Page 35 of Sweet Venom

I snap out of it and pull back, sliding a palm over my tingling lips. “W-what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Look away from me again and I’ll kiss you. And it’ll escalate to something worse the more you indulge in that distasteful habit.”

“You…wouldn’t.”

“Try me and see how far I’ll go.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

I drop my hand, and his rich brown eyes slide to my lips, darkening, peeling off my outer layer and settling beneath my clothes, my skin, into my bones.

He’s…dangerous.

Because why am I reacting to him this way?

I’ve never been into physical touch or sex. Hell, I’ve avoided it like the plague and only succumbed to peer pressure in college because, apparently, if you keep your virginity after eighteen, society deems you a weirdo, and your classmates give you pitying looks.

The few times I let some frat boys fuck me were a disappointment.

No.

I actually disliked it.

Being exposed, touched intimately, and feeling ugly throughout it all.

I had body dysmorphia, no matter how much they praised me and told me I ‘feel so tight.’

It didn’t help that I had flashbacks of the noises I heardwhen Mama was being fucked while I was cooped up in the closet.

Whenever I heard the guys breathing heavily on top of me or growling and moaning, I only had flashbacks of the men in Mama’s life.

I even slammed both hands to my ears during the last time I had sex, because I could hear the one man who loved punching my mama and leaving her bleeding after he was done.

Because the guy I was having sex with smelled like him—cheap cologne and strong cigarettes.

I even started humming like I did back then while doodling sketches in my notebook in the near darkness to drown out the sounds.

Needless to say, the guy called me a weirdo for ruining the mood and left as if his ass were on fire.

I just lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, and laughed, but then started crying because that’s what Mama did after they left.

Then I threw up. I usually do after sex, and since I barely find pleasure in it, I stopped it altogether after the “weirdo” episode, choosing not to poke a bear I didn’t need to.

So, as a certified sex avoider, why the hell did my stalker’s lips just now make me feel likethat?

I don’t know whatthatwas, but it was different from my usual disgust, and I definitely have no bile gathering in my throat.

“Follow me.” Jude’s words snap me out of my thoughts, and I have no choice but to trudge behind him and toward the house.

He doesn’t have to say the “Or else…” for me to understand that my actions will determine Dahlia’s fate.

While I have little to no regard for my own life, Dahliais the only person who’s ever cared about me, loved me, and made me feel like I’m important. I’d never let Jude or anyone else hurt her.

Ever.

No matter what I have to go through.

I follow him into the house, my steps careful, and I slide my glasses up my nose.