t grasp the balance I’ve shown her.

So fucking beautiful and so fucking mine .

“Come here,” I urge, and she leans to me, wrapping her hands around my neck. Our lips collide, and we begin to kiss before she takes control, sliding her tongue into my mouth and licking away the remnants of her explosive pleasure.

I groan, dissolving into the feeling, but she pulls away, trying to shift our positions. “I need to make you feel good, too,” she whispers urgently. She kisses my nose and tries to move me onto the bed. “Come on, West. Lay down.”

It reminds me of when I said the same thing on the plane, yet it doesn’t feel like she’s intentionally echoing my words. Her movements and the way she speaks seem driven by a desperate need to give me all her love—the love I once thought she wasn’t capable of.

I don’t know much about her past relationships, which makes me wonder why she’s acting this way now. She presents one image of herself, but there’s so much more beneath the surface—something deep within her, untamed by anyone else.

Something I plan to possess.

I pull away from her, dodging her attempts to reach me. A faint whimper escapes her throat, and I grin at her stubborn determination to give me what she thinks I need most.

“No, baby girl.” I move back down to her pussy, ready to bury my face in my new favorite spot. “Now, you’re going to do that again,” I say, not giving her a moment to process. I pull her clit into my mouth, moaning at the lingering chills of her sweet, fading orgasm. She’s a living embodiment of ecstasy.

Letting it go with a loud smack, I add, “You’re going to come all over my face again, just because I fucking want you to.”

Fully aware of her sensitivity, I play with the pressure I apply. My tongue glides up and down her slit in torturously slow movements while my finger finds its way to her clit, drawing lazy circles.

“Fucking liar,” she squirms, a faint hint of anger in her voice. “Keep saying it’s been a while since you did this.”

I can’t hold back the laugh and the wild desire surging through me when I realize I’m moving too slowly. If she’s thinking about me being with someone else again, it’s clear I need to change my strategy.

She’s not supposed to be able to think at all.

Reluctantly, I pull my mouth away from her, push her legs off me, and lie down on the bed, doing what she asked a moment ago—though for different reasons. “Sit down,” I command, gripping her ankles and pulling her closer. She yelps as her bare, sensitive skin rubs against the sheets, but I couldn’t care less right now. “Now, Venetia.”

“What?” she asks, moving like a marionette as I force her onto my lap first. “W-where?”

Oh, come on. “On my face.”

Her instincts kick in as she tries to escape, but I grip her hands and lift her toward my face. I hear the faint crack of her bones, followed by a sharp hiss escaping those pretty lips—a reaction that makes my cock twitch.

“I’m too heavy!” she protests, struggling against my grip, her strength waning with each passing second. “West, stop it!”

“Too heavy, huh?” I taunt seductively, my hands moving to her ass as I anchor her in position. “Doubting me, baby girl? Brave of you.” Our eyes meet, and I drink in the fear that will never fade from her. She trusts me, yet that feeling always lingers faintly. “Brave but so fucking stupid.”

Before she has a chance to process, I drag her down onto my face, pressing her wet pussy against my lips. She moans, every muscle in her body tensing as she tries to get up, but her efforts are futile. It amuses me how much she worries about my ability to breathe—not that I’m thinking about that with her cunt on my face.

“Oh my fucking god—” she breathes out as I dive back in, alternating between French kissing her and greedily sucking up every drop she gives me. “You are,” another delicious sound trembles from her throat, “insane.”

She always knows how to give the best compliments.

Gradually, the tension begins to evaporate from her body, and she relaxes, letting waves of pleasure wash over her. My hands squeeze her ass, and she melts against me. Her head throws back, and if it weren’t for my tight grip, she’d lose her balance and cut off my pleasure. She drifts into her haze, and as much as I love being the one who makes her feel like this, I need her fucking attention.

Slapping her ass, I jolt her upright and draw her back to me. I don’t have to wait for her to notice me, and when she locks her half-mast eyes with mine, neither of us can look away. I let my grip become comforting rather than overly tight, giving her slight encouragement. She takes the hint and begins grinding against my mouth in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

There’s not enough oxygen as my nose presses against her clit. My chest tightens with pressure, sending a rush of blood to my cock, a perverse satisfaction flooding my veins. And honestly, I’d gladly die like this.

I fuck her with my tongue before dragging it up and down her folds, balancing the shallow movements with deeper ones. She quickens her pace, her chest rising and falling with staccato breaths as she nears her release. I can hear her frantic heartbeat from down here, the euphoric adrenaline seeping out of her.

My pleasure swells at the base of my spine as I scrape my teeth along her flesh, drawing another sharp inhale from her lungs. She’s cautious, yet she doesn’t pull away, ready to accept the pain if I decide to act on it.

My girl.

I can feel her breaking even before her mind registers it. My tongue dives deep inside her, and her walls clench around me as she shatters on my face with a tearful scream. Venetia slightly bends forward, the force of her orgasm overwhelming her, her chest on full display before me. I wish I could tear off her sweater to enjoy the view, but it’s too fucking late for that.

She pulses around me, violent shudders rippling through her body while I never stop fucking her, drawing out every bit of her orgasm. It’s only when she throws her head back and, with a whine of protest, her hands begin to slap the sheets, that I force myself to stop. Her taste lingers in my mouth after she slides off my face, settling back into my lap while muttering something about God under her breath.

My hands wrap around her legs, holding her in place before I press a kiss onto her inner thigh, an involuntary chuckle cracking from my throat.

“What’s that?” she asks breathlessly, still struggling to gather her pieces back together. “Do I look funny to you now?”

I lick my lips, tasting the remains of her essence before shaking my head. “No. Not funny. You’re cute.” I skim my fingertips across the side of her legs, sending goosebumps in their wake. “All flushed, blissfully exhausted, and fucking beautiful.”

Her emerald eyes shine with bliss as she looks down at me, a weak smirk tilting the corner of her mouth. “And you’re a real charmer. I forgive you. But next time, it won’t work. Don’t even try—words or nothing.”

I can accept that. Words usually lead to fights, and as a result, we always end up in a situation like this.