Page 38 of Venom (St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy #1)

Venetia

I can feel every touch, every caress, from both of them as if their hands are made of pure fire.

My body is a live wire, sparking with each flick of Rafferty’s tongue and each firm stroke of Viper’s hands.

The steam from the shower envelops us, creating a world where only the three of us exist. I am their goddess, and they are my worshippers.

Rafferty’s mouth on my clit is a relentless, delicious torture, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me.

Viper’s hands roam over my body, possessive and sure, cleaning me with a reverence that feels like a sacred ritual.

His touch is a claim, a reminder that I belong to him, even as Rafferty devours me.

My hips grind against Rafferty’s mouth, seeking more of the exquisite torment he’s inflicting.

His teeth graze my clit lightly, sending a sharp spike of pleasure-pain through me that makes me gasp.

Viper’s hands tighten on my hips, holding me steady as Rafferty continues his assault.

The dual sensation of their touches, one rough and demanding, the other careful and possessive, is overwhelming.

The pleasure builds inside me like a storm about to sweep me away, and with a wicked smile, my eyes closed, I pant, “Blake.”

They both freeze, before Rafferty chuckles. “Oh, you are naughty, aren’t you?”

I open one eye and smile down at him. “He should be here.”

“He will. In time,” Viper whispers in my ear.

Rafferty’s mouth on me becomes more insistent, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to drive me to the brink of ecstasy, and I break, falling apart in their arms as my orgasm crashes over me.

My clit throbs under Rafferty’s tongue, and my knees buckle.

But Viper is there to hold me up, keep me steady.

Rafferty removes his mouth and rises, cupping my face, his face serious as he searches my eyes. “We will fight this with you,” he murmurs. “Whoever is coming for you will find us as well.”

I nod, accepting the oath for what it is, and then I wriggle out of their grasp. “I have an afternoon lecture. I’d better go.”

I leave them standing in the steam, two apex predators momentarily stunned by my abrupt shift.

The power dynamic is a seesaw, and right now, the balance is tipped firmly in my favour.

I grab a fresh towel, drying myself with brisk, efficient movements, hyper-aware of their eyes on me.

Every drop of water sliding down my skin feels like a caress under their intense scrutiny.

Rafferty chuckles and gets out, with Viper following him.

Looking in the wardrobe, I pull out a black dress and step into it.

It falls to my ankles in a cascade of pure silk and shows off my assets with a halter neck.

The bruises on my ribs twinge with pain, but I ignore them.

I run a brush through my damp hair, my reflection in the mirror a stranger with wild eyes and swollen lips.

A woman who has just been claimed by two killers.

Viper steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, his expression unreadable as he pulls on his standard uniform of combat pants and tee.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, I smile, and I pick up my bag. “Try not to look like you want to murder the professor this time.”

His mouth quirks into that slow, dangerous half-smile. “No promises.”

Rafferty leaves a few minutes after Viper is dressed, giving me a searing look that promises he’s not done with me yet. I hope not. The thought sends a shiver of pure, unadulterated lust through me.

Viper’s hand settles on the small of my back as we leave the room, a possessive, grounding weight.

He’s checked the hallway twice before we step out, his senses on high alert.

The walk to the lecture hall is different this time.

The whispers are quieter, more fearful. The stares are a mixture of awe and outright terror.

News of Maddox Headley’s condition, combined with the fact that I walked away with little more than a few bruises, has cemented my reputation.

I am no longer just the mafia princess with a bodyguard; I am a queen who carries out her own sentences.

It’s a crown I wear with grim satisfaction.

We enter the lecture hall, and a hush falls over the room.

I find my seat, and Viper takes his place beside me, a silent, menacing shadow.

Professor Hargreaves glances up as I sit, his gaze lingering on the dark marks on my throat for a fraction of a second too long.

A flicker of something crosses his face before he schools his expression back to academic neutrality.

I open my notebook, and the lecture begins, but my mind isn’t on trafficking routes.

It’s on the chilling memory of a black lily, the memories of a ghost I thought I’d left behind.

I’m more convinced than ever that Nathan wasn’t a part of this.

Originality was never his strong suit. This is someone bigger, badder and has their sights set on destroying me before I destroy them. The question is who?

Refocusing my attention on Hargreaves, I take meticulous notes, pen to paper.

Most students are recording the lecture to watch later while they daydream about Daddy’s money and power and their own little place carved out in the mafia heir world.

Not me. If I’m here, I’m going to learn whatever I can to step out of my dad’s shadow.

If I don’t, I will forever be in this gilded cage, and that is not the life I want.

It’s not the life my mum would’ve wanted for me.

Professor Hargreaves’s voice is a low, hypnotic drone, weaving a complexity of violence and commerce.

“The most effective criminal organisations don’t rely on brute force,” he says, pacing slowly before the tiered seating.

“They operate on leverage. Financial, emotional, political. They find the fracture points in a system—or a person—and apply pressure until it shatters.”

Blake Locke.

His gaze sweeps the lecture hall and snags on mine. It’s not the fearful curiosity of the other students. It’s sharp. Analytical. Like a biologist observing a new, potentially dangerous species. Viper shifts beside me, a barely perceptible tensing of muscle. He feels it too.

“Take, for example,” Hargreaves continues, his eyes still holding mine, “the use of symbolic threats. Not the act of violence itself, but the promise of it. It’s a tool of psychological warfare, designed to destabilise, to create paranoia. The victim becomes their own jailer.”

The air in the room thickens, becoming heavy and suffocating.

Viper’s hand rests on his thigh, his fingers flexing almost imperceptibly.

He’s ready to move. The professor’s words are no longer abstract theory; they are a targeted dissection of my current reality.

