Page 12 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

V iper shoves the key into the lock of the last door at the end of the long, dark corridor.

He pushes it open, revealing a room that is more luxurious than I was expecting.

A massive, carved four-poster bed dominates the space, draped in heavy, blood-red velvet.

A stone fireplace, dark and gaping, sits against one wall, and tall, arched windows are shrouded in curtains that look like they haven’t been opened since the Victorian era.

It’s beautiful, and it’s the most oppressive cage I’ve ever seen.

“Home sweet home,” Viper grunts, dropping my suitcase onto the plush oriental rug with a heavy thud. He stalks over to the window and yanks one of the curtains back, letting a shaft of sunlight pierce the gloom.

I stand in the doorway, refusing to step fully inside. “This won’t work.”

“What won’t work?” he asks, not turning around. “The room’s big enough. The bed’s big enough.”

My jaw clenches. “You are not sleeping in that bed with me.”

He finally turns, a slow, infuriating smirk spreading across his face. “I told you, princess. My back doesn’t like the floor.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt. “You can take the rug if you want. It looks soft enough.”

“I will kill you in your sleep,” I hiss, my voice low and shaking with rage.

“You can try,” he says, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto a velvet armchair.

My eyes are drawn against my will to the expanse of his chest, the intricate ink swirling over hard muscle.

“But I sleep light.” He gestures towards the toolbox.

“And I’ll be keeping those, just in case you get any ideas. ”

“These are mine!”

“Not anymore.” He moves towards me and grips my wrist, pulling me into the room before he slams the door shut with a hand over my head.

“You need to learn, Venetia. Everything you thought was yours now belongs to me. Your weapons. Your space. Your life.” He leans in, his voice a whisper against my ear.

“And your bed. Now, unpack. I want to see what kind of lingerie you brought for me.”

“What about your clothes? Or do you plan to waltz around in the exact same outfit all year?”

He chuckles. “I have someone bringing my shit. They will be here soon.”

“What about Lucy?” I lick my lips at the thought of the snake from hell.

“She will be joining us as soon as I have you in a position to leave you unattended, I will go for her.”

“Meaning?” I croak.

“Meaning when I’m satisfied, you’re not going to run off and get yourself killed the second my back is turned.” He runs a thumb over my bottom lip, his touch a brand of fire on my skin. “Or maybe when you’ve been a good enough girl to earn some trust.”

“Fuck you,” I breathe, the words a ghost of defiance.

I try to shove him away, but it’s like pushing against a brick wall.

He doesn’t budge. Instead, his other hand snakes around my waist, yanking me flush against his hard body.

My breasts crush against his tattooed chest, and the heat between us is scorching.

My breath hitches as I feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing into my stomach.

“I’m waiting, wildcat,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I could have you screaming my name before my bags even get here.”

The raw promise in his voice has my pussy clenching in a betraying throb of want. Rage and desire war in my soul, a chaotic storm that is about to wash me away. I want to claw his eyes out. I want to bite his lip until he bleeds. I want him to follow through on his threat.

A sharp rap on the door shatters the moment.

Viper pulls back with a low growl of frustration, leaving me cold and breathless. He stalks to the door and yanks it open, revealing a nervous-looking academy employee with two large duffel bags.

“Mr Stone,” the man stammers. “Your luggage.”

Viper grunts, grabbing the bags and hauling them inside before slamming the door in the man’s face. He drops them beside mine, a definitive statement. We were moving in. Together.

“That was quick,” I mutter and drop the toolbox on the bed, needing to create distance between us.

“My guys don’t fuck about.”

“Will your turf be okay while you’re gone?” I ask carefully.

“Why are you so interested?” he asks, unpacking his bags and neatly placing things into the ancient chest of drawers and hanging some items up in the wardrobe.

I watch this curiously. He doesn’t strike me as Mr Neat.

“What? I can’t control my space? I have to be a slob?” he asks slyly, his back turned to me.

“It’s an observation,” I say coolly, leaning against a bedpost and crossing my arms. “I just assumed a man who communicates primarily through grunts and violence wouldn’t be concerned with folding his underwear.”

He slams a drawer shut and turns to face me, his bare chest a roadmap of ink and muscle that makes my stomach flutter.

“I didn’t bring any underwear. But I like my things in order.

My business, my weapons, my women. You’ll learn that soon enough.

” He stalks towards the bed, his eyes holding mine. “Now, about our sleeping arrangements.”

“There are no ‘our’ arrangements,” I bite out. “There’s my bed, and there’s the floor. Pick a spot.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbles in his chest. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to be in charge.” He sits on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. “This is the only bed. I am sleeping in it. You can either join me, or you can curl up like my little bitch on the hearth.”

The jab hits its mark, a hot flash of anger burning through me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me being all submissive to you and shit.”

“No,” he says, his voice dropping to a serious, gravelly low that makes my nipples peak. “I’d drag you in here, and make you regret it so fucking thoroughly, you’d beg me to chain you to this bed. Your choice.”

