Page 39 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

Zane’s cock is hard, pressing against the seam of my jeans, and when he rolls his hips forward, the friction nearly makes me whimper. I gasp and dig my nails into his shoulders, his back, desperate for leverage, for distance, for control, but I have none.

He grinds up, his cock rolling against my pussy through our clothes, and my head falls back against the wall.

“Zane—” My breath shatters. “No, this isn’t—”

He grinds harder, dragging my body down against him, making me feel every thick inch of him. His lips find my neck to press an open-mouthed kiss to the bruise he left earlier.

“This isn’t what?” he drags his lips higher, brushing my ear. “Not what you want?”

Zane groans, his hands sliding over my ass, forcing me to move with him, to feel him exactly where he wants me to.

“Yeah,” he rasps against my throat, moving his hips harder, faster, dragging heat and pressure exactly where I need it. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

My entire body clenches, and suddenly I don’t know where the pleasure stops and the panic begins.

I need to stop.

“Miss Collins?”

I jerk at the authoritative tone that shoves reality back into my head.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I push against Zane’s chest, shoving him hard, and thankfully his hold drops instantly, but the loss of support sends me tilting backward. Zane’s hands snatch my waist, steadying me before I can hit the ground.

I suck in a breath and snap my head to see Dr. Harrington standing right in front of us.

Zane’s hands shift, probably fixing his mask in place, making sure the only part of him showing is his eyes.

“Miss Collins,” he says slowly. “Care to explain why you’re out here instead of watching the game?”

I scramble for an excuse. “I—uh—”

Zane’s thumb presses into my hip, and I force my expression to stay neutral.

I clear my throat. “I was just—getting some air.”

Harrington points at Zane. “And him?”

“Same.”

Harrington’s eyes scan Zane, taking in the hood, the mask, the way he’s standing just a little too close to me.

“And why is he wearing a mask?”

“He has the flu,” I say quickly. “But he didn’t want to miss the game, so he came anyway.”

Harrington doesn’t look convinced. His arms cross, trying to connect dots that don’t need connecting.

“And who is he?”

Before I can think of an answer, before I can control the damage, Zane speaks.

“Her boyfriend.”

I whip my head up, but Zane’s already looking at Harrington with a steady gaze.

Harrington studies him for a second, then glances back at me.

I fight the urge to scream.

I force a tight smile, nodding stiffly. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”

Harrington doesn’t look thrilled, but he doesn’t push it.

“Well,” he sighs, “next time, try to keep your personal time outside of school property, Miss Collins.”

I nod, trying not to combust on the spot. “Of course. Won’t happen again.”

Harrington gives one last look at Zane, before turning on his heel and walking away.

The moment he disappears, I whirl on Zane.

“What the fuck was that?” I hiss.

“Your alibi,” he snickers. “You’re welcome.”

“You broke out of prison, Zane! And you just told my professor that you’re my boyfriend! The same professor who’s probably already trying to figure out why the fuck you look so familiar?”

“He won’t recognize me.”

“You’re not hearing me,” I snap, pointing a shaky finger at him. “You made me your alibi. Do you get that? If they find out who you are, I’m an accessory.”

“You’re not going down for shit,” he clicks his tongue. “You’re fine, Faith.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t—” I mutter, half to myself, half to him.

“You don’t fucking know that.” My nails press into my temples, maybe if I dig hard enough, I can force my brain to work, to figure out how the fuck I’m going to fix this.

“I don’t even know why you’re here, why you’re doing this, why—”

“Faith,” he says smoothly. “Look at me.”

I don’t. I can’t.

If I look at him, I’ll lose whatever shaky grip on reality I still have.

Instead, I keep pacing. “I need to think—I need to figure out how the fuck I’m getting out of this—”

“Faith.”

Zane closes the space between us in two slow strides, grabs my face between his fingers, tilts my chin up and forces me to look at him.

“You. Are. Fine.”

I glare up at him, but his eyes are filled with a promise.

“No one’s going to fucking touch you,” he promises. “Not a cop. Not Harrington. Not anyone. And if someone so much as looks at you wrong? I’ll kill them. You get me?”

I blink, my stomach tightening as his words sink in.

“I’ll handle it.” His gaze roams over my face. “You’re fine, Faith.”

“You don’t know—”

He cuts me off, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “I do.”

His words shouldn’t feel like a promise.

They shouldn’t carry that dark comfort I feel, but they do.

And that makes me furious because I shouldn’t feel safe with him.

I shouldn’t feel like he’s the only person standing between me and worse monsters.

He is the monster. And yet, deep down, my instincts whisper that he’s the one who will keep me alive.

That thought alone sends a fresh wave of rage through me. Because if I can’t even trust myself, then what the fuck do I have left?

“What do you want from me? I don’t even like you.”

His eyes darken, and a slow, terrifying smile curves his lips. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just leans in until I can feel the weight of his breath against my cheek.

“I don’t want you to like me.” His fingers curl beneath my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. “I want you to worship me.”

