Midnight at the Magnolia (Venom and Virtue #1)

11. Ethan

11

ETHAN

CONFIDENTIAL brIEF

DNA evidence suggests female perpetrator. Agent Blake requests access to botanical society records, focus on generational knowledge.

The Magnolia Diner at midnight is a beast with teeth of neon and a hungry belly full of secrets. I sit at the empty counter, my fingers tracing battle scars on the worn Formica. Each groove feels like a confession, a story etched into the very fabric of this place. The bitter dregs of my cold coffee match the taste of suspicion on my tongue.

My mind replays every interaction with Celeste like a film reel I can’t stop—the way she moves between tables with lethal grace, how her accent gets stronger when she’s trying to deflect, the slight tremor in her hands when we discuss certain victims. Details I shouldn’t be collecting, shouldn’t be obsessing over, but can’t seem to stop noticing.

A memory flashes unbidden—Celeste’s face, taut with an emotion I couldn’t quite place, when I’d mentioned Gregory Thompson’s name during our last interview. The microexpression lasted less than a second, but I’ve found myself replaying it countless times, like picking at a scab I know should heal. Now that seed of doubt has grown into a thorny vine, wrapping around my heart, squeezing tighter with each passing moment.

A door creaks, and there she is. Celeste emerges from the shadows, her uniform wrinkled and her hair slightly mussed, looking like she’s been through hell and back. I catalog details automatically—the slight hesitation in her step, the way her eyes sweep the room before settling on me, the almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders.

But I’m also noticing things my training can’t explain—how the diner’s harsh lighting somehow makes her eyes more intense, the way she unconsciously touches her left wrist when she’s uncertain, the curve of her neck as she tilts her head in question.

“Ethan?” Her voice is a mixture of surprise and wariness, setting my nerves on edge. The way she says my name—soft ‘e’, lingering on the ‘n’—I’ve started noticing how it changes based on her mood. “I thought you’d left hours ago.”

I meet her gaze, trying not to drown in those eyes that seem to hold a universe of secrets. Each time I look at her, I notice something new—tonight it’s the faint gold flecks in her irises, catching the neon light like trapped stars. And here I thought I’d gotten over my weakness for dangerous women. Joke’s on me.

“We need to talk, Celeste.” I watch how she reacts to my tone—the slight straightening of her spine, the way her fingers curl against her thigh, probably unconsciously.

When did I start noticing these things?

When did they start mattering?

She tenses, and I can almost hear her defenses clicking into place, a fortress rising between us. Even that is fascinating—how she can shift from warm to wary in the space of a heartbeat. Military-grade emotional walls, if I had to guess. “About what?”

The words tumble out, each one an accusation, a dagger thrown in the dark. “About the inconsistencies in your stories. About why you always seem to be in the right place at the right time. About what you’re hiding from me.” I find myself tracking the pulse point at her throat, the way her breath catches slightly at ‘hiding.’

A flicker of something—fear? defiance?—dances in her eyes before being swallowed by a sardonic smile. That smile should be registered as a lethal weapon.

“You’re imagining things, Ethan. What’s next, you’ll accuse me of being a secret agent because I can make a decent martini?”

Her attempt at levity only fuels my frustration. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks of my own torment. “Damn it, Celeste.” I step closer, drawn into her orbit like a planet circling a deadly sun. “I want to trust you. I want to believe that what we have is real. But every instinct I have is screaming that you’re hiding something.”

She turns away, her shoulders a taut line of tension beneath her uniform. The movement releases a hint of her scent—jasmine mixed with something darker, more dangerous. It’s becoming as familiar to me as gunpowder and coffee. “You’re wrong, Ethan. I’m just a waitress. Nothing more.”

I reach out, gently turning her to face me. The warmth of her skin sears my fingertips, igniting a fire I struggle to contain. I’ve memorized this too—the exact temperature of her skin, the way she leans almost imperceptibly into my touch before catching herself. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s true.”

As Celeste steps closer, the heat radiating from her body makes my skin prickle. My heart hammers against my ribs, torn between the urge to shake the truth out of her and the desire to pull her against me. Her scent, usually so comforting, now feels overwhelming. I’ve started catching it everywhere—in my car, my hotel room, like she’s become a ghost haunting my senses.

Our gazes lock, and in that moment, something shifts. The anger, the suspicion, the fear—it all melts away, replaced by a heat so intense it steals the breath from my lungs. I notice how her pupils dilate, the way her lips part slightly. Details that used to be evidence now feel like torture.

