Page 9 of Venomous Kiss

“I own Patrick’s Aviation,” he tells me, watching me intently as if waiting for my reaction to his words.

I recall hearing of it. I think I saw it on a Forbes list once.

“So, you fly planes?”

“Among other things.”

“You don’t kill people?” I ask, hoping he can’t read the extreme interest pouring from me right now. “I think you should come home with me,” I add when he doesn’t say anything.

“If I kill people, your sense of judgment would be terrible right now,” he says, studying me.

“You never know. Maybe I’m hoping you’ll kill me… or my pussy.” I wink at him. Something about this man intrigues me, and I am hoping he will do things to my body that will make me feel, compared to the dead inside feeling that my husband inflicted. Even after I settled for him, hoping that one day I might feel normal with a husband, but instead, mine went and cheated on me—the bastard.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Lilith.”

He smirks. “Is that real or made up?”

Reaching into my purse, I pull out my ID and show it to him. He eyes me before he nods.

“What’s yours?”

“Reon.”

Scrunching up my nose, I say, “That’s a weird name.”

“If you say so.”

I down the rest of my vodka before I turn back to him. “Ready to go?”

He throws money on the counter and stands. “Where?”

“To fuck, where else.”

“Why so eager? Wouldn’t you prefer I take you out for dinner first?” Reon questions.

“How often do you do that?” I ask, my hand going to my hip. I don’t want this to be complicated. I want this to be fun. It’s something I haven’t done in a long time.

“Well…” He thinks about it. “Never.”

“You’ve never been married?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“Good. It’s overrated.”

Turning, I stride to the door and pull it open. The night air hits me first, and then I feel the alcohol hit me even harder. With what I had at home, plus here, I’m just over the line of tipsy but not drunk enough to forget everything that happened today. “What’s the time?”

“Seven,” he answers, and I smile. That means Deven will likely be asleep—his job demands that he start early because something so mundane as fucking his co-host would not affect his routine, or you know, the fact that his marriage is falling apart.

“When was the last time you had sex?” I ask, heading down the street, with him following behind me. I don’t live too far from here. Deven likes living closer to the city, but I hate it.

I’d prefer to live on a large plot of land without neighbors.

Fuck everyone.

“Maybe I should have asked if you’re a serial killer,” Reon says as he comes up next to me, his hands sliding into his pockets.