Blog Tour: The Bitterness of Venom by M.T. Morgan

 

If there is a God, he designed Blaise Sheffield to bring me to my knees.

The Bitterness of Venom, an all-new dark, enemies to lovers, hockey romance from bestselling author M.T. Morgan is now available!

Blaise

He was once my hero, but that was a long time ago… before I left him. 

I never expected him to show up in my life again. Especially as my new roommate. 

The boy I once loved is now a brutal hockey player with a taste for revenge and reckless abandon. 

I’m indebted to him, and he expects me to pay in the form of blood, tears and humiliation. 

But once the games begin, I find myself falling into old habits I thought were buried. 

Out of all the bad ideas I've had in my life, Desmond Rickman has always been my favorite. 

Desmond

I had a heart once… until she smashed it, leaving nothing but a hollow spot in my chest. 

I never expected to see her again. Especially not in my turf, in my apartment, as my new roommate. 

She may have held my heart once upon a time, but now I hold all the cards. 

She’s indebted to me, and I’ll make her pay for ruining my life. 

Old emotions are like scars, slowly fading and never disappearing. And she’s bringing them all to the surface. 

If there is a God, he designed Blaise Sheffield to bring me to my knees.

Start reading today!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon: https://amzn.to/4aCT4AL   

Keep reading for a look inside The Bitterness of Venom!

Where the fuck are you going, freckles? 

I walk behind her as she approaches an SUV, climbing in and slamming the door. The plates are out of state, so I take a picture of it before they speed off. Leaning against the side of the apartment building, I watch until the taillights go out of sight. 

My little freckles is smart. I figured that out by stalking her as she went to each class today. She also has a horrible customer service smile, but somehow made decent tips on a slow night at work. The same bar the guys and I always head to after a win, and sometimes a loss. Her working there should make things…interesting. 

The only conclusion I can come to is that she’s a sex worker. Why else would she speed off in an SUV this late at night. I ponder this thought as I stalk into her room. If she’s smart, she’d lock her door up. But since she didn’t, I’m going to snoop. 

I open her top drawer, and like a creep, I pull out a black leather thong. She has no business with this, so I stuff it in my pocket, trying to not think about what a perv it makes me, but at the same time I don’t really care if it does, do I? 

There is nothing special about the contents of the other drawers. Just clothes. I’m not sure what 

I expected to find something about her past life, maybe? 

I throw the door to her closet open. Finding an old, worn boot box. Reaching up, I grab the dusty box, laying it on the bed, before getting distracted by her vanity. It holds mountains of things, but her perfume and stupid velvet choker catch my attention. I stash the choker in my pocket with her thong. She doesn’t need either of them. I bring the small bottle of perfume to my nose, trying not to groan at her seductive smell. 

I slam the bottle down, hoping it breaks and no one else can ever smell her. 

I need to get a fucking grip. I fucking hate this girl, but I…Am I attracted to Blaise or to the thought of putting her in danger? 

I shake the thoughts from my mind, pushing open the lid to the box, which exposes a single Polaroid camera. It looks as if it’s never been touched. I was hoping there would be pictures but there is nothing else. Almost like she has no past at all. But we both know that’s a lie. 

I head back to my room, not caring if she notices things have been touched and moved, or that I took the camera. Even better is she does, she should lock my ass out. I have no business going in there. 

I lay down on my new bed, scrolling the newsfeed and making my way over to the sports section. The prediction for our football team is laughable. Even our basketball team isn’t the best. We are a hockey college and town, but sometimes the soccer team gives us a run for our money. 

I’m scrolling through Instagram when I hear the small click of her door. I pause, listening closely. 

I expect a shower to turn on or something, but nothing happens. I sneak out of my room and into hers. Her feet are hanging off her bed as if she’s fallen asleep where she lays. Her outfit has changed. Not the work uniform she went out in. No, this is a come-fuck-me dress and stripper heels. And with the way her legs are spread, I can see her small little thong.

My dick comes alive even though I don’t fucking want it to. Knowing that she was out fucking someone else makes me irrationally jealous, and yet….

For more information about M.T. Morgan and her books, visit her website: 

https://www.authormtmorgan.com