Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 87: Dinner, Desire & Denial

Chapter 87: Dinner, Desire & Denial

-Kathrine Andrews: ( Song of the Chapter: All mine by Plaza)

The towel was soft against my skin, thick and expensive, just like everything else in this ridiculous hotel suite.

I stood in the middle of the bathroom, the steam curling around me, and took a slow look around.

The marble floors. The gold fixtures. The massive, wall-length mirror reflected the warm flicker of candlelight. And, of course, the flowers. Everywhere.

Everything about this was designed to be romantic. Luxurious. Special.

And it was.

It was too much.

I wasn’t used to this.

No one had ever treated me like this before—no girl had ever gone this far just for me.

Actually, I have never been on a date with a girl, the two girls I dated before never wanted to be seen in public with a girl.

None of them bothered to do anything like this for me.

It was overwhelming.

And as much as I wanted to just let myself be happy, to let myself melt into this and enjoy it, I couldn’t.

Because deep down, I knew that if things had been different—if Glyndon had always been out if she had never bullied me, if she had never spent years making my life hell—then maybe I could have had this without all the baggage.

But I didn’t.

And I couldn’t let her off the hook just because she was suddenly playing the part of the perfect, romantic girlfriend.

She deserved to struggle for this.

For me.

So no, I wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

I wasn’t going to just forgive her and fall into her arms like none of it had ever happened.

She would earn me.

With that thought, I tossed the towel aside and reached for the robe and lingerie she had left for me.

The red silk felt cool against my skin as I slipped it over my shoulders, the fabric whispering against my body as it settled into place. I tied the belt around my waist, adjusting it so it cinched just enough to emphasize my curves without being too obvious.

Then, I picked up the bra.

And chuckled.

Of course, it was see-through.

I shook my head, amused, but didn’t hesitate to put it on, followed by the matching lace panties.

She had thought of everything.

I moved to the vanity, grabbed the blow dryer, and quickly ran it through my hair, watching my reflection in the mirror as I worked. My expression was unreadable, my lips pressed together, my eyes sharp and assessing.

I didn’t look like a girl who had just been completely swept off her feet by some grand romantic gesture.

And I wouldn’t be that girl.

Not yet.

Once my hair was dry, I took one last breath, straightened my robe, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Glyndon was waiting for me.

She was sitting on the bed, her back straight, her hands clasped together like she was physically stopping herself from fidgeting.

And the second I walked out, her head snapped up.

Her eyes went wide.

For a moment, she didn’t say anything—just stared, her breath catching in her throat, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to speak but forgot how.

And that’s when I noticed it.

She had changed.

She wasn’t wearing what she had on earlier.

Instead, she was wearing a matching silky robe.

Red.

Just like mine.

I cocked an eyebrow, amused. "Matching outfits? Mmh?"

Glyndon flushed, but she didn’t look away.

For the first time since I walked in, she looked at me—her gaze dragging down my body, lingering on the way the silk clung to my curves, on the exposed sliver of lace peeking through at my chest.

Her throat moved as she swallowed.

The nerves were still there—written in the way her fingers curled against the bed, in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way she kept shifting slightly like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

But beneath all that?

I could see desire.

Raw, real, and utterly unhidden.

And fuck, did it feel good to see that.

I tilted my head, watching her reaction, my lips curling slightly. "You’re nervous."

She blinked, then quickly shook her head. "I’m not."

"You are," I countered easily. "I can see it."

Glyndon clenched her jaw, clearly trying to school her expression. But it was too late. I had already seen it.

And for some reason, nerves looked good on her.

Maybe because it told me how much this meant to her. How much effort she had put into this. How much she wanted this to go perfectly.

I walked further into the room, my steps slow, deliberate, until I reached the foot of the bed.

She followed my movements with her eyes, watching me like I was something dangerous like she wasn’t sure if I was going to pull her closer or push her away.

I let the silence stretch between us, let the tension build.

