Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 40: The Gayest

Chapter 40: The Gayest

-Kathrine Andrews: ( Song of the Chapter: if you think I’m pretty by Artemas)

The sunlight was the first thing to pull me from sleep, its annoying glare cutting through the curtains and hitting my face like it had a personal vendetta.

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow in a futile attempt to escape the morning air that was creeping into the room.

But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t go back to sleep.

As I shifted, ready to turn over and maybe grab my phone to check the time, I froze. There was something heavy—warm and heavy—pressing against my stomach and pelvic area.

Confused, I blinked my eyes open, still groggy, and looked around. My phone was nowhere in sight, but when my gaze dropped down to my body, my breath hitched.

There she was. Glyndon.

Glyndon, of all people. The girl who hated me more than anyone else. The girl who spat fire whenever my name came up.

And yet, there she was, lying between my legs, her face resting right on my fucking vagina.

Her arms and legs were wrapped around one of my legs like I was her body pillow. She looked peaceful like she hadn’t just committed the gayest act I’d ever seen in my life.

I stared at her in disbelief, my mind still foggy from sleep but starting to piece together what must’ve happened.

She must’ve crawled into my bed last night while I was dead to the world. I wasn’t just tired—I’d been out like a light, practically in a coma. How had I not felt her sneaking in?

Resting on my elbows, I leaned up slightly to get a better look at her, a smirk creeping onto my lips.

This was rich. The girl who hated me for being a lesbian and did not miss a chance to remind me I’m going to hell for being gay was cuddling my leg in her sleep, holding onto me like I was her lifeline with her face buried in my pussy.

I couldn’t resist. I tilted my head, whispering with a teasing tone, "This is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. And trust me, Glyndon, I’ve seen a lot of gay shit."

She didn’t stir. Not even a flinch. Her breathing was deep and even, her cheek pressed against me like she had no intention of moving any time soon.

I called out her name softly, but she stayed asleep.

Her face looked softer like this, unguarded and peaceful, without the usual scowl she threw my way.

Giving in to curiosity, I reached out a hand and brushed my fingers through her short hair.

It was so soft, softer than it already looked, and I found myself stroking it absentmindedly.

I leaned in closer, the faint scent of her shampoo filling my nose. It smelled... nice. Annoyingly nice.

When I got close enough, I whispered teasingly in her ear, "You’re not helping your case here, Glyndon. You might as well just come out already."

Still no response, but a tiny smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I pulled back slightly. Whatever she was dreaming about, it had her clinging to me like I was her salvation.

A wicked grin spread across my lips as I slipped out of her hold, careful not to wake her.

I moved around until I was straddling her lap, hovering just above her sleeping form.

She was so still, so peaceful, but I could see the subtle rise and fall of her breasts, her breaths coming slow and steady.

I leaned down, burying my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. God, she smelled intoxicating.

That soft, sweet scent mixed with something uniquely her. It was maddening, the way it filled my senses and set my body alight.

As I buried my face deeper, my nose brushed against something cold, something metallic. I pulled back slightly to confirm my suspicion.

The chains.

The very ones I gave her over a week ago. She was still wearing them.

That realization sent a spark of satisfaction coursing through me, a smug pride swelling in my chest.

She hated me, didn’t she? Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

And yet, here she was, still clinging to something I gave her, letting it rest against her skin every day.

It was... thrilling. Arousing, even. The thought that she wore my mark, in a way, turned me on more than I wanted to admit, I could feel heat pooling out of my pussy as I grind on her.

I kissed her neck softly at first, testing the waters. To my utter surprise, she whimpered my name in her sleep.

"Kathrine," she breathed out, her voice soft and needy, like a prayer.

Her hand lifted, gripping my back and shoulder, pulling me closer, tighter against her body.

Her breathing quickened, and the sound of it—ragged and desperate—sent a thrill down my spine.

She was dreaming of me. Even in her subconscious, I was invading her thoughts and her desires.

