Page 17 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

M y head thumps from the sleeping tablet, and I turn over with a soft groan. Opening my eyes, I lock onto a navy-blue gaze.

“First thing you see,” Viper says with that half-smile.

“God,” I mutter and slam my eyes closed. “You are infuriating. And did you actually sleep in my bed?”

“I told you this is our bed, wildcat.”

“You’re an arsehole. I’m naked in here.”

“So am I.”

My eyes fly open again and take in his muscular chest, covered in ink, and the urge to lick those tats nearly overcomes me. But then I remember something. “You didn’t answer my question from yesterday.”

“Which one?”

“Will your turf be okay while you’re here?”

“You mean, will my girls be okay? They will be fine.”

My girls . The possessive rage ignites over his word usage. These strippers flashing their tits for him and God only knows what else makes me see red.

“Jealous, Venetia?” he murmurs.

I guess I need to work on my poker face. “Please. I couldn’t care less whose tits you stare at.”

“As long as I stare at yours?” He reaches out and pulls the sheet down, exposing my breasts in all their glory. He doesn’t look, though. He never looks. Even when he was examining me yesterday, he didn’t look.

“You aren’t staring at them.”

“Do you want me to?”

“It would be nice, you know,” I snap, irrationally angry at this insane respect he has. “They’ve been in front of your face several times now, and nothing.”

“If I look, I’ll want to touch.”

“And?”

The challenge is laid bare, but he doesn’t say anything or look at my tits. Damn him. He drives me to distraction.

My stomach rumbles, and I sigh. “I need to get showered and then eat. And also find out what my schedule is in this gothic dump.”

He leans back against the headboard, his arm behind his head, as I get out of bed. I’m not shy about parading around in front of him naked. I find it quite empowering, actually, knowing his eyes are taking in my every move.

I stop halfway to the bathroom. “When did that get in here?” I ask, pointing to Lucy.

“Last night. Your little admirer helped me.”

“Rafferty Warrick?” I can’t imagine Blake Locke helping him carry that thing up here.

He nods.

“And she is just going to stay here with us?”

“You will find that most people will keep their distance.”

I roll my eyes and keep walking, closing the door behind me so I can pee and brush my teeth in peace.

A few minutes later, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up, before I step inside, letting it wash over me, rinsing away the fear I had yesterday.

All clear.

For now.

Closing my eyes, I turn my face into the spray and let the hot water soak into my skin. The door opens, and then I hear pee hitting the toilet bowl. My eyes fly open. “Are you shitting me? You’re peeing while I’m taking a shower?”

“I need a piss. I’m not waiting to see how long you take in there.”

He finishes up and flushes, and I turn my back to him. Every time I think we have the boundaries set, he smashes straight through them.

He brushes his teeth, using mouthwash and floss, while I stand there under the torrent of water, unsure what the fuck to do.

He opens the shower door and steps inside, and I scoot back. “What are you doing?”

“If you think you can shower first and then ditch me while I’m showering, you have another thing coming to you.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“Save it. We do everything together.”

“You are un-fucking-believable!”

He responds by picking up the soap and sponge and lathering up. He turns me around and starts to wash my back.

I stand as still as a statue as his strong hands move over my skin. The initial shock hardens into a defiant stillness. I will not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I won’t. But when his hands slide lower over my arse, a choked gasp escapes my lips.

“See?” he murmurs, his voice a low growl in my ear. “You like it when I put my hands on you.”

I spin around to face him, slapping his hands away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Too late,” he says, his eyes glinting with dark amusement as they rake over my naked body.

This time, he looks. He takes in every inch of me, from my hardened nipples to my shaven pussy, and a possessive fire burns in his gaze.

“I’m going to touch you everywhere.” The water sluices over his inked chest, his body a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and raw power.

He places his hands flat on the wall on either side of my head, caging me in.

“And you’re going to let me. You’re going to let Daddy take care of you. ”

He steps back, and the sponge, laden with lather, moves to my front.