Then, finally, I spoke.

"So," I murmured, tilting my head. "What happens next?"

Glyndon opened her mouth, then closed it again, her fingers curling into the silk of her robe like she needed something to hold on to.

I waited.

Watched.

Enjoyed the way she looked at me—like I was something fragile and dangerous all at once, like she was terrified of fucking this up but couldn’t not try.

She wet her lips. "I... um..."

I smirked. "You planned all this, right? You decorated the room, the flowers, the expensive bath—" I gestured around us, letting my eyes sweep over the ridiculously romantic setting. "So tell me, Glyndon, what’s next? What’s the next step in your grand plan?"

She swallowed, her throat bobbing.

For a moment, she looked utterly lost, like she had planned every detail except what to do once we got to this point.

That realization made my smirk widen.

"Or," I mused, stepping closer, "did you not think that far ahead?"

Glyndon’s jaw clenched. "I—" She hesitated, then let out a breath, steadying herself. "I thought we could eat first."

I raised a brow. "Eat?"

She nodded, a bit too quickly. "Yeah. I had dinner brought up. It’s—" She waved a hand toward the small table set up in the corner, where two plates sat covered with silver lids, candles flickering between them. "It’s still warm."

I glanced at the table, then back at her, watching the way she straightened her shoulders, trying to regain some sense of control over the situation.

Cute.

She was trying so hard to be smooth about this, to make it all seem effortless. But I knew her. I could see the way her hands twitched in her lap, the way her breathing wasn’t quite steady.

She was nervous.

And for some reason, I liked that.

I liked knowing that I had her so flustered. That I had the power to undo her just by existing in this space with her.

But fine.

I’d play along.

For now.

I shrugged, tilting my head toward the table. "Alright then. Let’s eat."

Glyndon blinked like she hadn’t expected me to agree so easily.

Then, quickly, she stood up, moving toward the table.

I followed, pulling out my chair and sinking into it, crossing my legs as I leaned back and watched her.

She hesitated for half a second before sitting across from me, fidgeting slightly as she reached for one of the lids.

When she lifted it, the scent of rich, buttery pasta filled the air, the steam curling up between us.

I arched a brow. "You ordered pasta?"

Glyndon swallowed. "I... remembered you liked it."

I stilled.

My fingers twitched against the edge of the table.

She remembered?

My chest tightened, just a little.

I didn’t say anything for a moment, just let my gaze linger on her as she busied herself lifting the second lid, revealing a matching plate of pasta for herself.

Everything about this felt so intentional.

The dinner. The matching robes. The effort.

And fuck, I hated how much I liked it.

How much I wanted to let this mean something.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

So instead, I picked up my fork, twirling the pasta around it. "Well," I muttered, bringing it to my lips. "Let’s see if it’s any good."

Glyndon watched me.

She didn’t touch her food.

She just sat there, staring, waiting for my reaction as it mattered to her.

I took a bite.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Then, finally, I met her eyes and smirked. "Not bad."

Her shoulders loosened, just a little.

She picked up her fork, twirling her pasta, and for a while, we ate in silence.

The tension between us didn’t disappear, but it shifted, settling into something quieter.

Softer.

I let myself enjoy it.

Just for a little while.

And then, once our plates were empty and the candles had burned lower, I sat back in my chair, tilting my head at her.

"So," I murmured, letting my voice drop just a little. "You bought me dinner. You bought me lingerie. You set up this whole romantic scene." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my smirk growing. "Are you trying to woo me, Glyndon Walton?"

Her face turned red.

I grinned.

She clenched her jaw, looking away. "You’re insufferable."

I chuckled, slow and amused, standing up from the table. "Maybe."

I moved toward the bed, taking my time, feeling her eyes on me with every step.

I turned, glancing over my shoulder. "So? What’s next?"

She hesitated.

Then, slowly, she stood.

And the look in her eyes—nervous, determined, desperate—sent a thrill down my spine.

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