Sweetest Venom Page 11

  “Show me,” I say before biting her neck.

  Rachel reaches down to touch me, wrapping my cock in her small hand. Arching, she begins to rub me against her pussy, wetting the head, making me shiver, driving us both mad. She places the swollen head in her entrance and grabs my ass, pulling me inside her snug, wet cunt and wraps her legs around my hips. She gasps and I groan when I’m deeply rooted in her pussy.

  I keep my hold on her one wrist and begin to fuck her in slow and easy strokes, feeling the walls of her cunt tighten around me, stretching for me.

  “What are you …” she moans. In. “doing to me …” Out. “I can’t get enough of you …” In. “And Carl’s waiting …” Out.

  “He can wait. I’m having my breakfast.”

  Letting go of her hands, I prop myself up on my forearms and continue to thrust, sinking deeper each time and pulling out farther. My arms are shaking and her body is trembling underneath me. My vision blurs. Her whimpers get more desperate. The pace is hard and fast now. Demanding. Urgent. And only release will soothe the fever spreading in our bodies.

  I stop moving, my entire frame shaking with the painful need to release. My cock still buried inside her, I prolong the torture and withhold our pleasure. She circles her hips desperately, seeking her own release.

  “Ronan … I can’t take it anymore. I need to …”

  “Rub your clit, Rachel. Feel me inside your cunt.”

  Looking down to where we’re connected as one, I see her touching herself, touching my cock covered in her—glistening with her need. I groan. Fucking losing it, I begin to pound into her again and again, pumping deeper and deeper, harder and harder. I hear the headboard slam against the wall, the mirror hung above the bed rattles angrily, and the bedsprings squeak loudly as her moans get louder and louder in my ear with each thrust.

  “No more,” she pleads, she begs. Her voice hoarse.

  “Yes, more. And more. And more.”

  And I go harder and harder. The walls of her pussy begin to flutter around me. I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing her cries as I take us both over the edge, coming inside her.

  Rachel and I watch Carl go over some of my photographs in the living room. We’re standing in my small kitchen, waiting for him to decide my future. It’s funny how life works sometimes. Just a couple of weeks ago, I thought that I had hit rock bottom. My life seemed to be in shambles. I had a dead-end job and a broken heart. Then I met Rachel, and now Carl Brunswick is in my apartment, sizing up my work.

  Rachel bumps my shoulder with hers. “What are you thinking about? You’re quiet.”

  I meet her gaze and grin. “Breakfast.”

  She smiles. Lost in memories from this morning, we don’t hear Carl walk toward us until he’s standing two feet away from us. “Ronan, my boy, Rachel wasn’t wrong. You are very talented.” He glances in Rachel’s direction. “Are you all right, honey? You seem flushed.”

  “I-ah-it’s just very warm in here. I’ll be fine. Excuse me.” Her eyes a soft, dazed blue. “I need to use the restroom.” She starts heading there but stops after taking a few steps, realizing that she’s not supposed to know where it is. “Ronan, is it this way?”

  “Let me show you.” I look at Carl who’s smiling knowingly at us. “Excuse me.”

  I follow her and once we’re out of Carl’s sight, I push Rachel up against the wall, my bulge cradled in that soft, warm spot between her legs. I cup her ass possessively, caressing the roundness and lowering my head to hers. “Stop blushing or I’m going to have to take you again.”

  “No … Carl is …” She leans her head to the side, offering herself to me, and closes her eyes.

  “I don’t give a shit.”

  She laughs throatily. “Haven’t you had enough? I can barely walk.”

  “No, Rachel.” I press her lower body into mine, imprinting the outline of my cock on her fancy skirt, showering kisses on her neck, my lips grazing pearls, and the swell of her breasts rising above her shirt. Grinning, I say, “Not by a long shot.”

  “Ronan, please. Be serious.” She swallows and grabs the back of my head, pulling me closer to her. Her words deny but her body eagerly welcomes me.

  I push her straight, perfectly blown out hair out of the way, and begin to suck the back of her neck, marking her. “Oh God … Yes, Ronan. Fine. Later.”