The audacity of it makes my blood boil. Worship him? He’s delusional. Arrogant. And yet, somewhere deep inside, the idea doesn’t disgust me as much as it should.

“You know what? Stay the fuck away from me. If I see you anywhere near me, I won’t hesitate to report that you’re roaming freely.”

Zane doesn’t get mad like normal people. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t throw punches unless it serves a purpose. No, he gets dangerous in that creepy way that makes you realize too late that you’ve already stepped into the trap.

“You think a cell is enough to keep me away? Every step you take, every breath you breathe, I’ll be watching.”

I slap his hand away, but he keeps stepping closer, reminding me of what he’s capable of searing through my bones.

“So go ahead,” he continues flicking his tongue against my earlobe. “Enjoy your temporary taste of freedom. Just remember, in the end, it’s not about where I am—it’s about where your mind will find itself, trapped in chains of my own making.”

His eyes drag over me, before he finally turns, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking away. I turn and walk back to the stands, forcing my steps to be normal, even though nothing about me feels normal right now.

When I slide into my seat, Tria immediately turns to me.

“Where the hell were you?”

I force a tight smile, brushing my hair back in place to hide the bite mark. “Just needed air.”

“Do you want to head back?” she offers, and for a split second, I want to say yes. I want to crawl into bed and pretend I don’t feel like I’ve just been skinned alive with nothing but words. But I know how much she wanted to be here.

So instead, I shake my head, plastering on a small smirk. “Nah. Let’s watch the game.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins.

We watch, or at least, she does. I sit there, pretending to be invested. Halfway through, Tria’s head whips toward me.

“Wait. Where’s your jersey?”

“I—” I scramble for an excuse, shaking my head. “I spilled Coke on it.”

Tria levels her glare, but before she can push, I add quickly, “I’ll apologize to Trevor later.”

That seems to satisfy her, and she shrugs, turning back to the game. I don’t register a single second of the game.

By the time the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts in cheers, Tria is on her feet, yelling, while I sit perfectly still, feeling the tension coil tighter and tighter inside me.

We wait by the lockers, Tria’s practically bouncing as she talks about Xaden’s performance. I barely hear a word.

Trevor steps out first with a grin on his face, his hair damp from a shower and his jersey slung over his shoulder.

I force a smile, stepping forward. “Hey.”

His smile widens. “Hey yourself.”

“Listen, I—about the jersey, I—”

I open my mouth to congratulate him, but my eyes drift over his shoulder and I find Zane standing at a distance, watching me.

I act before I can think.

I grab Trevor by the back of his neck and kiss him. He stiffens for half a second before he kisses me back, his hands landing on my waist. But even as I try to focus on the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body, it all feels… wrong.

Because I don’t feel a single thing.

Not like I should. Not like I want to.

Zane can rearrange my organs with only a few words, but even a full blown kiss with Trevor is dull.

I keep my eyes open, locked on Zane, and for a moment his expression doesn’t change, but then it falters, it almost looks like he’s hurt.

I feel it hit somewhere deep, but I shove it down, reminding myself it’s just another trick, another tactic to manipulate me.

Because Zane doesn’t get hurt. He makes sure everyone else does.

Zane’s stoic expression returns, and whatever hurt was there for that fleeting second is gone, replaced with something so much more dangerous and it makes me break the kiss immediately.

I pull back, forcing a small laugh, turning to Tria before she can even ask. “That was for the jersey.”

Trevor, bless his clueless heart, is grinning like a fucking idiot, a soft pink dusting his cheeks.

“Well, damn,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “If I knew ruining a jersey would get me a kiss, I’d have trashed a dozen so much sooner.”

I force a smile, but my entire body is still wired. I chance a glance back toward where Zane was standing, but he’s gone.

Maybe I was overreading into his expression.

Maybe—finally—Zane has nothing to do with me anymore.

And that’s a good thing.

I should feel relieved. Scratch that. I am relieved.

It’s a good day.

I don’t even realize I’ve started walking until Tria catches up to me.

“So…” she drawls, bumping my shoulder. “That mystery man is really Trevor?”

“Tria, I promise you, it’s not,” I laugh.

She sighs dramatically, looping her arm through mine as we head toward the dorms. “Well, that’s disappointing. You know he’s got it bad for you, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Trevor has it bad for anything that gives him attention.”

She laughs, nudging me again. We reach our building, and I step inside. For the first time tonight, my shoulders loosen.

A shower. Sleep. That’s all I need.

I step into my room, tossing my bag onto the bed. My fingers move on autopilot, grabbing my charger and plugging in my phone.

The screen lights up instantly.

And my stomach drops at a new message sitting in my inbox.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: If I were you, I’d make sure your door is locked tight because tonight, you’re getting punished.

I rush to the door, twisting the lock tight. My fingers tremble as I double-check it, making sure it’s secure. Pressing my back against the door, I suck in a shaky breath.

I would have felt safer if I weren’t suddenly so damn horny.