Page 54 of Lovely Venom

“How do you know that name?”

His hesitation to respond makes me think that slip wasn’t intentional, which leaves me to wonder exactly how long he’s known.

“How do you know who I am?” I force out. “Have you seen me in public?”

“Yes,” he answers with a sigh.

I recall the photo he sent me the other day, and though it seems improbable he’d recognize me at the club, I ask anyway.

“Was it at Black Velvet?”

“Not initially, no.”

“But you’ve seen me there?”

“Yes.”

I think that over for a moment, and given what’s been happening with the notes at the club, I have to consider it.

“Are you stalking me?”

“You ended our arrangement,” he answers. “I gave you the space you asked for, even when it tested the limits of my restraint.”

I sit with that for a minute before I respond.

“But you came to Black Velvet?”

“Once.”

“To watch me…or the show in general?”

“You.”

That admission feels significant, but I’m not sure what to do with it.

Realistically, if he came to the club, he could be anyone from The Society. The fact that he mentioned testing his restraint makes me think he’s someone I’ve been around more than once.

It’s slightly terrifying, but there’s also a strange thrill in wondering how often he’s seen me in our real lives, and I never even knew it.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

“I don’t really know what to think,” I confess. “I want to ask more questions, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“Then slide your fingers back inside your pussy and fuck it like I would.”

His roughly spoken order sends another rush of heat through me, and I latch onto the distraction. I’ll have plenty of time to overanalyze our conversation later, but for now, I want to lose myself in the fantasy.

As I touch myself, I can hear the shift in his breathing. There’s something intoxicating about this kind of exhibitionism and knowing he’s getting off as he watches me.

My thoughts run wild as I replay the fragmented memories I have of him. But as I try to recall the specifics, the details blur, and my mind substitutes familiar features.

Warm olive skin. Broad shoulders and a towering frame. That dark, intense gaze that twists me up in knots.

It all melds together, equally disorienting and addicting me as my fingers move faster, edging me closer to oblivion.

“So needy, aren’t you, dea?” Satisfaction bleeds through his voice. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes.” I breathe.