Page 85 of Venomous Desires

I clenched my thighs together, a futile attempt to suppress the unbearable ache twisting inside me. My breathing hitched as his free hand skimmed lower, gripping my hip possessively.

“This is what happens when you disobey,” he mused, voice dark and taunting. “But maybe that’s what you wanted, hm? To be handled like this.”

My lips parted, but his grip on my hair tightened, cutting off the words before they could leave my mouth. His laughter was pure sin; his body pressing closer until there was no space left between us.

“Go on, fight me,” he dared, dragging his knife slowly across my skin, not enough to cut, just enough to remind me it was there. “I love it when they fight.”

The awareness hit me like a sledgehammer, and my struggles grew weaker, the fight draining out of me. Tears streamed down my face, but I refused to let him see me break.

“You’re a monster,” I spat with a trembling voice of fear and hatred.

He chuckled, and I felt him lean down, nuzzling his face into my neck and biting the skin in the process. The pain mixed with the unwanted intimacy made me shudder.

My anger flared again, hot and fierce. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give in completely. He pulled his weight off me and then yanked me up with him, his touch wild and rough. His hands roamed freely over my body, his fingers pressing into my skin with a cruel familiarity. There was a wild gleam in his eyes, and his gaze was more piercing now that I knew he was notblind. I swallowed hard, feeling the full weight of his predatory stare.

“Be a good little girl,” he warned. He looked as dishevelled as me, but unlike me, he enjoyed this chaos.

I tried to pull the same move I had earlier, raising my knee to strike him. But this time, he saw it coming from a mile away. He slammed me back onto the hood of the truck, his face contorted with anger.

“The first time was a success because I was busy fucking your mouth with my tongue,” he snarled, his grip tightening painfully. “Raise your knee again, and I’ll chop off your legs.”

His words sent a new wave of terror through me, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I glared at him, my hatred burning in my eyes. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my face.

“You think you can defy me?” he whispered, his tone mocking. “You think you have any control here?”

I spat at him, my defiance unwavering. “You’re nothing but a sadistic bastard. You’ll never own me.”

His smile widened, and he wiped the spit from his face with a slow, deliberate motion. “Oh, Ptichka,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “You have no idea how much I enjoy playing with you.”

He pressed his body against mine, his hands roaming with brutally. His touch was invasive; each movement designed to remind me of his control. But even as he violated my body, I held onto my anger, my hatred. It was the only weapon I had left.

“You’ll never break me,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the fear.

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “We’ll see.”

His grin turned feral as he leaned in, his lips crashing against mine. I shut my eyes. The kiss became violent. His hands roughly grabbed both of my wrists, pinning them above my head with a force that made me whimper in pain. His knee drovebetween my legs, preventing me from driving my knee into his worthless jewels again. I hated him with every fibre of my being.

I kept my mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But the demon of a man bit my lips hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste mixing with my emotions.

“Open up, Ptichka,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You don’t get to ignore me.”

I glared at him, hoping he could see defiance burning in my eyes. His response was a dark, twisted laugh that echoed in the empty lot. His face was inches from mine, and I could see every detail of his unhinged expression. He was undeniably handsome, with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me. His dark hair was tousled, giving him a rugged, almost dangerous charm. But all he was. A superficially beautiful man and nothing more. He was as ugly underneath.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “So beautiful when you’re angry.”

“You’re playing a game with rules you don’t even know yet,” he murmured, his gaze tracing the panic on my skin. “Tell me, little bird—what does freedom taste like when I own the air in your lungs?”

My rage boiled over, and before I could think, I spit on his face. “You’re a sadistic bastard. You’ll never own me.”

The realization hit all at once. No, his smile didn’t change, but his eyes did. There was something wrong with them. They looked feral. That was the frightening part. The certainty behind it. Like hurting people wasn’t a choice. It was simply who he was.

He stopped. The spit slid down his cheek. He wiped it away, slow enough to make my stomach knot. He smiled. Like I’d done exactly what he’d hoped I would.

It should anger him; instead, he let out a groan. “Spit on me again.”

His grip on my fingers tightened, and amusement replaced all sense.

He seemed to like it.