He traces my collarbones, the curve of my neck, then moves down, deliberately circling my breasts but never touching the peaks.

My nipples ache, hardening into tight points under his torturous gaze.

“You like this,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine.

“Having a man take care of you. Take control.”

“I like being in control,” I bite back, but my voice is breathy, weak.

“Liar. You want a man to take care of you.”

“I don’t need a man. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that,” he says, crouching down and running the sponge between my thighs, making me tremble as he increases the pressure just a bit over my clit before he moves on. “But being an alpha female doesn’t mean you can’t give up your control to a man who is stronger and wants to care for you.”

The feminist in me scowls at his words, but the woman in me practically melts. It’s a war that is going to be difficult to fight.

“You’re being such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmurs, moving the sponge down my calf. He picks up my foot and cleans it, making this the most erotic thing I have ever experienced.

He is a first-class jerk. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

He is unravelling me with care because he knows I’ve had to take care of myself.

Even before Mum died, I was independent.

They made me that way, knowing how hard my life would be in my father’s shadow, as his legacy.

Nathan promised to bear some of the burden, and I let him, but it was all lies.

He used my weaknesses against me to gaslight me, emotionally abuse me, ruin me. I won’t make that mistake again.

His words are a velvet-wrapped trap, and they settle deep in my bones. I watch him rise, water sluicing down the hard planes of his body, his gaze never leaving mine. He takes the sponge and rinses it before dropping it, the soft sound a punctuation mark on his statement.

“I am not a damsel in distress,” I say, my voice a low tremor. “And you are not my saviour.”

“No,” he agrees, reaching out to take the shower head from its holder. He aims the spray at my body, the warm water rinsing away the soap. “I’m the monster who keeps the other monsters away.”

The water cascades over me, and I stand there, letting him do it. His control is absolute, his actions deliberate. It’s a violation and a seduction at the same time. When he’s finished, he turns the water on himself, washing with a brutal efficiency that is as captivating as it is intimidating.

I don’t wait for him to finish. I shove the glass door open and step out, the cool air a shock against my heated skin.

I grab a thick, fluffy towel and wrap it around myself, a flimsy shield against his overwhelming presence.

He follows a moment later, a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his hard body.

It takes every ounce of strength I have not to lick it away as it rolls down his abs.

I turn from him again, out of sight, out of mind, but it doesn’t work. He grasps my upper arm and turns me back to face him. He reaches out to flick the towel loose, and it drops to the floor at my feet. “You want me to look, Venetia? I’m looking.”

“Then why aren’t you touching?” I murmur.

He contemplates that for a moment before answering. “You aren’t ready for that yet.”

A harsh, humourless laugh escapes me. “Not ready? You think you know what I can handle?” I take a step forward, closing the small gap between us.

My hand comes up, my fingers tracing the line of a serpent tattooed on his ribs.

His muscles tense under my touch, but he doesn’t move.

“Maybe it’s you who isn’t ready, Daddy .

Maybe you’re afraid of what will happen when you finally lose control. ”

His gaze darkens, a storm brewing in its navy depths. “I don’t lose control.”

“Everyone has a breaking point,” I whisper, my nails scraping lightly against his skin. I feel a tremor run through him, a flicker of something he quickly suppresses. “I’m very good at finding them.”

His hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist, his grip like steel.

He pulls my hand away from his body, his eyes burning into mine.

“You play with fire, wildcat, you’re going to get burnt.

” He releases me with a slight shove, putting space between us again.

“Now get dressed. You need to eat and find out what the fuck you’re meant to be doing here, remember? ”

He turns his back on me then, a clear dismissal, and pulls on a pair of black jeans.

The bastard. He ignites the fire, watches it burn, and then walks away like he’s bored with the show.

I stand there, naked and seething, the ghost of his touch a brand on my skin.

He’s right about one thing. I am playing with fire. But I’ve always enjoyed the heat.