  I let her go and grin like a cocky motherfucker as I watch her walk away with shaky legs and burning eyes, heat spreading through her cheeks.

  Back in the living room, I find Carl looking at another photograph. By the time he notices me, he places the picture down on the coffee table and walks back to the tiny kitchen. “You’re a very talented young man. I’m truly surprised you’ve remained under the radar for so long.”

  “Thank you. I guess I never pursued anything too seriously. Life kept getting in the way.” After I got into art school, Jackie got pregnant and needed my help. I put my dreams on the back burner, quit school, and got a job that paid okay money. We couldn’t allow our grandparents to pay for everything. And then a couple years later, another chance came knocking on my door. Edgar got me in touch with an art dealer, who had seen a shoot that I did for a very obscure fashion magazine and liked what he saw. We set up an appointment to meet at his gallery the day before he was flying to Milan. On my way to the meeting, I got a call from school. Ollie had fallen from the monkey bars and broken his arm. Jackie was working and couldn’t get out of work and our grandparents were away visiting friends in Florida. I called the art dealer and apologized. We never met.

  “I see… A word of advice?”

  “Yes?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Be gentle with her. She just got out of a nasty divorce.”

  Reclining against the fridge, I cross my arms on my chest. “We’re just having fun.”

  He takes his glasses off and carefully polishes them with a handkerchief. “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt, isn’t it?”

  “With all due respect, what Rachel and I choose to do is none of your business.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “She’s an adult, she knows what she’s doing.”

  “I know she is, but do you?”

  I scowl. “What do you mean?”

  “I get the feeling that you’re playing a very dangerous game, Ronan. One that will leave many people hurt. Do you know what I think?”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  Carl stares at me, like he’s able to see past all my walls. “I think that you’re chasing more than fame here—something that Rachel and I can’t give you. I could be wrong, but I rarely am.”

  At that moment, Rachel comes back into the room, forcing us to drop the subject. I make myself unclench my jaw so I can smile at Rachel, who’s watching us carefully.

  “What were you guys talking about? You seem so serious.”

  Staring at Carl, I take Rachel’s hand in mine, raise it to my lips, and kiss it. “Nothing important.”

  “So what do you think, Carl?” She smiles at both of us. “Do you think that Ronan has what it takes to take the art world by storm?”

  He clears his throat, but he can’t erase the concern in his expression. Looking at Carl, I get the sense that part of him wants me to reject their help. In his silence, he’s giving me a chance to do the right thing and walk away from Rachel, but I’m done doing the right thing. For once in my life, I want to think of me and only me.

  I remain silent.

  “I’m fairly certain that he will, Rachel. Question is,” he turns to face me, “are you ready, my boy?”

  So the charade is back on, and I’m not surprised. The thing is, even though I can see the concern and affection that Carl has for Rachel, he can’t hide the greed behind his eyes. He wants me as much as Rachel wants me.

  I shrug.

  “I’ll call my contacts at The New York Minute, The City, and Vanity. One of them will write a profile on you if I ask. We need to start generating some buzz. Do
you have anything else besides what you just showed me? Are you working on something else?”

  I nod, giving him a brief idea of what I want to work on next.

  “Oh! Ho, ho, ho, you rascal.” He rubs his hands excitedly. “This is going to be magnificent.”

  They spend the rest of the hour going over details and mapping out each and every step in my road to success (or perdition). As their words become a meaningless buzz filling my kitchen, an image of my mom on her knees bandaging and kissing my father’s weathered and callused hands flashes through my eyes.

  “You work too hard, Noel. Look at your poor hands.”

  “Not at all. Stand up, Josephine. You know I don’t like you kneeling on the floor. Don’t think about my hands. I’m proud of them. They put a roof over us, clothe and feed our family. And that’s enough for me.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, my love. I want to teach Ronan and Jackie that if you work hard day in and day out and never give up, everything is possible.” He cups her face lovingly, staring into her eyes. “And that dreams do come true.”

  I shake my head. What am I doing?

  “Wait. Hold up. I haven’t said yes. I need to think about this.”

