Page 101 of Venomous Desires

Black dots danced in front of my eyes. The room spun, tilting as I struggled to stay conscious. Damn it. I should’ve eaten something. But the truth was, I hadn’t eaten properly in days—three days, maybe more. And now, it was all catching up with me; my body betraying me just as much as he had.

I fought to keep myself awake, desperate not to lose consciousness in front of him. Who knew what he’d do if I passed out? But it was another wishful thought, another futile effort.

His hand grabbed my upper arm with a force that sent a jolt of pain through me. I was yanked up, my legs unsteady, the jeans bunched around my ankles making me stumble. My breath hitched as I tried to regain my balance, but he wasn’t having it.

He stepped on the fabric, pinning it to the floor, and withone rough tug, he forced me out of it. I gasped weakly, but it was swallowed by the look he gave me—a look that promised more pain, more humiliation.

I stilled, lowering my head, letting him strip me of the last shred of my dignity. He took the jeans from me with ease, leaving me standing there in nothing but a thin, full-sleeved undershirt and his blazer.

The fabric clung to me, the only barrier between my trembling body and his relentless gaze. I could feel the cold air against my skin in contrast to the burning humiliation coursing through me.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, his eyes raking over me like I was nothing more than a possession, something to be used and discarded at his whim. My knees wobbled, the darkness in my vision creeping closer, but I fought to stay upright, to maintain what little control I had left.

But it was slipping. Everything was slipping.

His hand moved again, not to strike, but to grip my chin, forcing me to look up at him. My breath hitched, fear spiking as our eyes met. “You still have some fight left in you, I see.”

I wanted to fight back, to tell him he was wrong, but the energy was draining from me, my body weakening with every passing second. I could feel myself fading, the black dots multiplying until they swallowed everything.

And then the darkness took me.

?

I woke up with a pounding head and confusion. For a second, I couldn’t recognise where I was.

Blinking against the haziness, the room slowly came into focus. My thoughts scattered like shards of glass, and cut deeper into my pounding skull. The scent of oud and sandalwood—though faint, yet unmistakable—had me have a mini heart attack.

Judas.

My pulse quickened and panic threaded through the fog. Heavy curtains were draped over the windows and I realised the room heating system was on.

I tried to sit up, but the dizziness pulled me back, pinning me to the bed. The events leading up to this moment were a blur, fragmented images that refused to piece together. How did I end up here? What happened?

My fingers curled into the soft sheets as I fought to reclaim my scattered thoughts.

And then my eyes widened, heart stuttering as I threw off the thick blanket in a panic. Goodness gracious.

That bastard.

I stared down at myself, horror flooding my veins. He hadn’t even bothered to put my jeans back on me. The realization hit like a slap—I was lying completely naked in his bed, save for the thin, full-sleeved undershirt clinging to my skin.

I clenched the blanket, fighting the surge of humiliation that crawled up my throat. Judas had stripped me of my dignity. My mind vied to make rough calculations, trying to piece together how long I had been out. Had the day already set?

Panic bubbled up and almost choked me. How could I face him—or anyone—in this state? I needed to get out.

I swung my legs off the bed, but the moment my feet touched the cold floor, a sharp sting shot through my thighs and—good grief—my arse. I winced, instinctively rubbing the sore spot, hoping to God it wasn’t as red as it felt. Of course, it would be just my luck.

That maniac actually spanked me.

I huffed in utter disbelief, and irritation bubbled up. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and I needed to find some clothes. Or at the very least, something to cover my sore, probably red, undoubtedly bruised dignity.

Working in this mansion had its perks, though—like knowing exactly where Judas kept his closet. Without wasting any more time, I made a beeline for it. If he had the audacity to strip me down, I’d have no worries about borrowing his clothes.

Rifling through his neatly arranged wardrobe, I found a pair of his sweatpants. They were ridiculously large, but they’d have to do. I folded the waistband and tightened the drawstrings, but even then, they still hung low on my hips, almost slipping. Not wanting to trip over myself, I folded the hems at the ankles and did my best to make them look halfway decent.

Satisfied enough, I stumbled toward the door, my makeshift outfit still too big but manageable. I reached for the doorknob, and I paused, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I had no idea what—or who—was waiting for me on the other side, but one thing was certain: I wasn’t leaving this place without a fight, oversized sweatpants and all.

I pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor; the cool air hit my face as I forced myself to move forward. The soreness in my legs was not helping, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. The sooner I got out of here, the better.