He’s either the most astute academic I’ve ever met, or he’s involved.

I harden my gaze. I will not be intimidated. I will not be his fucking case study.

Hargreaves smiles faintly, a dry, academic curl of the lips that holds no warmth. “A well-placed symbol can be more effective than a bullet,” he concludes, his gaze finally breaking from mine to scan the rest of the room. “It turns the mind into a prison. Questions for next time.”

The tension breaks as students begin packing their bags, the rustle of paper and zipping of backpacks filling the sudden silence. I don’t move, my eyes still fixed on the professor as he gathers his notes at the lectern.

“Let’s go,” Viper murmurs, his voice a low growl near my ear.

I pack my things slowly, deliberately.

We head to the next lecture with Professor Vance’s Psychology of Management.

Before we’ve even sat down, he starts, “Today, we are covering psychological conditioning techniques for workforce compliance.”

I stare at Professor Vance, a bland-looking man in a tweed jacket. He is glaring at Viper like he is a snake ready to strike. He’s not wrong.

“Repetition, reward, and punishment,” Vance says, gesturing with a piece of chalk. “The cornerstones of altering behaviour. A subject can be trained to respond to specific stimuli, to associate pleasure with compliance and pain with defiance, until their will is no longer their own.”

The words are a perfect, chilling summary of my life with Nathan. His gifts after a fight. The cold shoulder when I disobeyed. His constant, insidious chipping away at my confidence.

Professor Vance smiles, a bloodless, academic expression. “The most effective conditioning is when the subject believes the new behaviour is their own idea. They become a willing participant in their own subjugation.”

A shiver traces its way down my spine.

My skin crawls, the academic language a clinical, cold-fingered probe into the most damaged parts of my past. It’s not just a lecture; it’s a fucking vivisection of my relationship with Nathan, laid bare for a room full of strangers.

I clench my jaw, the muscle ticking in protest. My gaze slides to Viper.

He sits beside me, a bastion of quiet menace, and the irony is a bitter pill on my tongue.

He’s the epitome of conditioning. Daddy.

His control, his protection, his carefully meted-out praise and disapproval—it’s all a form of it.

A far more potent and honest form than Nathan’s insidious manipulation, but a cage is a cage, no matter how gilded.

When the lecture finally ends, I’m out of my seat before the last syllable has faded, the need for fresh air a physical ache in my lungs. The sterile, intellectual cruelty of the past few hours has left me feeling flayed open.

“That was…” Viper starts, his hand coming to rest on my lower back as we join the throng of students exiting the hall.

“A fucking head-fuck,” I finish for him, my voice tight.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anymore, in fact, he looks like he wants to bolt. Part of me wishes he would, just so I could breathe in peace. But another part wants him close, wants him to control me, take charge, and be the leader in this increasingly confusing game. What has my dad done to me?

Before the next lecture, I mercifully run into Blake, who appears to be going the same way. “You’re in this lecture?” I ask.

“I am, lucky me,” Blake says, his smile a weapon of slow, lethal charm.

“Corporate Espionage and Counterintelligence. A necessary skill set, wouldn’t you agree?

” His gaze flickers to Viper, a silent, intellectual challenge that passes between them.

Viper’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

He doesn’t like Blake’s brand of quiet menace, the way he can dismantle a person with words instead of fists.

For my part, I’m grateful for the buffer.

The last two lectures were a relentless assault on my psyche, and Blake’s cool, detached presence is a welcome antidote to Viper’s suffocating intensity.

“Let’s go then,” I say, slipping my hand into Blake’s and enjoying his smile. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”

We walk into the lecture hall as a trio, a trinity of disruption.

Whispers follow us. They see me, flanked by the brute and the banker you don’t want to owe, and their imaginations must be running wild.

I find a seat, and Blake slides in beside me.

Viper takes the seat on my other side, a silent, immovable mountain of disapproval.

The professor, a woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper suit, begins without preamble.

“Counterintelligence is not merely about foiling plots. It is about turning your enemy’s weapons against them.

The most valuable weapon, and the most volatile, is the human asset.

” Her gaze sweeps the room, impersonal yet piercing.

“Often, the asset is chosen for their perceived vulnerabilities. Emotional need. Financial desperation. A desire for power.”

My skin prickles. Viper shifts beside me, his thigh pressing against mine, a solid wall of controlled violence. He hates this.

Blake, on the other hand, leans in. “The most effective asset,” he murmurs, his voice a low counterpoint to the professor’s lecture, “is the one who knows their value. The one who plays the game better than their handler.”

His words are a shot of adrenaline.

I turn my head slightly, my gaze meeting his.

There’s a gleam of understanding in his green eyes, a shared recognition of the game we’re all playing.

He’s not just talking about spies and secrets; he’s talking about me.

He’s acknowledging my agency, my value beyond being a target to be protected or a body to be fucked.

He sees me as a player. An equal. And that is a seduction more potent than any physical touch.

A slow smile spreads across my lips. My hand slides over to rest on his thigh. It’s a blatant claim, a deliberate move in the chess game of our twisted relationship.

Blake’s smile widens. He covers my hand with his, his touch cool and firm, a silent acceptance of my move. “The key is to make your handler believe they’re in control,” he continues, his voice still a low murmur for my ears only, “right up until the moment you own them completely.”

I squeeze his thigh, my heart hammering a fierce rhythm against my bruised ribs.

This. This is the power I crave. I need the physical dominance Viper offers, and the feral passion of Rafferty, but this quiet, cold, absolute power of one mind dominating another is intoxicating.

Blake Locke doesn’t just want to protect the queen; he wants to build her an empire. And I’m going to let him.