50. Venetia
I can’t stop shaking. My worst nightmare has caught up with me, and now I’m forced to make a decision. I know I should sit down and think it through, but instead, I’m pacing around my room, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. I pour myself a glass of cold water, hoping it might calm my paranoia, but it only makes things worse. Just as I’m about to snap and throw it against the wall, I set it on the nightstand instead, abandoning the thought of trying to feel better.
West keeps trying to reach me, but I block him out, desperate to find a rational conclusion to this situation. But no clarity comes. In every possible scenario, I see only loss.
“I’m asking you one last time, Venetia.” Tension radiates from him as he stands in front of me, his words forced through clenched teeth. “What the fuck were you talking about?”
I shake my head vigorously, torn between wanting him to pry and needing him to back off. “I can’t tell you, West.”
He chuckles, but the sound is devoid of humor. “Are you fucking serious right now?” The familiar, scorching fury breaks through, only intensifying my discomfort.
“Yes, I am,” I reply, gesturing toward the door. “Worry about your own problems; I’ll deal with mine. I asked you to drive me home, and you’ve done your part. Now leave me alone.”
“After everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to fall back into this? Is that what you want?”
“What do you expect from me?” I snap, locking eyes with him. We’re both on the verge of breaking, and I can feel the explosive energy cracking and bursting at the seams. “I never promised you anything. You can’t just expect me to open up at the snap of your fingers.”
He exhales a ragged breath, growing more agitated. It’s never been easy between us, and the words get stuck in my throat after so long in silence. I feel lost, unsure how to escape or learn to fully trust him.
“Who’s going to care about you if I don’t?” he asks, his tone sinking lower.
“I have my father.”
“Your father, you say?” Skepticism colors his reply, every word tinged with biting humor. “The one who cares so much about you that he sold you off to me?”
The room falls silent, and I hold my breath, staring down at the floor. A subtle quake moves through my frame as I reach my breaking point. Anger sparks, pushing back the fear and paranoia twisting inside me. Raising my hand, I slap him across the face. Hard. The loud smack reverberates through the room, sending a shockwave through my palm and igniting my skin.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, his face frozen to the side. A trickle of fear runs through me as the reality of what I’ve done sinks in. But he doesn’t react the way I want—no anger, no retaliation, nothing at all.
I do it again, putting more force into the slap than the first time. He jerks back, but this time, he brings his hand to his lip, catching the trail of blood trickling from his nose.
“How dare you?” I demand, my voice wavering more than I’d like. No retort could match the pain his words just caused. “Saying things like this?—”
His wicked laugh cuts me off. “Things like this? You mean, the truth?” He darts his tongue out to lick the blood, his sapphires gleaming with mischief as he savors my startled reaction. “You keep living in denial, Netia, thinking you don’t need me.”
“What makes you think I need you, West?” I retort. “Whatever feelings you stirred up are gone now. Any good will vanish the moment you revert to your true self.”
“You can keep lying to yourself,” he says, stepping closer, and I try to move back, but my legs give out as I hit the edge of the bed. His arm encircles my waist, catching me just in time. “You can run back to him, but you know who your real daddy is.”
Warmth spreads through my lower stomach as I summon every last bit of strength to land a punch on his jaw. Before I can react, he lifts me effortlessly with one hand, causing me to gasp as he climbs onto the bed, treating my punch as if it were nothing. I fight against him, my emotions a chaotic blend of fear, anger, and strange longing.
He pays no mind to my struggle as he positions me on top of him, his hands gripping my hips. “Come on, baby girl,” he says, a devilish smirk spreading across his face. “Punch me. Slap me. Fucking spit on me if it makes you feel better. Show me your true self.”
His words ignite something within me, and my hands move before I can think. I slap him again and again, each strike harder than the last, savoring how his soft skin yields under my touch. Blood trickles from his nose, blending with the flow from his split lip. With every strike, the emotions I once felt fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of control. I’ve never had this much power over anyone, and now he’s giving it to me, surrendering himself completely.
I love it more than I should.
I could do anything to him. I could kill him, and I’m certain he would let me. He’d trust me to choke the life out of him, his vision fading to black, and still, he would let me have my way.