  Carl and Rachel stare at me as if all of a sudden I’ve sprouted two heads. Rachel places her palms flat on the countertop. “What do you mean think about it? I thought we went over this last night. Carl is offering you the chance of a lifetime. A chance people would kill for.”

  “I get that, but—”

  Relentless, she ignores me. “He’s willing to put his name on the line for you because he thinks you can go very far. Think about it, your face on the cover of magazines, articles written about you, interviews, parties, people clamoring for you and your art.” She pauses. “You won’t have to stand outside another Edgar Juarez exhibit as an insignificant guest. Next time, it will be your exhibit and people will be there for you and only you.”

  Carl inspects his manicured nails. “She’s right, Ronan. Dignity and pride won’t get you out of”—he scans my apartment—”here.”

  I run my hands through my hair, wanting to pull it out. “I haven’t said no. I just need time to think about it, okay? Give me a break.”

  Carl pats my shoulder. “We’re just trying to help you. You make it seem as though you were selling your soul to the devil, my boy.”

  Why does it feel like I am?

  Later, as we’re being driven away in a black Escalade, Rachel reaches for my hand and asks, “What are you so afraid of?”

  I look out the window and see a pair of blue eyes staring back at me.

  “I’m a gold digger, you know? I fuck for money.” She stares at me, a cruel smirk on her achingly beautiful face. “And frankly, it doesn’t look like you could ever pay my price.”

  “Of getting what I want.”

  Blaire

  I’M SITTING AT MY VANITY, getting ready for tonight’s masquerade party, when I hear the door open. Lifting my face, I see Lawrence’s reflection as he walks into the room.

  As I stare at him, so virile yet elegant and immaculate in his tuxedo and without a hair out of place, part of me grows inexplicably sad. All traces of my caring, sweet lover from a week ago are gone. And when our eyes meet in the mirror, and I’m able to look into them, I’m proved right. The fire, the need, the passion, and the playfulness that I saw briefly in those few lovely days are gone, and it makes me want to weep for their loss. His usual cool and detached veneer is back in place. There’s something chilly in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

  Lawrence came back a few days ago and has barely spoken a word to me. He fucks me, takes pleasure in my body, but the banter—the intimacy—is gone. It begins and ends in his bed and in our shared breaths. Something has changed, and I can’t explain exactly what.

  I grip the handle of my brush harder. I hate the fact that his detachment bothers me, that his rejection hurts me—that it matters to me. This is what I signed up for. What I wanted. I know that. But I thought we had shared something special in the days before he left town. I thought that … well, I don’t know what I thought. All I know is that things haven’t been the same since he came back from his trip. I look at my reflection, frowning, as I finally admit to myself that I miss it—I miss him.

  In the long, uncomfortable silence that ensues, Lawrence and I gaze at one another. I see not one glimmer of humor or emotion in his eyes. I turn to look at my flushed reflection in the mirror, hoping to hide my feelings from him.

  “I’m about done,” I say, reaching for my lipstick. I apply a shade of red that matches the red of my Valentino gown perfectly. I feel Lawrence coming up behind me before his cold hands land on my shoulders. It’s hard to imagine that these are the same hands that have touched my body so knowingly and passionately. The thought fills me with inexplicable sadness.

  “Lawrence … I …” I’m going mad wondering what has changed between us? Did I imagine it all? Did I imagine the softness in your eyes, the tenderness in your touch? Did I imagine that, for one moment in time, we shared the beginning of something that I can’t quite describe or understand, yet know deep in my heart that it was beautiful? I want to be honest with him, but the coldness, the cool detachment in his gaze forbids it. I remind myself that what we have is just business. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  “Yes?” He slowly caresses my collarbone. The movement is feather light and it makes me want to lean my back against his front.

  I chicken out. “Oh, nothing. I forgot what I wanted to say.”

  Letting go of my neck, Lawrence places a jewelry case in front of me. “Open it,” he orders in that voice of his that makes me weak in the knees.

  I reach for the black case resting on top of the vanity table and do as told. Gasping in surprise, I stare at a very familiar piece of jewelry. “Could this be?” I raise my gaze to meet his in the mirror. “You didn’t.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You couldn’t have.”

