Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 32: Pierced?

Chapter 32: Pierced?

-Glyndon Walton: Song of the Chapter (

As the car rolled down the quiet streets, I stared out the window, my mind a chaotic storm.

The guilt was overwhelming, curling around my chest and making it hard to breathe.

What was I doing? Why was I even going to her house? I hated Kathrine Andrews. I hated her with every fiber of my being. I hated her smirks, her confidence, her control over me.

But more than anything, I hated how good she made me feel.

I hated the fire that burned through my body every time she touched me, how my pulse raced and my skin tingled.

I hated that, even now, the memory of her hands on me in that janitor’s room was enough to make my stomach flip.

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror as if sensing my tension. I ignored him and pulled my hoodie tighter around me.

My legs were pressed together, a futile attempt to quiet the persistent heat between them.

As we got closer to her neighborhood, I felt my breath hitch. The houses were large and spaced out, each surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns.

The car slowed to a stop in front of her house, a sleek, modern structure with large windows and a light, minimalist exterior.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the house, my fingers trembling as I gripped my phone.

The driver turned to me, his voice breaking through the fog in my mind. "Will you need me to wait, Miss?"

"No," I said quickly, my voice tight. "You can go. I’ll call when I need you."

He nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly, probably noticing how nervous I looked.

As soon as he drove off, I forced myself to step out of the car. The cool air hit me, making me shiver as I adjusted my hoodie. My feet felt heavy as I walked up to the front door.

Before I could overthink it and run back to the car, the door swung open.

A woman stood there, her smile warm and welcoming. Kathrine’s mom.

"You must be Glyndon," she said, her voice cheerful. "Kathrine told me you’d be stopping by."

I swallowed hard, trying to mask my nervousness. "Uh, yeah. I’m... a friend of hers. I just came to... hang out."

Her smile widened. "It’s so nice to meet one of Kathrine’s friends. Come in, dear." She stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter.

The house was as sleek and modern on the inside as it was on the outside.

Everything was spotless, with sharp lines and neutral tones. I felt out of place in my hoodie and sweatpants which is weird because my house is almost 4 times bigger And I’ve never felt out of place anywhere.

I’m The Glyndon Walton.

"Would you like something to drink?" Kathrine’s mom asked as she closed the door behind me.

"No, I’m okay," I said quickly, fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie.

"Alright, then," she said, still smiling. "Kathrine’s room is upstairs, the second door on the right. She mentioned she was expecting you."

"Thank you," I murmured, my heart pounding as I headed toward the staircase.

Each step felt like it echoed through the silent house.

By the time I reached her door, my palms were sweaty, and my breathing was uneven. I raised my hand to knock, hesitated for a moment, then forced myself to tap lightly on the door.

-

As I stepped into the room, the scent of her hit me first—something clean with a faint undertone of vanilla.

Kathrine’s room was neat, with dark walls, hockey posters, and a shelf filled with sports trophies and medals...

There was a small desk in the corner, papers stacked neatly, and a sleek black lamp perched on the edge.

Her hockey stick leaned against the wall next to the bed, and the whole room screamed of her: bold, sharp, and unapologetically her.

But my eyes didn’t stay in the room for long. They found her.

She was sprawled on her stomach across the bed, her blankets twisted around her long legs, and her head turned to the other side as she slept.

And I was staring.

My gaze fixated on her ass—perfectly rounded, the kind of ass you’d expect from someone who spent their life skating and working out.

She had the body of an athlete, toned and sculpted yet soft.

Her thighs were thick and powerful, and her calves were defined. Her waist was impossibly tiny, accentuating everything else.

My eyes roamed over her back, her shoulders, her arms. Even in sleep, she looked strong.

I found myself wondering if her stomach was just as toned—if her abs matched the rest of her. But I couldn’t tell since she was sleeping on her stomach.

Heat crept up my neck as I stared at her. My body felt... off, like it was betraying me, my pulse quickening for no reason.

Why was I even looking at her like this? Why was my body reacting?

Then her voice broke the silence, low and lazy, dripping with amusement. "If you want to stare at my ass, at least take me on a date first."

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat.

Her tone was so sassy, so smug, and it immediately made me want to punch something—or run.

My face burned as I forced myself to look away from her.

"I wasn’t staring," I snapped, trying to sound strong, but my voice wavered. "I was just... checking if you were awake or not."

She let out a soft chuckle, and I hated how her laugh sounded—warm, rich, and completely unbothered.

"Sure, Glyndon," she said, still lying there as if she owned the entire world. "You weren’t looking at my ass at all."

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, she shifted, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on one elbow.

Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, long and thick, and for the first time, I realized it wasn’t braided. It was loose, framing her face like ink against her pale skin.

This was the first time I’d seen her like this—unguarded, hair down, relaxed.

She looked different, softer somehow. And even though I hated her with every fiber of my being, I couldn’t deny it.

She smirked, that maddening, infuriating smirk that made my chest tighten in the most confusing, annoying way. "You’re staring right now," she said, her voice dripping with amusement.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my face again, my cheeks burning.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why is my entire body reacting like this? Why do I feel like some stupid teenager caught blushing over a crush? She’s not my crush—obviously.

I clenched my fists and shot her a glare. "I’m not fucking staring," I snapped, my voice a little too defensive, a little too shaky.

"Now give me my panties back and delete the video from your phone."

Her smirk only deepened, and then she stood up from the bed, moving with that infuriating confidence that seemed effortless for her.

And I hated myself for noticing.

She was wearing the tiniest tank top I’d ever seen, the thin straps draped delicately over her collarbones, the fabric clinging to her breast in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

My eyes involuntarily darted downward, and I froze, noticing the way her nipples were hard and visible through the fabric... Are they pierced?

My body trembled an unbidden reaction that I couldn’t explain or control. My gaze dropped lower, and there it was—abs. She had abs.

Defined, taut, and glistening faintly in the dim light of the room. Of course, she had abs. She was an athlete.

Her waist was impossibly small, accentuating the curve of her wide hips. And then there were those shorts—shorter than anything I’d ever seen, barely reaching her pale as snow thighs.

They clung to her like a second skin, showing off every inch of her toned long legs.

Finally, my gaze caught the socks she was wearing, the only thing about her outfit that seemed even remotely casual.

And her hair. Her long, impossibly sleek black hair cascaded down her back, reaching her hips, swaying slightly with every step she took.

I swallowed hard as my eyes landed on her stomach again, catching sight of the small, silver belly piercing that sparkled against her skin.

It only made her look more perfect, more frustratingly flawless, and it made me hate her even more.

Her laugh pulled me violently out of my spiraling thoughts. "And... You’re staring again," she teased, her voice like silk, smooth and smug.

I snapped my head up, meeting her eyes, and stammered, "I’m not staring!" My voice betrayed me, cracking just slightly, making her smirk widen.

She took a step closer, and my body instinctively moved back.

My feet shuffled awkwardly as I stepped away from her, but she kept advancing, her eyes locked onto mine with a predatory glint that made my heart race in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I tried to hold my ground, but she took another step, and I moved again, backing away without thinking.

"Stop that," I said, my voice faltering as I realized how close we were now.

"Stop what?" she asked, her voice low and playful, like she was enjoying this far too much.

My back hit the door, and I realized I had nowhere else to go.

She stood in front of me now, towering over me, her presence so close, overwhelming.

Her smirk softened just slightly as she leaned in, her face close enough that I could feel her breath on my skin.

My breathing hitched as my pulse hammered in my ears.

"Why are you so scared, Glyndon?" she whispered, her voice soft, her eyes searching mine... Then I heard the lock clicking.

Fuck...