Because he trusts me. I’m the one who has seen him completely unraveled, exposed, and vulnerable. I’ve glimpsed something in him that nobody else ever has—something beyond the toxic, poisonous anger we share.
And he will give me the power to take it all from him because neither of us has anything to lose.
“I want to fucking kill you, West.” Panting, I gaze down at his bloodied face, the sight of crimson splattering across his skin awakening a strange, unfamiliar desire within me. It feels like I want to do more. “I want to kill you for giving me something I should never have.”
He draws me close, like a spider weaving its web around me. The ache in my body is a strange comfort, a reminder of the power I’ve unleashed, the raw energy of our fight, and everything I’m capable of. “Take the pieces of me I shared with you, baby, and set them ablaze. Break me fucking down, strip me bare, and devour what’s left. Take everything I am and give me all you’ve got.”
He presses his forehead against mine, and a sob catches in my throat. The scent of blood mingles with his perfume, creating a toxic yet strangely enticing blend that fills my senses. “It will never be enough.”
“Show me how much you can take away,” he whispers, his words skating across my lips, leaving a warm tingle in their wake. “Use me. Use me to destroy everything you want to forget.”
I don’t need to be told twice. Pressing my lips to his, I taste the blood as if it’s the most exquisite nectar. My tongue laps up every drop, tracing a path from his lips to his cheeks and nose, cleaning away the traces of my violence.
He groans, his grip tightening, urging me to move. The friction of our clothes sparks a burning sensation between my legs, dulling everything else around me. When I return my mouth to his, the collision of our worlds sends my senses spiraling and wipes away all the restraint I had just moments before.
I’m gone, and I don’t ever want to come back.
My nipples harden painfully against the fabric of my blouse as I run my hands over his chest, pushing his blazer aside before focusing on his shirt. I feel the primal urge rising inside me, stealing my breath and driving me to rip the fabric off with my teeth.
He sits up, his hands leaving my hips to help me undress him. He never breaks the kiss, his mouth chasing mine, the sensations surging through us like a powerful force. This moment, this kiss, consumes us—as if our very existence hangs in the balance.
I’m unaware of how every piece of clothing slips away from our bodies. My head feels heavy as if I’ve injected the most mind-altering drug into my veins, its effects gradually spreading through my system and clouding my consciousness.
I throw my head back, and he seizes the opportunity, sinking his teeth into my neck. A cry of both agony and pleasure bursts free as I run my fingers through his hair, anchoring him in place. It turns into a moan when he licks the wound before moving lower, repeating the process that sends me spiraling into bliss. I can feel myself growing wetter, the warmth of my arousal spreading across his cock, which presses painfully into me.
I want to stretch this moment out for as long as possible. It’s only when I open my eyes and catch a glimpse of the nightstand that I remember how the control I crave is slipping through my fingers. I tighten my grip on his hair and, in one firm movement, pull him away from my neck. A hollow ache envelops the marks he left, and I bite my lower lip to stifle a pathetic sound that threatens to escape.
“My rules,” I say, eliciting a low chuckle from him that makes my pussy throb. “Lean back.”
He complies, and I reach for the nightstand, feeling his eyes track my every movement. I’m completely naked, and under the bright light in the room, he can see every part of my body that I don’t particularly like.
But right now, I couldn’t care less. I’m the one in control, and I’m determined to do exactly what I want to him.
I open the nightstand drawer and pull out a pair of handcuffs. I bought a few items like this years ago, but I’ve never had the desire to use them on anyone.
“Give me your hands,” I command, though my breathless voice doesn’t quite convey the authority I wish it did. “Now.”
The bastard grins and complies, stretching his hands before me. For a moment, I freeze, unable to process the next step.
Shit. I’ve never done anything like this before, and despite the countless fantasies I’ve had, I suddenly feel lost and paralyzed.
He notices my struggle and sits up, pressing his lips to mine. His hands travel to my neck, fingers wrapping around my throat and applying slight pressure. “Come on, baby girl,” he murmurs against my skin. “I don’t know how much control I can give you.”
