Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

hurts. It fucking hurts to see her touching him, and I’m sick of tap dancing
around her bullshit. Does she have any idea how much that cut today, to see
her in his arms?
“You’ve been the best I’ve had,” I tell her. “It’s like nothing else, Clay.
Honestly. But I don’t want to ruin this. Maybe we should stop before—”
“Baby…” she bites out, interrupting me. “If I think you’re not mine, I
might make a scene. Be very careful what you say next.”
Her hard voice cuts into my ear, the sudden threat a surprise.
And I smile, despite myself. I do like Clay’s jealousy.
“Are you threatening me?” I jibe. “You haven’t seen what I can do yet.”
“Oh, I know what you can do.”
And my phone buzzes with a text. I look at the screen, click on the photo,
and see Clay on her stomach. She peeks over her arm, locks of hair in her
face and her naked back visible just before her naked ass.
Heat pools between my thighs, and I gaze at her skin and mussed hair like
she always looks after I’m done with her.
I groan louder than I expect before putting the phone back to my ear.
“You can do anything you want to me, that’s what,” she says. “And I
want to take you on a date tomorrow night, to Mariette’s.”
I listen. A date?
“You ever eat raw oysters?” she goes on. “I want to watch you eat and get
you drunk and hot on tequila and sweat with you and fuck you in the back
seat of my car. And I want to do that as many times as I can before we have
to leave each other in August, because nothing feels better than you, Jaeger.
Nothing.”
I lick my lips, my whole body wired and hot, and she’s fucking right.
She’s the only thing I look forward to.
“Turn over,” I tell her. “I want a topless one.”
She’s got pictures of me. It’s my turn now.
A moment later, my phone vibrates, and I see her sitting on the edge of
the bed, the phone up high with a view of everything from her little smirk
down to her stomach. I strain my eyes, trying to see farther down than where
the picture cuts off, but I’ll have to wait to see her in person, I guess.
“I’ll meet you there at eight,” I say.
“I’ll bring the booze.”
And we hang up, an excited smile that I don’t release warming my blood.
“God, I think I like you a little,” I whisper.