Page 26 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

Fantasia’s mouth presses into a bloodless line. She’s finally given up trying to protest what I’m saying. Is it guilt or logic that is holding her tongue? I wish I knew.

I never used to yell at her like this, but the past year has changed the dynamic between us so completely that we fight on an almost daily basis. She’s made herself into an obstacle between my family and what happiness we can find- while leaning on me as the solution to all her problems.

She’s even made me regret giving up my birthright for her.

I shake my head, banishing that traitorous thought back into the vault, along with the bulk of my anger. “Go to bed, Fantasia. Maybe you’ll be less unreasonable once you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

Fantasia glares into the fire. “You’re speaking to the pot, Mr. Kettle.”

Heaving a sigh, I take the sherry with me as I trudge out of the room.

Chapter 14

Emma

When I wake up, watery morning light is just coming through the windows, and the armchair is empty.

I hold myself still and silent, listening hard for movement from the bathroom or closet. There’s no creek of floorboards, no whisper of fabric. It seems like Achilles really has left me on my own again.

How is that disappointing and a relief at the same time?

I sit up slowly, hugging the coverlet to my body to ward off the chill of the early hour, and take stock of how I feel. There’s a tender soreness between my legs, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, my whole body is loose and relaxed in a way it’s never been before. In a way I’ve neverallowedit to be before.

My face feels so hot I have to press my icy fingers to my cheeks to relieve them.

I can’t deny it to myself, no matter how crazy it sounds. Despite the circumstances, despite whatever loathing Achilles feels for me and the wariness I feel for him-

Last night was incredible.

Achilles’s thumb between my legs, his fingers inside me and then his cock, the heat of his body as we clung to each other, and the way he held me when I shattered- I keep replaying everysensation in my mind until my own body begins to respond. The ache in my core deepens, and I’m shocked to realize I’m wet and ready for more.

My hand moves without conscious thought, skimming over my stomach, grazing the tender spots on my thighs where his grip left faint marks. My fingertips trace the curve of my hip before slipping lower, over the soft skin of my inner thigh. Heat pools low in my belly as I let my fingers wander, testing the pleasure igniting under my touch.

I bite my lip, my breath growing unsteady as my fingers slide further. Last night’s memories are etched into my body, and as I circle the sensitive flesh, I find myself chasing them, desperate to reclaim even a sliver of how he made me feel.

The tenderness between my legs is undeniable, a lingering echo of him, but instead of pulling back, I lean into it. My palm presses flat against my stomach, grounding me as my fingers gently rub my clit. A shaky breath escapes me, the quiet sound almost too loud in the stillness of the room. A nervous thrill courses through me, heightening every touch.

My movements grow bolder, and each stroke more deliberate as I explore the ache that demands attention. My hips shift instinctively, seeking more, and my breath catches in my throat as the intensity deepens.

My nipples harden and a tingling warmth spreads to my toes. With my free hand, I squeeze my breast, the dual sensations drawing soft gasps from my lips. My fingers move faster, stroking up and down in a rhythm that matches the rising heat within me.

Images of Achilles flood my mind: the weight of his gaze, the possessive way his hands roamed my body, the rough yet careful way he claimed me. My imagination fills in the gaps, merging memory and fantasy as I let myself imagine what it would feel like to have his hands on me again.

The tension builds quickly, a coiled spring deep in my core, tightening with every stroke. My body knows what it craves, and I surrender completely, chasing the release that teeters just out of reach. My movements quicken, each pass of my fingers sending another wave of heat surging through me.

When the climax finally breaks, it’s almost too much. My back arches off the bed, a silent cry on my lips as pleasure courses through me in sharp, breathless bursts. The tension unravels all at once, leaving me boneless and trembling in its wake.

For a moment, I simply lie there, chest heaving, the cool air prickling my heated skin. I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips, faint and secretive, as I come back to myself.

Even without him here, my body remembers him. And that, I realize, is both thrilling and utterly terrifying.

Growing up with the father I had and the fear I felt every day, intimacy was an alien concept to me. Even when I got old enough to be naturally curious about it, I never let myself imagine what sex would be like. It could only be a way for another person to control you, to take from you, to hurt you. It couldn’t be really pleasurable, not if it was something my monstrous father did to beget me. Surely that was a lie women told themselves so they could survive the horrible men they were chained to.

My certainty that this was the case only became more ingrained after my father died and I was left entirely anchorless. I rebuilt myself as Silver, a man who could never be touched, literally and figuratively. I covered every inch of myself but my eyes in clothes and blended into a crowd of doppelgangers. I was surrounded at all times by violent men, but they servedme, obeyedme.

At least, I liked to believe they did. In reality, all my caution meant nothing. I couldn’t build an empire based on not being touched or known and expect it to last.

But Achilles… I let Achilles touch me, and he did it specifically to make me feel good. He let me keep up whatever walls helped me relax, and worked magic with the rest. I was safe in his hands last night. I was his priority.

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