Page 111 of Lovely Venom

“I’m not a liar or a cheat.” He presses the words against my ear. “And I haven’t been with anyone else in three years. Not since the first time I touched you.”

My heart thumps erratically as I try to wrap my head around that admission.

It doesn’t make sense. Cristian could have anyone. So why me?

Before I can conclude anything, he eases himself off me and tugs me up with him.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“Getting cleaned up. I want to take you somewhere.”

21

CRISTIAN

“The red one.”

Chantel pauses mid-search through her closet to shoot me a look.

I arch a brow at her, daring her to say she doesn’t like it when I tell her what to do. She likes it so much, she doesn’t even realize she has a tell.

It’s a familiar pattern, the way her breath catches and she looks away, as if that could hide the rapid beat of her pulse.

In the beginning, it was something I wished I hadn’t noticed.

I had a plan for my life, and it didn’t include emotional entanglements. I’d seen the consequences of such relationships, particularly within my own family. I had no interest in being a willing captive to that affliction.

When I imagined the woman I’d inevitably spend my life with, it was someone practical, strategic, and low risk.

Chantel doesn’t fit into any of those categories.

Every inch of trust I gain from her is hard-won, and the question mark behind her identity is as high-risk as it gets. She’s the furthest thing from uncomplicated or practical, and she’s also a flight risk—which, as it turns out, I fucking hate.

For the past three years, between thoughts of handcuffing her to my bed and settling for Stockholm Syndrome, I’ve tried to purge this addiction. But it was already too late. My obsession with her had crept in silently like a slow-acting venom, poisoning my blood before I even knew I was in its grip.

One taste of her was all it took for me to know what real hunger was.

Now that I’ve been inside her, I’ll never allow anyone else to have her.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” She eyes the various shades of red dresses hanging from the rack.

I approach her from behind, pressing against her back as my hand settles over the curve of her hip. Traveling downward, my fingers find the hem of her skirt and drag it up her thigh at a criminally slow pace.

A wave of goosebumps ripples over her, and she sucks in a breath, torn between battle and surrender.

The way her body responds to me terrifies her. She doesn’t want to want this. But right now, those fears are overshadowed by her desire.

She lets me strip her down until the only barrier left between us is a thong soaked with my cum. The imprints of last night still mark her skin, and seeing her so thoroughly owned satisfies the animal in me far too much.

It’s a balm to the torment of the last three years. Now, I want to do it on repeat so she never forgets who she belongs to again.

My palm scrapes over her bare breast as the other one dips between her thighs. She softens against me as I breathe her in and kiss her neck, torturing her with the slow slide of my fingers.

“Do you want to come, gattina?” I brush the words against her ear.

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Then be a good girl for me tonight.”