His words give me the push I need. I unclick the handcuffs and, with my other hand, gently push him back onto the bed. He allows me to take one hand and secure his wrist in the cuff before I thread the chain up, wrap it around the headboard, and then grab his other hand to secure the second wrist.
I pull back, taking a moment to observe him. My hands glide gently over his bare chest, my eyes following their motion. His breath comes in shaky gasps as his body relaxes under my touch. Here’s the thing about West—he thrives on pain, craves it, yet he also needs these drawn-out, soft moments of intimacy.
Somehow, I’ve discovered the perfect balance.
“Enjoying this?” he murmurs roughly, and I snap my gaze to his, catching the gleam of burning lust in his eyes. “Loving the way I’m all yours, baby?”
“Yes,” I admit, leaning in to kiss one of his scars on his shoulder. Goosebumps awaken across his skin, and the sight sends another wave of heat through my body. Watching someone like West unravel before me feels incredibly empowering.
“Mine to control,” I taunt seductively, brushing my fingers across his chest and down to his abs. I lift my hips slightly and reposition myself over his cock, slowly letting the tip in. My lips part as I begin to feel him, and my body instinctively wants to jump away, but I hold back, welcoming the discomfort. “Mine to possess.”
“Fuck,” he whimpers, his eyes rolling back as a wave of pleasure crashes over him. “Deeper, baby. Take me?—”
I press my hand over his mouth, cutting off the words that are about to leave his lips. “Shhh.” Slowly, I lower myself onto him, the burning ache spreading through me—a constant reminder of his unnatural size. “Just let me feel it like I want to.”
I pull my hand from his mouth, drawn to the sight of him, the way freckles dance across his nose and cheeks. He’s so beautiful, especially when he grants me all the control I need.
I lean in, my lips seeking his, desperate for the solace I need. He swallows the whimpers that slip past my lips as I take him in, inch by inch, letting the agony morph into something blissful. Our tongues intertwine like venomous serpents battling for dominance, each sharing the intoxicating poison that heightens our senses and takes over our minds.
“That’s a good fucking girl.” His praise flows between kisses, and my body responds automatically, a shiver running through me as his words leave a trail of warm tingles. “Using my cock the way she wants to.” A moan tumbles from my throat, and he mirrors it with a choked sound that leaves my eyes sinking to the back of my head. “Make yourself feel good, baby. Take it all in. You can do it.”
His encouragement fills me with immense desire, dulling the fear of blacking out before I can fully take him in. It’s been a while since I felt him so deep inside me, and this position allows for a penetration that feels impossibly intense.
Gradually, I sink deeper and begin to rock my hips. I can feel him in my fucking stomach, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through my body as it hungrily accepts him. “Fuck, West?—”
“I know, baby girl, I know,” he interrupts, impatience tightening his voice. I sense he’s losing control in the way his muscles tense and his breathing quickens, but still, he grants me full control. “Ride this cock. Make me proud .”
His words give me the fiercest push, filling my mind with a desperate need to do exactly as he says, to see that damn pride flashing in his sky-kissed orbs. I hold the control now, but the bastard knows how to get inside my head and make me want to do better for him.
Picking up the pace, I rock back and forth, the sounds of our passion and my ragged moans echoing in the quiet room. Whether it’s the daylight or something else, I’ve never felt so exposed. Every sensation skates across my skin—from the way my toes curl in response to pure pleasure, to the soft silk of my hair brushing against my nipples, amplifying the satisfaction.
“Look at you,” he whispers, his eyes taking in the sight of me. “Fuck, you’re so ethereal. I wish you could see what I see.”
I instinctively turn my head, shaking it slightly as my hair drapes over my flushed cheeks. The way he talks about me feels perfect, yet that little voice in the back of my mind refuses to acknowledge it.
“Look at me,” he demands, the raw scrape of authority in his voice drawing a squeak from me. I turn my head back to him, my eyes meeting his despite the shame and a slight veil of disgust attempting to break through. “You’re mine . Your flaws, your anger, your tears, and every time you feel at your lowest—it’s all mine. I wouldn’t exchange this life, this love, this you , for anything else.” His words break the stillness, each one embedding itself deep, melting the cold that had taken hold of me. “And now, you’re going to come all over my cock from how good you can make yourself feel because you fucking deserve it. Do you understand?”
