Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

I know what he wants.
“You’ll never take enough from people to erase him and how he fucks
your stepmom and fucks your stepsister and hates you.”
His jaw flexes. “You think you know—”
“There’s nothing else to know about you,” I bite out. “You’re not in
control. You’re a bottle of Jack Daniel’s away from slitting your wrists.”
The threat of four bodies surrounding me vibrates off my skin, and I don’t
want to antagonize him and risk myself, but I’m tired of them making me
cower.
And cry. Do your worst, you fucking asshole. I don’t think I can feel any
more pain than I already do today.
I turn, slide my phone into my pocket, and start gluing again, feeling
them all behind me.
I wait for the pushback. For the grab. The yank of my hair.
But it doesn’t come. The bodies in the room start to filter out, the back
door opens and closes, and I glue more pearls, still feeling him behind me.
“We still have a deal,” he says. “And if you accept that role, I expect you
to keep your end of it. Fox Hill. Be ready when I call. I’m dying to see you
fuck.”
I keep working, his words making my stomach roll.
“How is she, by the way?”
I pause for a moment.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” His voice is almost a whisper.
I swallow.
“A woman’s body is made for men.”
My heart punches against my chest, unbidden images of him with Clay…
“She will fuck me,” he says. “You know she will.”
I close my eyes, knowing without a doubt that he’s right. She won’t do it,
because she wants to. She’ll do it because she’s tired of fighting herself and
she’ll give up. She’ll just let it happen, because it’s easier to surrender.
I bite the corner of my mouth to stifle the tears, hearing him leave as the
feel of her floods through me. My arms around her, my nose buried in her
neck.
His mouth on her body, his fingers inside of her.
I drop my tools, a sob lodged in my throat. Fuck her. How did I let her do
this to me?
As if on auto-pilot, I take my bag, leave the store, and lock the doors.