“Ethan,” she whispers, my name on her lips a prayer and a curse. I’ve started collecting the ways she says it—soft and teasing over morning coffee, sharp with warning when I push too far, and now, rough with something that makes my blood burn. “You don’t want to know the truth. Trust me on this.”

But I can’t stop now. I’m in too deep, drowning in the mystery that is Celeste. Every detail feels crucial—the slight tremor in her voice, the way her accent thickens with emotion, how her fingers twist in her apron. “I need to know,” I breathe, my voice rough with emotion. “Whatever it is, I need to fucking know.”

It’s an obsession at this point. One I can’t control. Hell, one I don’t want to control. She’s become a drug I can’t quit, a puzzle I need to solve more than I need my next breath.

Her eyes flash, a mix of longing and regret that cuts me to the core. I’ve started categorizing her looks too—this one’s new, dangerous in a way that makes my heart race. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing the delicate curve of her cheekbones. The contrast of soft skin against sharp bone fascinates me, just another detail to add to my growing collection of Celeste-related obsessions. “Then show me. Show me what I’m getting myself into.”

For a heartbeat, the world stands still. Then Celeste surges forward, her lips crashing into mine with a desperation that matches my own. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, a battle for dominance that neither of us is willing to lose. I taste coffee and secrets on her tongue, and I want more, need more. I’ve memorized this too—how she kisses like she’s trying to steal the breath from my lungs, the small sound she makes when I bite her lower lip.

My hands tangle in her hair as I back her against the counter, lifting her onto it without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, erasing any space between us. The way she moves—fluid, precise, too practiced—should set off warning bells. Instead, it just adds to my fascination. Every detail about her is a contradiction I want to solve.

Even as desire clouds my mind, a part of me remains alert, searching for answers. My hands roam her body, seeking not just pleasure, but truth.

Some detective you are, Blake, fondling evidence.

But I can’t help cataloging every discovery.

A scar beneath her ribs, too precise to be an accident. The exact texture of it burns into my memory.

A callus on her trigger finger that no waitress should have. I trace it, adding it to my mental file of Celeste’s mysteries.

The way she controls her breathing, measured and even, like someone trained to maintain composure.

Celeste must sense my divided attention because she pulls back, her chest heaving. Her eyes are dark with desire, but there’s something else there too—a calculation, a wariness that I’ve started finding painfully attractive. Even her suspicion of me has become intoxicating.

“Is this what you want, Ethan?” she asks, her voice husky. I’ve never heard this tone from her before, and it joins my collection of Celeste-observations, filed away with all the others. “Or are you still looking for something else?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. I want to lose myself in her, to forget about the case, the suspicions, everything. But I can’t. Some things you can’t walk away from, no matter how much you want to. Not when the truth is so tantalizingly close. Not when every new detail about her feels like another piece of a puzzle I’m desperate to complete.

“I want you,” I admit, the words raw and honest. My hands frame her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones, adding the exact angle of her jaw to my mental catalog of her features. “But I also want the truth. I need it, Celeste. More than I’ve needed anything in my life.”

She closes her eyes, pain flashing across her face. I find myself memorizing this expression too—how her brows draw together, the slight tremor in her lower lip. When she opens them again, there’s a resolve there that both terrifies and excites me.

“The truth,” she says softly, tracing my jaw with her finger, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, “is a dangerous thing, Ethan. Are you sure you can handle it?”

I swallow hard, knowing that my answer will change everything. Each detail of this moment burns into my memory—the hum of the fluorescent lights, the lingering scent of coffee and jasmine, the exact shade of green her eyes turn when she’s about to reveal a secret. No going back after this, Blake.

“Yes.”

As Celeste steps closer, the heat radiating from her body makes my skin prickle. Each detail burns into my memory—the exact shade of her flushed skin, how her pupils dilate in the dim light, the way her breath catches when I move toward her. My heart hammers against my ribs, torn between the urge to interrogate her and the desperate need to taste her skin.

Our gazes lock, and something electric passes between us. The questions, the suspicions, the professional distance—it all burns away in the heat of her proximity. I’ve started cataloging the different shades of green in her eyes, the way they darken with emotion. Another detail for my growing collection of Celeste-observations.

“Ethan,” she breathes my name, and I file away this new tone—husky, wanting, dangerous. Her hands find my chest, and even through my shirt, her touch brands me. “We shouldn’t...”

But neither of us moves away. Instead, I find myself drawn closer, like a moth to a flame that will probably destroy me. At this point, I welcome the burn.

At least the diner is empty at this hour.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Celeste gasps as I trail kisses down the column of her throat, tasting the salt on her skin. I find myself cataloging every detail—the exact pitch of her gasp, how her pulse jumps beneath my lips, the way her accent thickens with desire. Even these intimate moments become evidence I can’t help but collect.