I hold his gaze, the air crackling with the promises of his threat. I’m not scared of him. Not in the way he thinks. I’m scared of the part of me that wants him to follow through.

With a deliberate slowness, I walk around to the other side of the bed. “Then I guess you’d better clear a space for me.” I kick off my heels, my eyes never leaving his as I slide onto the bed. “But if you so much as breathe on my side of this mattress, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

His laugh is a low, dark rumble of disbelief and pure, unadulterated lust. I lie on my back, staring up at the dark canopy. The bed dips under his weight as he crawls over me, caging me in with his powerful body.

“Is that a challenge, wildcat?” he murmurs, his face hovering just inches above mine.

“It’s a fucking promise,” I breathe.

He gives me that half smile that melts my knickers, and he reaches out to pull my dress lower over my breasts, showing him the lacy white bra. He doesn’t look down, he stares into my eyes as he flicks his fingers over my hard nipples.

“I turn you on,” he murmurs. “You like a man who can tame you.”

“No man has ever tried.” That’s a lie. Nathan tried to destroy me.

His gaze bores into mine. “Did you bring any underwear, Venetia?”

“All the Bridget Jones knickers I own.”

“So, none then?”

“What makes you think I don’t own full bum coverage knickers?”

“You don’t seem the type.”

“Like you don’t seem the type to hang up your freshly pressed combat pants?”

“You’d be surprised what a man like me is capable of.”

His fingers linger on my nipple through the lace, tracing its peak, and a traitorous shiver racks my body. I hate him for seeing it, for knowing the effect he has on me.

“You think you know me so well after a few hours,” I retort, my voice breathier than I’d like.

“I know your type,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

“All fire and fight on the outside. But inside, you’re begging for someone to take control.

To put you in your place.” His hand slides from my breast, down over my stomach, his touch a searing brand through the thin fabric of my dress.

He stops just above the juncture of my thighs.

“So, let’s find out what you’re wearing, shall we? ”

My heart hammers. I could fight him. I have a dozen ways to hurt him from this position. But my body is frozen, caught in the undertow of his raw, dominating presence.

“Don’t,” I manage to say, the word a weak plea.

“Give me one good reason,” he challenges, his fingers brushing the hem of my dress as he edges it up.

“Because if you touch me, you won’t stop,” I whisper, my voice a blade wrapped in silk. “And I’m not in the mood to break you on my first day.”

His dark laugh is a low, dangerous vibration against my chest. “Is that a threat, wildcat?”

“It’s a fact.”

“We’ll see about that.”

His hand slides under my dress, his palm a scorching brand against the skin of my thigh.

I hold my breath, my body rigid, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The fabric bunches at my hip as his fingers travel higher, a slow, deliberate exploration designed to unnerve me.

He’s expecting a fight, expecting me to slap his hand away. I do nothing.

His fingers find the edge of my knickers, a thin strip of white lace that offers no protection at all. He stills for a fraction of a second, his thumb brushing over the flimsy barrier.

“Lace,” he breathes, the single word a testament to his victory. His finger hooks into the side of the thong, pulling it taut. His thumb finds my clit through the damp lace, pressing down with a knowing, exquisite pressure that makes a choked gasp escape my lips.

His eyes flash with dark triumph. “Soaking wet for me, just like the good little girl I know you are deep down. Daddy will tame you, wildcat. You will be begging me to rail you so hard, you will practically snap in two.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I murmur. “I’ve been told when I come hard, my pussy clenches down so tightly I can break a dick.”

“Oh, promises, promises. I’m willing to take that risk,” he rasps, his voice a low hum of pure want. He proves it by rubbing his thumb over my clit in slow, torturous circles. A ragged gasp escapes my lips, and my hips buck against his hand, a betrayal my body commits without my consent.

“See?” he breathes against my mouth. “Begging for it already. Begging for me to own you.”

Fuck him. Fuck this. He thinks he’s won. He thinks this is a game of dominance he can win with brute force and a skilled hand. My hand snakes up, not to push him away, but to cup the nape of his neck, yanking his head down until his lips are a breath away from mine.

“Then do it,” I dare him, my voice a low, venomous whisper. “Stop talking and fucking do it. Take me. Break me. Let’s see who shatters first.”

His eyes narrow for a fraction of a second. The hunter has become the hunted. The power shifts, a subtle but seismic tremor in the space between us. I’ve thrown his challenge right back in his face, wrapped in an invitation he can’t refuse without admitting defeat.

He pulls his hand away, leaving me aching, cold, and utterly humiliated. He pushes himself off me and stands by the bed, looking down at me with a look of smug, victorious satisfaction.

“Lesson one,” he says. “Your pleasure is mine to give. And mine to take away. Remember that.” He turns his back and walks towards the en-suite, leaving me sprawled on the bed, burning with a rage so potent it feels like it could set the whole fucking room on fire.

He leaves the door wide open as he turns on the shower and strips off.

That bastard. He didn’t just win the battle; he incinerated the entire battlefield and pissed on the ashes.