I manage to nod, holding the same pace as the anticipation of an orgasm curls in my stomach. It builds and builds, warmth blooming across my skin, his voice shattering into countless fragments around me, just like the first night I let him inside me.
But my hands move on autopilot to shield myself, and I sense him stiffen as the metallic handcuffs rattle against the headboard. “You can either put those hands away yourself, or I’ll break these fucking handcuffs and do it on my own.”
Fuck. I don’t want him out of them. Not yet.
I gather the final bit of strength I have to comply, and he releases a low, approving hum, his body relaxing beneath mine. “Put them to better use,” he instructs. “One on your breast, and the other on your clit. And be quick about it.”
I slow my rhythm, obeying his command, my half-opened eyes fixed on his reaction. My hands, unsteady, fall where he instructed, and a blissful sigh escapes as I become aware of the heightened sensitivity in my body. My inner thighs tremble as I fight to keep them from clenching—an instinctive response my body can’t control.
“Fuck,” he drawls, biting his lower lip before darting his tongue out to wet his lips. It’s as if he wants to devour me, growing angrier with each passing second that he can’t. “Touch yourself. Show me what I can’t have right now.”
Jesus Christ. I’m exposed, but it feels fucking incredible.
I trace slow circles with my thumb over my nipple, while my index finger stimulates my clit. Inside me, I feel him trembling and dripping with need, reminding me to keep moving my hips despite the overwhelming urge to stop and finish faster.
“Good.” He watches as I unfold before him, a flower unfurling in the warmth of the sun. Keeping my eyes open grows increasingly difficult, but I can sense his unwavering focus, even without glancing at him. “My girl is making me fucking proud.” Lust laces his growl, the sound thick with need. “Get yourself off on me. I want to watch.”
The remains of coherent thoughts I had moments ago dissolve, leaving me to crumble slowly, lost in a haze of ecstasy. My moans rise into desperate cries as I intensify my movements, quickening the pace with my hips. I push myself closer to the edge, craving the sweet release, but at the same time, wanting this moment to stretch on forever.
I unravel, inside and out, surrendering for the first time to freedom and abandoning the guilt-ridden self I usually carry.
His name keeps slipping past my lips, each syllable tasting like sweetness from someone I’ve always despised. My orgasm creeps up on me, slow and intense, taking what seems like an eternity to gather before the final push of my hips ignites it, and my fingers fan the flames.
The scream bursts from me, so loud that my throat aches from the sudden force. The ecstasy overtakes me, ripping away everything—my hearing, my sight, and all semblance of reason. I dissolve into a void, my soul pulling away from my body, slipping into a realm beyond reach.
The descent is torturously slow, and as my senses gradually return, I notice that West is silent. The only sound from him is the harshness of his breathing, and I shut my eyes, afraid to meet his gaze and see whatever is in it.
“Venetia,” he calls my name, his voice stripped of the patience that had filled it a moment ago. “Get me out of them. Now.”
My body still trembles with aftershocks, too drained to reach for the key. Instead, I lean in, pressing my lips to his, hoping to calm him, but he doesn’t respond. A wave of fear settles in the pit of my stomach, growing stronger with the lingering echoes of the euphoria he just gave me. He seems anything but resigned, stubbornly refusing to kiss me back.
“Just a moment,” I plead, my lips continuing to pepper his. “One more moment, baby.”
But then, a loud thud from above jolts me upright, and I gasp, realizing he’s just broken the headboard and ripped the chain that held the fucking handcuffs.
Before I can react, he grabs my waist—his touch fierce, heated, and possessive—and slides me off of him. I hiss from the sharp, lingering pain, but he ignores it. In the next moment, he’s behind me, and I’m flipped onto my stomach. Dread floods through me as I clutch the sheets, feeling the hard press of his chest, all muscle and menace, against my back.
He leans in closer, his hot breath tickling my ear as he whispers, “ My turn .”