“No, we shouldn’t,” I agree, even as I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs. The fabric of her uniform rustles softly, a counterpoint to our ragged breathing. My investigator’s mind won’t shut off—noting how she automatically positions herself with clear sightlines to both exits, the practiced efficiency of her movements. Things a waitress shouldn’t know, details I’m becoming addicted to noticing.

My lips slam back on hers. Hard. Relentless. Unyielding.

Our kisses grow more frantic, hands roaming, exploring. The sound of buttons popping echoes in the empty diner as Celeste tears at my shirt. My own hands find the zipper of her uniform, pulling it down with agonizing slowness, memorizing each new inch of skin revealed like I’m mapping a crime scene.

“Ethan,” Celeste moans, and I add this new version of my name to my collection—breathless, wanting, a tone I’ve never heard from her before. The sound sends a jolt of desire straight through me. “The stock room.”

I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, seeing my own hunger reflected there. Her pupils are dilated, just a thin ring of green remaining—the same response suspects show under stress, but this is something altogether different. Something more intoxicating. “Are you sure?”

In response, she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. The heat of her core presses against me, short-circuiting every rational thought. Even her grace in this moment feels too practiced, too perfect. Another mystery to solve, another detail to obsess over. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The journey to the stock room is a blur, my heart pounding in sync with the throbbing desire that has been building for far too long. I can’t keep my hands off her, each touch igniting a fire that burns away the remnants of my self-control. My fingers trace the curves of her body, committing every line and contour to memory as if it were sacred ground. Her skin is soft and yielding under my touch, a stark contrast to the rough callouses on my own hands.

You feel incredible,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. “I can’t wait to explore every inch of you. Taste every inch.”

Clothing becomes an unnecessary barrier, discarded piece by piece in a hurried trail behind us. My leather jacket hits the floor first, followed by her silk scarf, a vivid splash of color against the dull grey of the concrete floor. Her breath hitches as I pull her closer, my lips finding the sensitive spot on her neck, drawing out a soft moan that sends a surge of satisfaction through me.

“You like that, don’t you?” I whisper, my voice husky with desire. “The way my touch sets your skin on fire?”

I’m always in control, but with her, I’m willingly surrendering to the chaotic dance of passion and emotion. The echo of our footsteps and ragged breaths fills the stock room, a symphony of desire that drowns out the cautious voice in my head.

“I want to taste you, to feel you tremble beneath me,” I growl, my hands gripping her hips tightly. “You’re driving me crazy, and I fucking love it.”

I am finally giving in, letting go, falling in love with a woman who sets my world ablaze.

We don’t even make it deeper into the stock room; a nearby wall becomes our sanctuary. Her back presses against the cold surface, a gasp escaping her lips as I pin her hands above her head. Her eyes, wild and hungry, meet mine, reflecting the same primal need that courses through my veins. I can feel her heart racing, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. The air is thick with our mingled breaths, the scent of her perfume intoxicating.

“You drive me crazy,” I growl, my voice heavy with desire. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”

I lean in, capturing her mouth with mine, tasting her urgency. Her body arches against me, begging for more. “Feel what you do to me,” I whisper, pressing against her.

Releasing her hands, I let mine explore, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. “Your body is incredible,” I murmur, my breath hot on her ear. She clings to me, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist as I lift her, pressing her back against the wall.

“I want you so badly,” she breathes, her voice a sultry whisper that sends shivers down my spine. “I can feel how much you want me too,” she purrs, her lips grazing my ear. “I love the way you take control, the way you touch me. It drives me wild.”

I groan, capturing her mouth again, our bodies pressed tightly together, lost in the heat of the moment.

The world outside the stock room fades away. There is only her, only us, only this moment. Her head falls back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. I trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under my lips. Her breath comes in short gasps, interspersed with soft moans that echo in the confined space, driving me to the brink of madness.

“We shouldn’t...” she whispers, even as her body contradicts her words, pulling me closer.

“But we are,” I murmur against her skin, my voice hoarse with desire. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her response is a low, throaty laugh that sends shivers down my spine. “Neither would I,” she admits, her eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and affection. “I need you inside me,” she whispers, her voice laced with urgency. “I want to feel you, all of you.”

Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging with a desperation that mirrors my own. Each touch, each taste, only serves to fuel the inferno raging between us.

I can feel her heat, her fucking need, pressing against me, urging me on. Her skin is slick with sweat, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts that fan the flames of my desire.

I shift, pressing closer, my body aching with the need to be inside her. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting in a silent invitation. I take her mouth again, my tongue delving deep, mimicking the rhythm I intend to set. Her hips rock against me, her body instinctively knowing what it wants, what it needs.

