Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 48: For A Straight Woman

Chapter 48: For A Straight Woman

- Glyndon Walton: ( Song of the Chapter: Let me Love you by Ariana Grande)

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I’ve never felt like this before—this unbearable heat crawling under my skin, this ache in my chest that won’t go away no matter how much I try to ignore it.

My body is heated, flushed, and restless. All I want—all I need—is her touch.

Even after I was with Alex earlier, even after he kissed me and held me, even after we had sex, it didn’t help.

It didn’t put out the fire inside me. It didn’t erase the way she kept invading my thoughts.

She’s consuming me.

Every time I close my eyes, all I see is her. The way she looks at me when she’s angry.

The way her lips purse when she’s trying to stay quiet, but her eyes scream everything she doesn’t say. I feel like an addict.

Like a junkie who hasn’t had their fix in days. It’s disgusting. I feel disgusting.

But it doesn’t matter how much I hate myself for feeling this way. It doesn’t stop the craving.

When she ignored me this morning—when she pushed me away and acted like I was nothing—I wanted to scream.

The way she pulled her hand out of mine Pushed me to the floor, leaving the room as if I was nothing, the way she wouldn’t even look at me, it... it hurt.

And I hated that. I hated that she had the power to make me feel rejected.

I hated it so much it made me want to lash out.

But I can’t. Not now.

Now, my body is trembling as I move closer to her. Her back is facing me, her shoulders rising and falling with each slow, deliberate breath.

I know she’s trying to ignore me, trying to pretend I’m not here. But I can’t leave it like this.

I lift my hand slowly, my fingers hovering just above her shoulder. My chest tightens as I lower it, resting my hand against her warm skin.

The contact sends a jolt through me, and I swallow hard, my throat dry, my voice shaking as I finally speak.

"I’m... um... I’m so... I’m so sorry," I stammer, my words tumbling over each other.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. But I feel her tense beneath my touch, and it makes my stomach twist.

I pause, trying to gather the last fragments of my sanity, trying to find the right words before this moment slips through my fingers.

"I’m so sorry," I whisper again, my voice cracking, "for... for slapping you earlier."

The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. My hand shakes against her shoulder as I wait, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t say a word.

And for the first time, I realize how badly I need her forgiveness—how much I need her to say something, anything.

I felt it before I even realized it was happening—tears. Warm, wet streaks running down my face. Tears.

I’m crying.

I’m crying.

Glyndon Walton is crying.

And why? Why the hell am I crying? Because the goddamn lesbian of the school, the one I’ve been bullying for three years straight, won’t talk to me.

She’s ignoring me like I’m nothing, and it’s ripping me apart from the inside out.

I clenched my jaw, trying to stop the sob threatening to spill from my throat.

My chest was tight, too tight, and my hands were trembling.

My whole body was burning—hot, unbearable heat pooling under my skin, spreading like wildfire.

And I knew, I knew, she was the only one who could take this heat off me. She was the only one who could make it stop.

I tightened my grip on her shoulder, my fingers digging into her skin.

I could feel her tense under my touch, but she still didn’t turn around. She didn’t even look at me. That only made it worse.

"Please," I choked out, my voice breaking. "Please talk to me."

I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

I, Glyndon Walton, just begged.

I begged the lesbian of the school to talk to me.

I felt the shame wash over me, cold and biting, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for her.

The silence was unbearable, suffocating, and I could feel my tears coming faster now, dripping off my chin as I stood there, raw and exposed.

"Kathrine," I said, my voice trembling, desperate. "Say something. Please. Just say something."

But she didn’t.

She didn’t even flinch. Her shoulders were stiff, unmoving, and all I could do was stand there, holding onto her like a lifeline.

My breaths were coming in ragged gasps, and I couldn’t stop the way my body shook with frustration, sadness, and anger.

How the hell did I get here? How did I let her do this to me? She’s nothing. She’s nothing to me!

