Page 61 of Twisted Truths

When I step into the room, I find him in one of the old chairs, holding the glass that stores the sand from his last vacation with his mother. He doesn’t look up as I make my way over to him. Everything about him—the tension in his face, the slump of his shoulders, the way he’s staring at what he’s holding—screams the pain that inflicts this man daily.

All I want is to take that pain away. I’m desperate to help him, but I don’t know how. Especially since he doesn’t allow me in.

I stand in front of him, but he still doesn’t tear his gaze away from the glass jar. “Obsidian.”

His gaze lifts to my face, and his eyes are sad, so sad, and so tired.

Without his permission, I crawl into his lap, wanting to console him. “What’s wrong?” My hand cups his cheek, turning his head so our eyes meet.

“I don’t want to be like him,” he whispers.

My forehead creases. “Who?”

“My father.” He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me into his body, still holding the glass jar with one hand.

I return his embrace, wishing I could melt into him and make us one. I don’t know anything about his father, but if I had to guess, he must have had something to do with the scars on Obsidian’s back.

The man in my arms may have his issues, but I know without a doubt he would never, never do that to someone else, especially his own flesh and blood.

Tears prick my eyes as we draw apart, and Obsidian’s large hands come to rest on my cheeks. “I need you, Ariana. Can I have you?”

He’s come to me many nights while I’ve been sleeping, but without him saying it, I know this is different, even if I can’t explain how.

“Yes.” I nod. “Yes, you can always have me.”

Sliding his hands under my knees and my back, he lifts us up and walks across the room and down the stairs. When he reaches his bedroom, he gently sets me on his mattress. Then he strips off his lounge pants before crawling across the mattress, hovering over me.

His twin pools-of-midnight eyes soak me in as he straightens, his palms sliding under the hem of my T-shirt, lifting it up my body and over my head. His face dips, and his tongue grazes my nipple, spurring it to a sharp point before repeating the pattern on my other breast. My hands dive into his wavy hair as he lowers himself and proceeds to kiss and suck every inch of my exposed skin. The fact that the only light comes from the sconces in the hallway because the door is open adds to the sensual feel.

Gripping one breast in his hand, he sucks on my nipple until I’m throbbing between my thighs, desperate for him. Eventually, he trails his tongue up to my collarbone and runs it along the column of my neck.

He whispers in my ear, “I want to deserve you. I want to be good to you. I really do.”

As if my heart is made of glass, it shatters at his confession, at the sincerity and desperation and pain laced in the words. What has happened to this man that he believes he can’t be that man for me?

I force him away from my neck so he can see my face when I say, “You do. You are.”

He stares into my eyes as if he’s willing himself to believe my words. His gaze slips to my mouth, and tension fills every inch of his bedroom. I want to wrap my hand around the back of his head and bring his mouth to mine, but this has to be his decision. He’s the one who put that restriction on us, but as I lie with the weight of him over me, I wish and dream to know what his lips feel on mine. If it’s even just for tonight.

“Fuck it,” he says, his mouth crashing to mine.

My arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him down on top of me, wanting all of him. His hard body falls on my soft one, crushing my breasts, and it’s glorious. For the first time, his lips are on mine. And with this one single kiss, the small distance we were keeping from each other is obliterated.

We sink into the kiss, our tongues lazily lashing until I cede control.

I’ve never been kissed like this—as if he might die if he has to strip his lips off mine.

My hands skate over his back, the rough terrain of his scar tissue under my fingertips, as if I could magically heal them, heal him. Liquid fire damps between my legs, soaking my panties as I grind against his hard length rubbing against me. I need him inside me like I need my next breath.

Just when I think he’s at the breaking point too, his lips leave mine, and I groan. Until his lips trail a path down my abdomen to the top of my pussy. He hooks his fingers under each side of my panties, sliding them down my legs before tossing them near my T-shirt.

His eyes remain on me as his mouth inches lower and lower until he’s nestled between my legs. Slowly, with intention and absolute focus, he devours me with his tongue. His large hands splay my legs open while he sucks on my swollen nub, over and over, ratcheting up my desire one level at a time.

He doesn’t increase the pace or change his tactics, and he stares at me through his long dark eyelashes, enjoying my rising pleasure. He takes me from a slow burn to a raging fire that overtakes me. My back arches off the bed, and my body stiffens.

“Obsidian,” I plead, explosions bursting behind my closed eyelids.

He never takes his mouth off me, but slows, allowing me to enjoy the fall down.

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