“I’m yours,” she moans, her voice filled with raw desire. “Please,” she begs against my lips, her voice a husky whisper that sends a jolt straight to my core. “Please, just...please.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. I hitch her higher, my hands supporting her smooth, supple thighs as I position myself at her entrance. Her eyes, fly open, locking onto mine with an intensity that sends a jolt through me. In this moment, everything else ceases to exist. The dim, flickering light of the stock room fades away, the distant hum of the world outside disappears. There’s only her, only us, only this raw, primal connection that transcends anything I’ve ever known.

You feel incredible,” I murmur, my voice hoarse with desire. Her heat radiates against me, drawing me in. I push into her slowly, inch by inch, a low groan tearing from my throat as her tightness envelops me. “God, you’re so tight, so warm,” I breathe, feeling her body stretch to accommodate me.

Her eyes widen, her lips parting to form a perfect ‘O’ as I fill her completely. “You feel that?” I whisper, my breath hot on her ear, her neck. “That’s me filling you, that’s us becoming one.” Her nails dig into my back, the bite of pain sharpening the pleasure that courses through my veins like wildfire.

That’s it baby mark me up

I begin to move, driving into her with a force born of desperation and need. Each thrust is met with a surge of heat, her body gripping me tightly, drawing me deeper. “You’re so wet for me, baby,” I growl, feeling her slickness, her desire. “You like how I make you feel, don’t you? You like how our bodies fit together like they were made for this.”

Her body matches mine in perfect rhythm, her hips rising to meet each thrust, her breaths coming in time with mine, harsh and ragged. The stock room fills with the sounds of our lovemaking, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing off the cold, hard walls, the harsh symphony of our ragged breaths, the sweet music of her moans, each one sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” I pant, feeling her tightening around me, her body coiling like a spring ready to release. Her muscles tense, her breath hitches, and I know she’s on the edge. “I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me, baby. Let me hear you scream. Let me feel you let go.”

Her eyes, glazed with passion, meet mine, and I see the moment she surrenders, the moment she gives herself over to the pleasure. Her pupils dilate, her lashes flutter, and her body convulses around me. “You feel so good,” I rasp, my voice hoarse with desire, as her scream echoes off the walls, filling the stock room with the sound of her release. “That’s it, baby,” I growl, “Let go for me. Let me see you come undone.”

“You’re so deep,” Celeste moans, her voice laced with pleasure, “I can feel every inch of you. You fill me so perfectly, like you were made for me.” Her words send a shiver through me, pushing me closer to the edge.

The sight of her, lost in ecstasy, pushes me over the edge. My body tenses, my muscles coil, and with a final, powerful thrust, I bury myself deep inside her. My body shudders, my release pulsing through me like a storm, as I groan her name. “You’re mine,” I whisper, my breath hot on her skin.

“I’m yours,” Celeste replies, her voice sultry and satisfied. “And you’re mine. I love feeling you come inside me, love knowing that I bring you to this point.”

We stay like that for a moment, our bodies entwined, slick with sweat, our hearts pounding in sync, a shared rhythm that echoes in the silence of the stock room. As the haze of passion slowly clears, I realize that this isn’t just sex, just desire. It’s more. It’s love. Her scent, a mix of her perfume and our lovemaking, surrounds me, intoxicating me. And as I look into her eyes, still glazed with the remnants of pleasure, I know that she feels it too. We’re in this together, bound by something more powerful than either of us has ever known. And in this moment, I know that I would do anything to protect her, to protect us. Anything to keep our love safe in this dangerous world.

If only she’d let me in. I’d give her everything.

“That was...” I begin, struggling to find words adequate to describe the storm we’ve just weathered.

“Incredible,” Celeste finishes, a small smile playing on her lips.

I set her down slowly, her legs wobbly beneath her. In the afterglow, her usual guarded expression is gone, replaced by a vulnerability that tugs at my heart. For a moment, I see a flicker of something in her eyes—a pain, a mission, a secret too heavy to share. It’s gone in an instant, but it leaves me shaken.

“Celeste, I need you to know something.” The words taste like ash in my mouth, duty warring with the lingering sweetness of her kisses.

She tenses slightly, but nods for me to continue. Even now, after everything we’ve shared, I can see her defenses clicking into place. Christ, Blake, you sure know how to kill a moment.

“We’ve uncovered evidence of a conspiracy that goes all the way to the top. City officials, business leaders, maybe even federal agents.” Way to go, sharing classified information. They’ll love that at your disciplinary hearing.