So why does it feel like I’m breaking into pieces just because she’s ignoring me? Why does it feel like I’m falling apart?

I needed anything from her—anything.

A glance, a word, a sigh. I was so tired, my body felt heavy, my chest hollow, and yet my mind wouldn’t shut off. I couldn’t sleep.

My hand moved away from her shoulder, trembling slightly as it hovered above her hair. Her long, dark hair was spread across the pillow, tangling with the sheets.

Slowly, I let my fingers touch it. It was soft, so soft like silk slipping through my fingers.

I paused, waiting to see if she’d react, but she didn’t. She stayed perfectly still, her breathing even, steady, as though I wasn’t even there.

My fingers slid deeper into her hair, lightly brushing against her scalp.

It was thick, and lush, and it smelled incredible—sweet and warm, like vanilla with the faintest hint of something floral.

The scent hit me, and I couldn’t help it; I leaned closer, my body moving on its own.

I pressed my nose into her hair, letting her scent fill my lungs. Vanilla. Warm, inviting, addictive.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, inhaling her like she was the only air I needed to survive.

My hand stayed in her hair, stroking it slowly, gently, like I was afraid of breaking her. My chest ached, but the simple act of touching her, of breathing her in, eased it just a little.

I scooted closer, so close that my body was almost pressed against hers.

I could feel the heat radiating off her back, and it only made the warmth in my own body burn hotter.

But she didn’t turn around.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t move.

She kept ignoring me, completely, utterly, as though I didn’t exist.

And somehow, that didn’t make me stop. It only made me crave her more.

My breaths slowed as the exhaustion started to take over, the heaviness in my limbs pulling me down.

Her scent wrapped around me like a blanket, soothing me in a way I didn’t understand. My fingers stayed in her hair, brushing through it softly, as my eyes began to close.

I fell asleep, wrapped in her warmth and her scent, clutching onto her like she was the only thing keeping me together.

-

I woke up to the soft rustling of movement around the room.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow across the bed and floor. I blinked groggily, adjusting to the light as the sound of birds chirping reached my ears.

As my eyes slowly opened, they landed on her. Kathrine.

My breath hitched, my heart skipping a beat. She was moving around the room, completely unaware of me.

She wore nothing but a pair of black panties, her breasts completely bare, her skin glowing in the sunlight.

My eyes trailed over her, over the soft curves of her body, and then to her breasts.

The light caught on the small, silver piercings on her nipples, making them glint, and something in my chest tightened, my stomach twisting into knots.

I froze. My body felt like it was on fire, every inch of me heating as I watched her.

She moved so casually, so confidently, as though she didn’t care that she was half-naked.

She turned toward the mirror, picking up her bra from the dresser.

My eyes followed every movement, my breath coming in shallow gasps as she slipped the bra over her arms and began adjusting herself, cupping her breasts and carefully tucking them into place.

I couldn’t look away.

I should have looked away, but I didn’t.

Instead, I sat up on the bed, leaning slightly forward without even realizing it.

My gaze followed her every motion as she bent down, picking up a short skirt from the floor.

Her ass was perfectly curved, the string of her panties disappearing between the cheeks, making me clench my fists into the blanket.

Her thighs were thick, her skin so smooth it almost gleamed in the sunlight.

When she stood up, pulling the skirt over her hips, I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

The hem barely reached the tops of her thighs, leaving most of her legs exposed.

She stood in front of the mirror, tugging on a cropped top that hugged her waist and left a sliver of her stomach visible.

She started styling her hair, tying it into a half-up, half-down ponytail.

Then she leaned forward slightly, applying a dark nude lipstick, followed by eyeliner and a dusting of blush.

My eyes stayed locked on her the entire time.

And then she stopped.

She froze, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

My heart dropped, my breath catching in my throat as she smirked.

"For a straight woman," she said, her voice dripping with amusement, "You do stare a lot at a naked woman."