Page 52 of Lovely Venom

It’s confusing to say the least.

Bran: Are you looking for direction, dea?

I let out a shuddering breath, knowing full well this is a slippery slope. But if I’m being real, this is exactly what I wanted when I texted him tonight.

I’m not sure how we’ve fallen back into this dynamic so quickly, but it’s what I need right now. So I text him back a simple yes, no frills or excuses.

My phone rings, and when I see his name, I freeze.

He’s never called me before. But if he’s going to tell me what to do, I’d rather it be like this.

“Hello?” I answer softly.

“Turn on your camera. I want to see you.”

That deep, demanding voice is rougher than I remember, but God help me, it sends a shiver right through me.

I grab the pillow beside me and reposition it so I can prop my phone up, angling it so it shows everything but my face. Then I turn on the camera.

A low, guttural sound of approval vibrates through the speaker, reigniting a long-repressed ache.

“There’s my little thief.”

“Little thief?”

“You took something from me. Now I want to punish you for it.”

Electricity sparks through my veins as his words trigger a flood of ideas.

In our past interactions, we never made it to the actual intercourse stage. But it didn’t stop me from imagining all the things I knew he’d do so well.

Bending me over, collaring my throat as he buries himself deep. Smacking my ass. Pulling my hair. Rough commands and whispered praise.

Biting. Kissing. Claiming.

Fucking me until he owns me.

I knew if I ever let him inside me, he would possess me. Right now, I’d lay myself bare at his feet if it meant I could have just one more night with him.

“Pull down the straps of your nightgown,” he rumbles. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

I do as he instructs, slowly slipping each delicate piece of black silk off my shoulders until my breasts are bared.

Silence stretches as he takes me in from behind the privacy of his blacked-out screen. I don’t have to see him to feel his eyes on me. His attention is a physical caress, burning with an intensity that has always felt addictive.

There isn’t a detail that could escape him, and selfishly, I want him to remember everything.

I want to haunt his fantasies the way he’s haunted mine.

“Perditio mea.”

His gruffly spoken words are barely audible, but they feel like a confession.

My comprehension of Latin is limited to what I learned at Sanctum. I don’t know the meaning behind what he said, but I understand that there are some revelations better left secret and uncomplicated.

“Are you wet for me, little thief?” he murmurs.

“Yes.” I breathe.