Celeste’s eyes widen, and I see that flicker again—recognition? fear? Something that makes my detective instincts scream. “Ethan, you shouldn’t be telling me this.”

“I know,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “But I can’t shake the feeling that you’re connected to all of this somehow. And I need you to know how dangerous this is getting.” Because nothing says ‘I care about you’ quite like accusing someone of conspiracy after sleeping with them.

She begins pulling her clothing on like armor. The rustle of fabric seems unnaturally loud in the echoey stock room. “Ethan, I?—”

I see the moment she almost tells me everything. It’s there in her eyes—the weight of a secret too heavy to bear. For a heartbeat, I think she might confess whatever it is she’s been hiding. Come on, Celeste. Trust me.

But then the moment passes. Celeste’s walls come back up, almost visible in their suddenness. Fort Knox has nothing on her emotional defenses.

“I’m just worried about you,” she says, her voice carefully neutral. “This sounds incredibly dangerous.”

I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. My stomach clenches, a physical manifestation of the tension between us. “It is. That’s why I need you to be careful, Celeste. If you know anything, anything at all, you need to tell me. I can protect you.”

Celeste laughs, but it’s a hollow sound that seems to echo in the small room. “Oh, Ethan. You can’t even protect yourself.”

Before I can respond, she leans in and kisses me, effectively ending the conversation. Classic deflection technique, and I’m falling for it like a rookie. As we lose ourselves in each other once more, this time making it to the stock room’s exit, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just made a grave mistake.

Later, as I dress to leave, I watch Celeste move around the kitchen, making coffee. The rich aroma fills the air, mixing with the lingering scent of our lovemaking. She seems different somehow—more guarded, more determined. The soft clink of mugs and the gentle gurgle of the coffee maker provide a mundane counterpoint to the tension still simmering between us. Just another morning after, except for the whole ‘possible conspiracy’ thing.

“Celeste,” I say as I prepare to go, my hand on the cool metal of the backdoor doorknob, “no matter how this case unfolds... you’ve become more than just part of this investigation to me.” Smooth, Blake. Why not just hand in your badge now?

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I care about you too, Ethan. More than I should.”

As I walk back to my hotel in the pre-dawn light, my mind races. Walking away from Celeste feels like tearing off a piece of myself. But beneath the afterglow of our night together, a nagging voice whispers that I’m missing something crucial. That in getting closer to Celeste, I might be jeopardizing everything I’ve worked for. Not to mention breaking about a dozen FBI regulations.

I’ve crossed a line tonight, both professionally and personally. I’ve shared classified information with a civilian—with a potential suspect, even. The weight of my badge in my pocket seems heavier than usual, a constant reminder of my compromised integrity. Professional conduct at its finest, Blake.

I step into my hotel room, the silence a stark contrast to the emotional tumult of the night. As I shed my clothes, Celeste’s scent still clings to my skin, a reminder of what I’ve gained and what I stand to lose. The evidence of my questionable decisions, literally written on my body.

The shower does little to clear my head. As I dry off, I catch sight of my reflection in the steamy mirror. The man staring back at me looks haunted, torn between duty and desire. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to compartmentalize, to keep my personal life separate from my work. But Celeste has shattered those carefully constructed walls with a single touch. Way to go, hotshot. Years of training undone by a pretty face and a dangerous smile.

As I dress for the day ahead, my phone buzzes.

Reeves: Meeting at nine sharp.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what is to come. The weight of my badge reminds me of the oath I’ve sworn, the lives depending on me cracking this case. I can’t let my feelings for Celeste cloud my judgment.

Too fucking late.

Celeste Deveraux has wormed her way under my skin, into my heart. And no matter how this plays out, I have a sinking feeling that one of us is going to end up burned.

With one last glance at my reflection, I grab my badge and gun. It is time to face the music. As I step out of my hotel room, Celeste’s scent still clinging to my skin, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking into a trap of my own making.

And the worst part? A part of me doesn’t care.

The pieces are already in play, and I am fumbling to catch up. The stakes are higher than I could have ever imagined. And as I step into the harsh light of day, I know that whatever comes next will change everything. The only question is: will Celeste be beside me or across an interrogation table when this all comes crashing down?

The weight of my choices presses down on me, a constant reminder of the fine line I walk between duty and desire. But as I make my way to the precinct, the bustling streets of New Orleans a stark contrast to the intimate world Celeste and I created last night, I know one thing for certain: I’ve crossed a line that no amount of backpedaling can erase. The path I’ve chosen is fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it is mine.

And I will see it through to the bitter end, no matter the cost. Welcome to rock bottom, Blake. Hope you enjoy the view.