The fact that I consumed her mind both awake and asleep was exactly what I wanted.

It made me feel powerful. It made me feel unstoppable.

I wanted more.

I wanted to leave a mark so deep that no matter where she went, no matter how hard she tried, she would always think of me.

I wanted to own her, body and soul, to break her down piece by piece and consume every part of her until there was nothing left.

And then? Then I’d leave her. I’d leave her shattered, unable to forget me, unable to move on.

As my lips brushed against her neck, soft and deliberate, I felt her body stir beneath me.

Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.

"Kathrine~" Her voice, still thick with sleep, murmured my name like it was the only thing anchoring her in this world.

"Kathrine..."

The sound was intoxicating. She gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me down closer to her as if I could fill some aching void she didn’t even want to acknowledge.

I could feel the warmth radiating off her, the way her body arched into mine.

For a moment, she was mine, completely and utterly, lost in the haze of her desires and her dreams.

But then, it hit her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and I could see the shift—the realization crashing into her like a tidal wave.

Her body stiffened under me, her breathing halting as she processed where she was, what she was doing, and who was with her.

In a sharp motion, she shoved me away, scrambling back against the headboard as if I were some predator and she was prey.

Her wide eyes locked onto mine, filled with a mix of fear, shame, and disbelief.

I stayed where I was, propped on my elbow, watching her with a smirk that I knew would drive her crazy.

"If you wanted my cunt that bad," I drawled, my voice low and teasing, "you could have just said it. I would have gladly spread my legs for you, little devil."

Her face turned an even deeper shade of red, and I saw the panic settle in.

I leaned in, closing the gap between us, but before I could do or say anything else, she bolted.

In a flash, she was off the bed and darting toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a sharp click of the lock.

I flopped back on the bed, my arms spread out as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably.

I laughed so hard my sides ached, the sound filling the room as I relished the chaos.

This game of cat and mouse, of push and pull, was thrilling.

Every step she took to resist only brought her closer to me in the end. She could run, she could hide, but deep down, we both knew the truth.

She wanted me. And I was going to make sure she couldn’t deny it—not to herself, and certainly not to me.

I stood in front of the bathroom door, arms crossed, leaning casually against the wall. I didn’t have to wait long.

The second she stepped out, her face flushed and her expression frazzled, I moved.

In a single motion, I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her back against my chest.

The sound of the impact was sharp, but not enough to hurt her—just enough to make her gasp.

Her eyes went wide as she struggled to process what was happening, her hands instinctively reaching up to my wrist, trying to pull me away.

"Let go," she choked out, her voice trembling, but I didn’t listen. I never listened.

Instead, I smirked and stepped closer, our bodies pressed together.

My free hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer until I could feel her ass against me.

My fingers trailed lower, teasing, searching until I found the hem of her panties.

Her body betrayed her. I could feel it in the way her breath quickened, in the way her muscles tensed before relaxing.

Her head tilted back, resting against my breasts, and her lips parted as if to protest—but no words came out.

"You liked that, don’t you?" I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear, my voice low and dripping with confidence. "You were dreaming of this. Of me. Dreaming of me making you feel good."

Her breath hitched, and her entire body shook as if torn between pushing me away and giving in. "No," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "No, I wasn’t."

But her body said otherwise. Her trembling fingers gripped my wrist, holding on as if she couldn’t stand on her own.

Her legs pressed together, futilely trying to fight the heat that radiated from her core.

I pushed further, letting my hand slip just a little deeper, and her resolve shattered.

I could feel it in the way she melted against me, her tiny frame crumbling into mine.

She was shaking, but it wasn’t fear—it was desire, raw and unfiltered.

And I loved it. I loved how powerless she felt in my hands, how her tiny body fit so perfectly against mine.

I loved how I could consume her, overwhelm her, and make her forget every ounce of guilt and denial she carried.

But just as I was about to press her further, we heard it.

Alex Knocking on outdoors and calling out Glyndon’s name.

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