Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 33: Touch Me

Chapter 33: Touch Me

-Kathrine Andrews: (Song of the Chapter: Donk by Beyoncé)

As I trapped Glyndon against the door, I leaned in, placing both of my hands on either side of her head, resting against the wood.

The click of the lock echoed in the room, sharp and decisive. Her reaction was instant.

"No," she stammered, panic flashing in her eyes as she tried to push against me, weakly, desperately. "No, don’t lock the door. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want—"

Her voice cracked, trembling as it lost strength, and I watched as her eyes darted downward, betraying her.

She wasn’t looking at my face anymore. No, her gaze was on my body, shamelessly—or maybe shamefully—roaming.

My smirk grew wider as her eyes lingered, trailing from my breasts down to my abs, and her legs shifted, tightening instinctively.

She wanted me.

Of course, she did.

I didn’t say anything, not yet. I let her panic bubble and simmer as I moved closer, deliberately invading her space.

Her protests meant nothing to me—they were empty words, just like always. She’d told me she didn’t want me before, but her body, her reactions? They screamed otherwise.

Instead of backing off, I pressed my leg forward, sliding it between hers.

She gasped, her eyes snapping up to meet mine, wide and frantic. I didn’t stop.

I pushed further until my thigh was nestled against her core, forcing her legs open.

And then I pressed.

Her reaction was everything I expected it to be.

Her neck arched back, her head tipping against the door as a soft, breathy whimper escaped her lips.

She was looking up at me now, her wide eyes glistening with confusion, shame, and something else—something I knew all too well... lust.

The height difference between us made the moment all the more delicious.

I was towering over her, her small frame practically dwarfed by mine. I knew she noticed it. I knew she loved it.

She’d never admit it, of course, but I could see it in the way her breath quickened, in the way her thighs trembled against my leg.

"You like this, don’t you?" I whispered, leaning in so my lips brushed against her ear. "You like how small you are next to me."

Her only response was a shaky exhale, her hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie as if it could ground her as if it could stop her from completely unraveling.

I pressed my thigh harder against her, feeling her shudder against me, and my smirk deepened.

Her body betrayed her with every little movement, every unintentional noise she made.

"You know," I murmured, my voice low and teasing, "you can touch me if you want. All over."

I meant it. I’d let her. If she wanted to touch me, to explore the body she couldn’t seem to stop staring at, I wouldn’t stop her. I’d welcome it.

Her gaze faltered, dropping to my breasts again, and this time, it lingered.

She was fixated, clearly noticing the glint of my pierced nipple through the thin fabric of my tank top.

I watched her throat work as she swallowed hard, her fingers twitching at her sides like she was fighting herself.

Her struggle was obvious, almost pitiful. I could practically see the guilt and conflict warring inside her.

Whatever upbringing she clung to, whatever beliefs she was trying to use as a shield, they were crumbling. And I loved watching it happen.

"Go on," I urged, my voice soft but commanding, "touch me."

Her eyes snapped back to mine, wide and full of something akin to terror.

But she didn’t move, didn’t reach out. She was paralyzed, caught between what she wanted and what she thought she should do.

I watched her carefully, her eyes hooded with desire, but there was also guilt in them—guilt that held her back, making her clench her fists at her sides.

She was fighting herself, fighting the urge to give in, and I could see it in every inch of her body.

My thigh pressed gently against her core, just enough to drive her crazy, and I saw her breath catch.

Her hand slowly lifted, trembling, inching toward me like she was reaching for something forbidden, and I was so close—so close to feeling her touch—but then, just as I thought she might give in, she jerked away.

"No," she muttered to herself, her voice shaking with panic. "I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong."

She pulled away, running away from me, by escaping from under my arms and walking to the center of the room.

Her hands clutched her hair as if she could tear herself free from whatever was pulling her toward me.

I didn’t care about the guilt, the confusion, the self-loathing. All I cared about was closing the distance, getting closer.

So, I moved toward her, stepping away from the door, not caring if she ran or not.

I could see her body tremble as she stood there, facing away from me.

I was right behind her now, so close I could feel the heat radiating of her.

She froze when she felt me there, her body stiffening. I slid my hands down her arms, moving slowly, deliberately, until I reached her waist.

My fingers curled around her, pulling her back against me. This time, she didn’t push me away. She couldn’t.

She was trembling, not just from fear but from desire, and it was raw and real.

I leaned in closer, my lips brushing against her ear, and whispered, "Nobody will know. It’s just us now."

Her breath hitched, her body shaking harder. Her hands clenched at her sides, but she didn’t push me away. She couldn’t. She was consumed by me, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Without warning, she spun around and shoved me onto the bed, catching me off guard.

I stumbled back, landing on the soft sheets with a thud. She stood over me, towering with that same desperation in her eyes.

She was flushed, her chest rising and falling with each breath. And her voice was shaky, full of fear and confusion.

"I’m not gay," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’m not a faggot like you. I don’t want this... What are you doing to me?" She looked so lost, so broken. "I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about you... You infected me with this disease."

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