Page 53 of Venomous Throne

The climax was nothing short of violent.

My body convulsed as pleasure unleashed its wings and carried me away. It wasn’t until Jaxon replaced his hands with a pillow that I realized I’d been screaming.

I lay there, my core pulsing in wave after wave of release. A little voice whispered through the madness that this wasn’t normal. That this pillow could kill me. I gasped for a breath, finding no air.

My body was too strung to care.

He could kill me, and I’d die happy.

Only, a moment later, he tugged the pillow away. I coughed, but his mouth was on mine, catching the last tendrils of my pleasure on his tongue. The kiss was passionate, full of a terrifying promise—of what, I didn’t know.

When he lifted his head, the hard look in his eye was dark and full of danger. “You will never know how happy I am that we met.”

It felt like a promise of more to come. That was what I chose to believe. Because anything else was just too damn sad. Come heaven or hell, this man claimed possession of my body, and I gave it willingly in exchange for the pleasure he evoked.

Chapter 21 – Jaxon

As Isabella fell asleep, I rose to leave. I should not have done that. I should never have come tonight. But the thought of leaving town without the smallest of tastes was a new level of torture.

I’d given in to the temptation and found my little beauty waiting for me.

Her breathing had steadied, each gentle rise and fall of her chest marking the rhythm of dreams I could never share. I paused at the doorway, my hand gripping the frame as a sudden tightness constricted within me. The weight of everything unsaid pressed against my ribs like a vise. Looking back at her peaceful form, I felt something crack inside—a hairline fracture spreading through whatever remained of my resolve.

No! Do not change your mind.

I was leaving Chicago for good.

I pressed my palm flat against my sternum, willing the ache to subside. It didn’t. How fitting that the only honest pain I’d felt in months would come now, when I couldn’t even speak italoud. My lips formed words she would never hear, a whispered promise or perhaps a final confession.

The floorboard creaked beneath my foot as I turned away. I froze, but Isabella didn’t stir.

“It is for the best,” I promised. “You will hate me if I stay.”

But I was determined to do the right thing and walk away. The sum of my life, the sole purpose for my existence, could be narrowed to one thing. I was trained to do it well. Decades of work resulted in one terrible conclusion: I was the destroyer.

I am not a good man.

And yet, a single stroke of fate brought a bright spot into my dark existence.

There was one thing left to do. I would leave before I destroyed her world, too. The contract was canceled, and the business that brought me here left abandoned. It was time to slip away. Before I left, I couldn’t resist wanting to leave one final gift, something to remember me by.

But…what?

With silent steps perfected through years of practice, I moved through Isabella’s home like a shadow. The night air hung heavy with the scent of rain and something else—possibility, perhaps. Or regret.

The soldiers were sprawled about, lost to unconsciousness throughout the perimeter. Amateurs. I hadn’t needed to lace their liquor with sedatives, but it helped.

To the east of the front door, I stepped inside Isabella’s home office.

There had to be an answer here.

Going to her desk, I inhaled the upholstered headrest on her chair. The scent of rain-soaked flowers tickled my senses. This was the depths of hell. Bright flowers on a hill, dancing under the drops of the clouds’ tears.

I was never going to look at the weather the same again.

Tearing myself away, I began to comb through her desk, looking for the perfect gift, something that would be a fitting memento of our time together.

I would deliver that, in person, and leave.