Luce nods at me as if reading my mind.
Well… Luce does.
“I'll meet you down there.” I slide the large glass door closed behind myself and head out to the patio, inhaling the cold air that slams up into my face. Muffled music drifts from the side of the house, and I chuckle. Fucking Punk. Such a menace. This is all her fault, sleeping with the brother.
I reach into my pocket when a shadow moves out of the corner of my eye. Asher leans against a stone pillar in one of the darker corners near the canopy.
A bud of ember burns when he takes a hit of his joint.
His face breaks into a wicked grin. “Still pretending you don't smoke cigarettes when you're drunk?”
“I don't pretend!” I tilt my head, defiant but my muscles slowly uncoil at his presence.Goddam traitor.
He laughs, and my attention snaps to him just in time to catch that wicked flash of teeth. “Funny.” His voice cuts through the cold air. “You forget I know you, Venom? Better than you know yourself.”
I close the space between us, plucking the joint from his fingers. “If you knew me, you wouldn't have vanished for a year.”
The smoke burns sweet in my lungs. I hand it back.
His head tilts toward mine in the shadows, and something dangerous unfurls in my chest. Heat that has nothing to do with the weed.
Fingers brush mine as he takes the joint back, barely a touch, but it shoots straight through my veins like poison.
Or medicine.
Hard to tell the difference anymore.
“Maybe that's why I did it.” His lips brush my neck, his hand flattening over my lower back.
I should step back.
I should run.
But the weed and whiskey have blurred my edges, and his body burns against winter's bite. “Asher…”
Warning or invitation? I can't tell anymore.
He lowers to where my shoulder meets my neck, his mouth curving against my skin. “You gonna beg, Venom?”
Every second he’s on me only leaves deeper scars, but two can play this game.
“Because you know what happens when you beg.” His voice dips. “And we both know you're not ready for that yet.”
I angle my face up to his. Our lips barely apart. Neither of us back down.
“Bold of you to assume I'd be the one begging,” I whisper, but the words almost get stuck in my throat.
His fingers flex against my lower back.
“Try me.” The words come out rough, and suddenly his hand finds my throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Promising. My pulse hammers against his palm.
I reach up, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. Not to pull away. To keep him there. “You first.”
He buries his other hand in my hair, tugging on it with enough force that it burns. There’s something heavy that settles between us, as if we’re waiting for the other to make the first more.
Using his grip like a leash, he tilts my head to the side, exposing more of my neck. “Need someone to make you submit?”
My nails rake down his forearms. “Think you can handle it when I do?”
