Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

following her.
“My dad, probably not.” She carries her bag, with her keys out as we
head for the front door. “My mom won’t bother us.”
She unlocks the door and steps inside, lights immediately illuminating
without Clay doing anything. I hesitate a moment as she heads for the small
entryway table and drops her keys into a blue glass bowl.
“It doesn’t look like she’s home yet,” Clay says. “Her keys aren’t here.”
The hair on my arms rises, feeling the air conditioning escaping as I
inhale the scent of new things.
Or really the scent of almost nothing. Like how a furniture store smells.
Or a library or a car dealership. Like places where people don’t live.
My house smells like wet wood, the spiced rum Trace spilled all over the
floor last week, and last night’s spaghetti.
I step inside, closing the door behind me, and hit the sensor on the wall,
the lights dimming again. I feel a little safer in the dark. Just like Clay.
She spins around, dropping her bag to the floor, and I approach her, the
only warm thing in this house.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
The crystals of the chandelier clink overhead as the air circulates, and the
stairwell looms behind her, both rooms on either side of the center hall dark,
except for the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains.
She drops her eyes, and I swear I see a blush.
“My mom always keeps so much food in the fridge,” she laughs,
sounding nervous, “I don’t know why. She barely eats, and my dad’s hardly
here.”
I don’t want food.
“I want to see your room,” I tell her.
I’m pretty sure she saw mine even before I invited her in. I can’t imagine
she resisted the urge at Night Tide.
I’ll feel safer behind a closed door. Hopefully she doesn’t have a
chandelier in there, too, and I can forget that I’m in the house of one of St.
Carmen’s most influential families.
I cock my head, watching her. But then… I kind of like that I’m here. In
the house of one of St. Carmen’s most influential families.
About to fuck their daughter.
I keep my smile to myself, loving that she’s suddenly nervous like it’s our
first time.