Page 296 of Darling Venom
The worst part was, I knew it’d be like all the other times they’d “broken up” and gotten back together ten seconds later. I’d succumbed to the magic of a starless night, convincing myself it would be different because that was what I wanted to believe.
For a startling moment, Nash’s arrogance fled, and he took me in.
Really took me in.
My whitened fingers clenched the robe. My chest rose and fell to a staccato rhythm as I reminded myself I needed to breathe to live. The alarm gleamed within my eyes. They darted from Nash to the framed picture of me and Reed laughing on the wall, and I realized that I’d ruined my chances of ever being with Reed after having sex with his brother.
It was pity mixed with that damned disgust I saw in Nash Prescott’s eyes.
He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and said, “Either sleep or leave. I have a meeting in a few hours.”
His words were harsh, but I recognized them for what they were.
Sympathy.
He was giving me an out, a way to flee without addressing any of the mortifying details that brought me here tonight. I latched onto it like he’d thrown me a life raft.
“You’re unbelievable,” I retorted, but they were halfhearted words, because if he treated me any differently, I’d probably cry.
And I was not a crier.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” He nodded to the mess of cum we made on the sheets. “We’re going to forget this ever happened. You didn’t fuck the wrong brother. I didn’t fuck an eighteen-year-old.” His lips curled into a sneer as he said my age. “Neither of us will tell Reed. Understood?”
Finally, something I agreed with.
“Crystal clear.” I grazed my lip with my front teeth. “Promise you won’t tell Reed?”
Nash watched me for a moment, something like disappointment flickering in his eyes, before he reached over and switched off the light. “Get out of the room, Winthrop.”
“Gladly, Prescott.”
I dashed back to my house, fumbling with the lock to my back door and rushing my way into my room. Flipping the lock behind me, I turned the knob twice to be sure and dove onto my bed. Pulling the sheets completely over my head, I panted into the silky fabric.
I’d left my ripped underwear on Reed’s floor. I prayed Nash had the decency to throw them in a ditch somewhere or burn them in a fifty-foot bonfire. My breath fogged under the covers, but I couldn’t bring myself to lower them or do something sane like take a shower.
Five-thousand threads of bliss stained with sweat and our cum.
I’d learned two things tonight.
First—I could orgasm during sex, and I would never be the same.
Second—I hated Nash Prescott.
emery, 20; nash, 30
EASTRIDGE DAILY NEWS
On the Anniversary of The Winthrop Scandal, We Remember Victims
by Aaron Bishop
We remember the sirens, the surprise F.B.I.-S.E.C. joint raid, the rumors spreading like wildfire across Eastridge: Gideon Winthrop allegedly embezzled from Winthrop Textiles. None of us could believe it. Not even after acting Mayor Cartwright announced the formal FBI investigation launched into Gideon Winthrop and Winthrop Textiles.
Two years later, a company that once employed over eighty percent of the Eastridge workforce has shut down, the life savings of Winthrop Textiles employees who had the misfortune of investing in Winthrop Textiles have been obliterated, and two people have lost their lives. Yet, no concrete evidence has been found, and no charges have been pressed against Gideon Winthrop.
On the anniversary of The Winthrop Scandal, we remember the victims.
We remember those who fell homeless after losing their jobs.