  “Of course I could, and I did.” He reaches for the necklace lying on a bed of white silk and retrieves it. “Lift your hair, please.”

  Following his instructions, I watch Lawrence place the string of diamonds and rubies around my neck. I lift a hand and glide my fingers across the rows of gems shaped like a rose. It’s the same necklace I was admiring at the Met’s exhibit the night we met. He wasn’t joking when he said that he could afford it. “Why?” I ask, meeting his gaze.

  He shrugs nonchalantly.

  “Thank you, but this is too much, Lawrence. Even for me.”

  “Well, that’s a first.” He looks at me with such cold contempt, I’m taken aback. I blush shamefully and hang my head low.

  “No, don’t hang your head. Look at me. I want to admire what I paid for.”

  Following his instruction, our gazes clash on the mirror. He raises a hand and traces with the back of his finger the bright color on my cheeks. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Blaire. After all, isn’t this what you want from me?”

  He lowers one of his hands into the plunging neckline of my dress. When his fingers come into contact with my skin, I shiver in fear … or maybe it’s anticipation … or maybe it’s excitement. But whatever it is, I can’t deny the fact that I’m enslaved to his touch.

  “Isn’t it what you expect from me?” Lawrence continues.

  I hold his hand on my chest, halting the trajectory of his fingers. “Cruelty doesn’t suit you, Lawrence. But yes, that’s all I want from you.” I pause as I gather all my courage to lie to him. When I’m in control of my emotions, I smirk insolently. “What else is there to want besides your money?”

  I aim to wound him with my words for they are the only tools that I have at the moment. And I don’t miss, but then again, I rarely do. I see a flicker of emotion in those calm, icy green eyes of his. Good.

  He smiles coldly. “There’s the Blaire that I know. So full of hate and venom yet breathtakingly beautiful.”

  I let go of him and Lawrence continues to lower
his hand down the opening of my dress. I observe the blink of his expensive Piaget watch, the length of his tuxedo, as his tanned hand traces a path down my sternum. “Watch us,” he orders.

  His hand goes lower and lower, not caring that the silk of my dress may rip. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, I can’t help but spread my legs as Lawrence sinks a finger inside me. He watches me as he slowly adds another finger. I want to close my eyes but I can’t—I won’t. I want to see everything he’s doing to me. Memorize it. Engrave it, so when I look back to this moment, I won’t feel a trace of pain or sorrow or regret.

  Lawrence withdraws his hand. He brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting me. Then he lowers his hand once more, entering me with three fingers this time, his saliva and my body’s reaction to him lubricating his touch. My breath shortens as my pulse accelerates. I grip the edge of the table for balance and bite my lip to stop myself from moaning. I won’t give him the pleasure of knowing what he does to me. He begins to pull them in and out, pumping savagely into me, making my head swirl in pleasure laced with pain. Or is it the other way around?

  The sweet and pungent smell of sex fills the air. I can hear the wetness gathering in my pussy as he enters me with his punishing fingers, with his unforgiving, divine strokes. I feel him all the way to my core, carving his name in the marrow of my bones.

  His thumb starts to rub my clit as he fucks me with his hand, hooking his fingers inside of me, hitting my G-spot deliciously. There’s a fiery, hot blush spreading on the cheeks of the girl staring back at me; her eyes hazy with lust, his ablaze. His breathing accelerates and I ache with unfulfilled passion as he continues to finger fuck me to oblivion. My vision blurs. My body burns. I’m drowning. I’m flying. Everything sings. Everything explodes. And just like that, I come undone. I unravel. And it’s fucking ecstasy.

  When I’m lucid, I watch him withdraw his hand from my body. He raises it and traces my lips with his wet fingers.

  “Open your mouth,” he orders.

  I ignore his demand and he forces his fingers past my lips, making me taste myself on him. Once he removes them from my mouth, he fists my hair in his hand, pulling my head back and making me look up at him. Hovering over me, he hisses angrily, “Taste what my fucking money can buy.” Then, he leans down and presses his lips hard against mine.