Page 52 of Twisted Vows

“I’m about to come straight down your throat.”

She pauses and looks up. My fierce, beautiful wife. “Do it.”

I tip my head back and slip a strand of her hair between my fingers and tug as she sucks and strokes my cock. “My love.”

She moans around my cock and I feel it all the way down my spine. “I’m there—”

I gasp and jerk, erupting in hot pulses.

Not one to back down, she curls both hands around my shaft and sucks the crown as I come into her mouth. Lost in sensation, my heart flies out of my body, and my entire body shudders.

A hundred years later, my body is glued to the bed, and I’m panting and shaking as she gives my cock one last squeeze. “I don’t deserve you.”

Ari sits back on her heels, licks her lips, and smiles. “Duh.”

I pull her down and press our mouths together. Maybe the Universe doesn’t hate me after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Maxsim

I open one eye slowly, seeing the room is still dim. The early morning light filters in through the heavy curtains, and I feel Ari lying beside me. Her breath is slow and steady, and she’s curled into my side like she’s always belonged there.

Strange.

And Peaceful.

I close my eyes again and realize how rare it is to wake up beside someone and feel contentment. Absorbing the warmth radiating off her skin, I feel the remnants of last night linger.

Something shifted.

The way she looked at me…and how her body softened. Hell, it was like she almost didn’t hate me.

I study her face, the curve of her cheek, the way her dark hair spills across the pillow. She’s peaceful and a little vulnerable. A stark contrast to the fire and defiance she carries around like armor.

My hand itches to touch her, but I know I should get up. There’s work to be done—meetings, plans, the constant grind that waits for no one.

The Cartels are still a problem, we may have a traitor, and the Cosa Nostra is fending off a possible takedown from the inside. The day won’t be any easier than yesterday and yet…my body feels rooted to the bed.

What the hell is happening?

Control. Distance. That’s how I always operate. But right now, I can’t bring myself to move. A part of me wonders what it would be like to have this every morning—a quiet moment, just us, without the weight of everything else pressing down.

Familiar tension coils in my chest. So many fucking balls to keep in the air. I study my wife again. Her hair is tousled from the night, dark against the pale sheets. A strand falls across her face, and I brush it away before thinking.

Softness is creeping in.

What will it mean?

Nothing good, that’s for damn sure.

Irritated, I feel Ari stir beside me. Her breath catches, eyes slowly fluttering open. For a second, we just look at each other. No words, just the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and the quiet between us.

I’m used to silence—commanding it, relishing it—but this feels... different. Almost comfortable.

Her gaze lingers on me, sleepy but curious, as if she’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t. Instead, I reach over and trace the curve of her jaw.

My touch is careful, as if I’m concerned about breaking this moment. I’m not used to being gentle, not with my hands, not with anything. Everything in my world demands precision, force, control. But none of that applies here.

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