Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 39: Forbidden Safety

Chapter 39: Forbidden Safety

-Glyndon Walton ( Song Of The Chapter: Needed Me, Instrumental by Rihanna)

I don’t even know how to describe what I’m feeling right now. The fact that I’m rooming with Katherine Andrews has my mind in complete chaos.

How was I supposed to expect this? Out of all the possibilities, this had to be the one.

And the strangest part? I didn’t even hate it. Sure, I could’ve swapped with another girl. I had the option, but something deep down refused to entertain the idea of someone else taking my place here in this room.

Why? Why do I even care who rooms with her?

Right after we entered the room, she leaned in close and whispered those words, my brain practically short-circuited.

Heat raced through my body, and my face felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t stand being so close to her, couldn’t stand the way she made me feel—so I ran.

I practically dove for one of the beds, not even caring which one, just trying to create some distance.

My hands trembled as I opened my suitcase, pulling out my things in a frenzy.

The bathroom was my only sanctuary, my only chance to escape the intensity of being near her.

I grabbed my pajamas and toiletries, rushed inside, and locked the door behind me.

I turned on the shower, hoping the water would drown out the erratic beating of my heart and wash away whatever this... thing was that Katherine made me feel.

I dressed in the most modest clothes I could find, as if layers of fabric could shield me from her gaze, from her knowing smirk, or the ridiculous feelings bubbling inside me.

I stepped out of the bathroom, refusing to meet her eyes, and rushed to my bed.

Sliding under the covers, I turned my back to her, clutching the blanket tightly.

I heard her laugh—a soft, amused sound that made my ears burn—and I knew she was watching me, enjoying how flustered I was.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on anything else, even the view of the Eiffel Tower through the window, its twinkling lights beautiful against the dark Parisian night.

To distract myself, I scrolled through my phone and saw Alex’s messages.

He was warning me about Katherine, telling me to be careful and to keep my guard up as if she were some kind of predator waiting to pounce.

I just sent back a quick "okay" to calm him down, even though my stomach twisted at his words.

He said good night, and I replied the same before plugging in my phone and turning off the screen.

That’s when I heard it—the sound of the bathroom door opening.

My body stiffened instantly, my grip on the blanket tightening as I kept my back to her. I forced myself to stay still, hoping she’d think I was asleep.

I could hear her moving around, the subtle creak of the bed as she sat down.

And then she said it.

Soft, teasing, and completely inappropriate. "You know, Glyndon, I liked your panties. Your purple ones. The ones I took from you. I wanted to wear them so badly... so I did. I’m wearing them now. They’re a bit tight, but I like it. I wanted to show you but unfortunately, you are asleep."

My heart stopped.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. My eyes snapped open, staring blankly at nothing, and the heat in my body surged to a degree I didn’t know was possible.

The thought of Kathrine wearing my panties—my panties—wrapped around her hips, pressed against her....

I didn’t know whether I wanted to scream, cry, or throw myself out the window.

Sleep was the last thing on my mind now. My heart was racing, my cheeks burning, and my brain spinning in endless, chaotic circles.

She had no idea what she’d just done to me. Or maybe she did.

She knows what she did to me by saying this.

Two hours. Two hours of tossing, turning, and gripping the sheets as my mind refused to let go of her.

Of Kathrine. Of the memory of her body pressed against mine, her hands on me, her smirk as she claimed me like she knew I would break under her touch.

It wasn’t just the memory of her fingers skimming my skin or her thigh against my core—it was everything.

Her hips, her tiny waist, her toned arms, the glint of her nipple piercings beneath her tiny crop top. I hated myself for it.

I hated how her image burned itself into my mind, how her voice echoed in my ears.

My breathing was shallow, and erratic, as the heat pooled lower in my abdomen. It twisted and built into something I couldn’t control, couldn’t push away no matter how much I tried.

The more I fought, the stronger it got, until the shame of wanting her battled the fiery ache she left behind.

I sat up, my chest heaving. The moonlight filtered in through the window, pale and cool, casting soft shadows across the room.

My eyes darted to the bed next to mine. Kathrine. She was sleeping deeply, her face serene and her body still.

Even in sleep, she looked powerful, like nothing could touch her. Her long hair spilled out across the pillow in wild waves, and her chest rose and fell slowly, rhythmically.

I don’t know what came over me. My body moved on its own like I was being pulled by some invisible force I couldn’t resist.

Before I knew it, I was standing, my feet padding across the floor until I reached her bed.

I sat down hesitantly, my weight sinking into the mattress. My hands trembled as I stared at her, at the long line of her body hidden under the blanket.

Her hair, dark and thick, long was tangled and splayed around her like a halo, and her lips were parted slightly, soft breaths escaping with every rise and fall of her chest.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as my fingers brushed against the edge of the blanket.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled it down, peeling it away from her body inch by inch. My heart hammered as her form came into view.

The first thing I noticed was her tank top—tight, so tight that the faint curve of her nipples and the glint of her piercings were visible through the thin fabric... her breast...

The spaghetti straps hung lazily off her shoulders, barely clinging to her skin.

Lower.

I pulled the blanket lower, revealing her waist, her toned abs, and the glint of her belly piercing catching the moonlight.

She was perfect.

Every inch of her was perfect.

I bit my lip hard, trying to stop the sharp, needy ache building inside me. But when the blanket slipped lower, I froze.

She was wearing them. My panties. My purple underwear, the pair she’d stolen.

My breath hitched, and I clamped my legs together, desperate for relief, for friction, as the heat burned through my pussy.

My mind was a mess, torn between rage and humiliation and something far more dangerous.

She looked so calm, so unapologetic even in her sleep, wearing something that belonged to me like it was hers.

I hated her for it.

I hated how she made me feel.

But most of all, I hated how much my body craved her.

The conflict in my mind was deafening, a battle raging between what I had been taught and what my body was screaming for.

This wasn’t me. I wasn’t like this. I wasn’t supposed to be like this.

My religion, my family—they told me who I was supposed to be.

A good daughter, a faithful girlfriend, someone who would marry the boy her parents approved of, someone who would build a respectable life.

A life with kids, a husband, a house. A life that had no place for Kathrine Andrews or the things she made me feel.

But here I was, on the brink of destroying everything.

My chest felt tight with guilt, and tears stung the back of my eyes, but my body moved anyway as if it had taken over and left my mind behind.

I crawled onto her bed, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the blanket.

Her body was so still, her face peaceful as she slept, completely unaware of the war raging within me.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t stop myself.

Slowly, I spread her legs, careful not to wake her, my movements almost reverent.

My breath was shallow as I leaned down, my head brushing against her lower abdomen.

Her skin was warm beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, the faint scent of her vanilla body lotion clinging to the air around her.

I laid down, resting my head on her lower abdomen, my cheek against the smoothness of her—- My panties that she was wearing.

My hand found its way to her thick strong thigh, gripping it gently, pulling it closer to my chest as if I needed to hold onto something solid to ground myself.

And then, despite the racing of my heart and the storm in my head, everything... slowed.

The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the quiet stillness of the room—it wrapped around me like a blanket, soothing the ache in my chest and silencing the guilt, if only for a moment.

I felt safe. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe.

My eyelids grew heavy, and my body relaxed against hers, sinking into the soft mattress and the heat of her skin.

I drifted off, my head on her pussy, my hand gripping her thigh, and my body cocooned in a warmth I couldn’t explain.

As I fell asleep, it struck me that this—this forbidden, messy, wrong moment—was the best sleep I’d ever had in my life.

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