Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

my enjoyment as I lower my voice to a whisper. “You just open your legs.”
I let my gaze fall to her lips, the wheels in my head starting to turn.
She’s making no move to leave. I’m not holding her down.
“You just open your legs,” I say again.
We lie in the field, in full view of anyone who decides to come by, but
she doesn’t seem worried about that.
It’s pouring rain. We’re alone.
Just the two of us.
And for a moment, I feel my heart stop. I’m just joking, but what if she
does let her legs fall open? What will I do?
An invisible cord pulls at my hips, urging me to close the distance
between us, but I won’t. Even if the world falls off its axis and turns upside
down, I’ll never want her.
“You make me want to puke,” she says quietly. “Dirty dyke.”
“I bet your daddy likes it dirty,” I retort. “In his fuckpad in Miami?”
Her face falls just a hair but enough, and I know I’ve touched a nerve.
She’s probably wondering how the hell I know about that? And does anyone
else know?
I go on. “When he’s not here trying to take away my family’s land and
kick the rest of Sanoa Bay off its ancestral home, that is,” I explain. “I bet
Callum Ames likes it dirty, too. When his family’s not busy bragging about
its long history of shipping every Seminole out of Florida.”
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the copper key with the triangular
head that opens a door at Fox Hill. I hold it between us, because while it
represents a prime example of how those “with” victimize those “without”
and how there are still men in this world who see women as something to be
used, I’m not above using it to my advantage either.
“When your men are not all busy, patting each other on the back for
making St. Carmen clean and white,” I continue. “When they’re hidden away
in places, far from where their frilly, frigid wives and girlfriends who drink
white wine and like, decorate and shit...”
She stares at the key, a ton of questions probably racing through her
mind, but her pride won’t let her give in to ask me.
“Things you’ll never have to know about,” I tell her, “because you and
your mother are dumb and boring and you can’t understand the world beyond
your own low level of perception.” I stare down at her. “Everyone likes it
dirty, Clay. Everyone likes it, period.” I get in her face, and I feel my breath