Page 163
Chapter 163 of "Tempting Venom" opens introducing the plot: He’s not the type to be used, he’s the type to be protected.And I have... Continue exploring!
He’s not the type to be used, he’s the type to be protected.
And I have no idea what that means. I’ve never wanted to protect anyone other than Mom, and that makes sense, because she’s my mother, who raised me and protected me.
Preston, however, has done nothing for me except piss me off on the regular.
Is it a sense of conquest? A need to make this wild horse fully submit to me?
Whatever the reason, I find myself standing in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror.
But he stares straight through me.
His green eyes looking muddy now, barely alive, as if the light has been stolen from him.
“Can you hear me?” I ask in a clear, firm voice.
He doesn’t move, just keeps staring ahead as a droplet of water falls from his hair and slides down his face like a tear.
“Preston.” I slowly palm his cheek and stroke my thumb along the skin gently. “Baby, look at me.”
No reaction.
Just long, oppressive silence.
I step closer until my chest is fully pressed against his, and his steady, slow heartbeat collides with mine.
My lungs fill with him in a second.
He smells like me—clean soap and a hint of cedar. And I get even closer, wrapping an arm around his lithe waist, fusing my body with his.
“Come on, my prince.” I stroke my thumb over his cheek. “Don’t shut me out. You know I don’t react well to that.”
I lift his chin up with my index finger and brush my lips against his cold ones. “Let me in.”
He shudders in my grip but doesn’t move otherwise, so I do it again, stroking his lips with mine a few times. Then I dart out my tongue, licking a line over his shivering mouth. “Baby…kiss me back like you did the other night.”
I nibble on his lower lip, and he opens for me like such a good boy. I thrust my tongue inside, finding his, stroking it lightly at first, then I devour him.
A moan rips out of him, like a sound that was buried in a well and was finally set free. He plants both hands to the small of my back, his fingers curling in my T-shirt, clawing at the skin as he blinks.
His eyes widen when they clash with mine, that etherealgreen color brightening as if a flash of life has been injected straight into his veins.
He looks disoriented, a bit bemused, like earlier when he woke up and seemed to have forgotten where he was.
But something happens—something that makes me tighten my grip around his waist, my fingers digging deep into his hip.
Preston closes his eyes and kisses me.
Just like at the top of that cliff, he deepens the kiss and I grab his jaw tighter, angling his head to get better access.
He grunts in my mouth as our tongues stroke one another, ripping at each other, but slowly, so slowly, my heartbeat skyrockets.
My entire body is attuned to him, his breaths, his touch, the way he trembles faintly in my arms as if he’s just been resurrected.
“You taste so good,” he grumbles against my mouth. “Whydo you taste so good, Marcus?”
I nibble on his bottom lip, still clutching his jaw in my palm. “Do you not want me to taste good?”
He shakes his head once, even as he steals another kiss, dropping a light peck on the corner of my mouth. That’s one of the few times he’s done that—take something from me instead of being along for the ride.