Page 49 of Tempting Venom
But he just remains still, his hands lying lifeless on either side of him on the ground.
What the fuck is this dilemma on steroids thinking now?
Isn’t the whole point of provoking me and calling me names to fight? So why the fuck isn’t he fighting?
Not that I care what he or anyone else says about my sexuality, but he needs to be taught a lesson in manners, so he’ll stop being a judgmental little bitch.
I’m about to punch him again when something happens.
My throbbing knuckles pause in midair as Armstrong bursts out laughing, the sound manic in the silent darkness.
A sheen of derangement overtakes his face.
Blood stains his teeth like a vampire, and he’s looking straight through me.
As if I’m not here.
As if he’s staring at some imaginary friend.
I shake him with my grip on his collar. “Where have you gone? Look at me.”
He blinks once, still laughing, but his glassy gaze stabilizes a bit, a flash of light showing through.
And it’s…fascinating.
Like a lightning bolt in the darkness.
“Go ahead,” he says through his laughter. “Hit me.”
“I’m the wrong person to tell that. I enjoy hitting people a bit too much.”
“Go on, then. Show me how much you enjoy it. Or do you prefer I call you names before you do that?—”
His words end in a grunt as I slam my fist into his face, sending it flying sideways. Then I do it again. And again.
He practically vibrates beneath my fist, his entire body coming alive.
But not as much as mine.
Because fuck. I’ve never hit someone this…way. Like I want to fuck them into the tree while I’m beating them to within an inch of their lives.
I want to bend him over and pound his ass as I spank him, drive my fingers into his loud mouth, and make himsuck on them, choke on them, as his saliva drips down my fingers?—
Fucking hell.
I’m hard as I keep pummeling him.
He takes it all, letting me bloody his beautiful face that he takes extreme pride in. It’s not a secret that he’s an egotistical maniac with enough arrogance to rival Narcissus.
But he’s letting me beat him.
Me, the rat from the slums, as he likes to call me.
Me, the guy who he thinks is so far beneath him, I don’t exist on his radar.
And it’s making my dick hard.
His bloody face, his shaking body, even his manic laughter.
