Page 25 of Twisted Vows

“Here, have some sugar. Get those levels back up to normal.” He wraps my hands around the frigid can and urges me to lift it to my face. “Who would have thoughtmia caramellinawould need so much sweetness to be so spicy?”

I choke and nearly die as icy, carbonated liquid shoots into my nostrils.

Snorting cold soda after a nosebleed? Highly donotrecommend.

He takes the can from me and lifts me off the chair. By the time I regain my composure, I’m sitting across his thighs with his forearm bracing my back. He wipes my face with a napkin.

My adrenaline drops, leaving my energy so low lifting my arm to push the napkin away seems like too much effort. I take a few tentative breaths, testing my sore nostrils before sighing.

His chuckle jostles me in his lap. As my fury rises, lending me strength, he shoves a spoonful of lasagna alla Bolognese into my mouth.

I tell myself not to forgive him. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s playing with me like I’m some toy. He’s a kidnapper. A murderer. A criminal.

But he also feeds me until my stomach threatens to burst. Somehow, he seems to know which dishes are my favorites and ferries more of those into my mouth than the others.

With my belly full and my tastebuds in heaven, the day’s toll catches up with me and I slump against him.

As I hover between consciousness and sleep, one thought rises from the depths of my soul and plays on repeat.

I need him to let me go. Now.

Not because he’s a dirty criminal. Not because I need to protect my sister.

But because every second I spend with him, I fall deeper under his spell. After only two days, he’s stolen parts of me I didn’t even know existed.

He woke the feminine corners of my soul. The portions that crave to be pampered, worshipped, and loved. The core of me that needs to be challenged and accepted with all my flaws and inconsistencies.

He may not be as cruel as the men of my past, but he’s more dangerous.

I need him to let me go and walk away.

Now.

Chapter 8

Fiero Capito

When she gives a littlehalf snore, I smirk and ferry another spoonful of food into my mouth and chew with way more smugness than I should.

Pride fills my chest. Not only did Inotravage her in the shower, but I have her compliant and soft in my lap after pampering her with food and sweetness.

Remembering the sight of her scarred back dampens my joy. The clear signs of abuse offer me nothing but questions and no answers.

Prying her with those questions will only make her pull away, so I tighten my arm around her and bask in the trust she shows me.

I finish my meal, pack up the leftovers, and slip my arm under her knees before standing. She makes a small sound of complaint and snuggles harder against my chest. The blindfold knot hits a bruise on my sternum, sending guilt down my spine.

Now that I know I’ll never be able to walk away from her, I shouldn’t give her false hope, but it’s too soon to remove the blindfold. She’ll blame me for ruining her only chance at freedom and hold a grudge for the rest of our lives. I need to gain her trust before dropping the ruse.

The neckline of my shirt slips off her shoulder, revealing the creamy upper swell of her breast, but I lay her down on her side of the bed without daring to fix it. Putting my hands anywhere near her curves will fray the last of my control.

When I perch on the edge of the mattress and bring her wrists together, she furrows her brows and turns her head toward me. By the time I finish tying her wrists together, she’s already asleep again. Deciding not to tie her to the headboard or bind her chafed ankles, I stand and tuck the blankets around her before putting the leftovers in the fridge and splashing cold water on my face in the bathroom sink. After checking my messages and plugging my phone into the charger, I turn off the lights, settle on top of the covers, and weave my fingers together behind my neck.

Her quiet breathing lulls me into a deep, restful sleep. When I wake, she’s plastered against my side with her head on my chest, her tied hands on my stomach and her leg thrown over my hip. I dare not move as she wiggles closer, her breasts pillowing against my ribs and her pussy warm against my hip.

It wouldn’t take much to sink my cock deep into her tight, wet heat. Only my sweats, her shorts, and a tiny corner of the blankets separate us. I fill my lungs and enjoy the way her curves shift against me. My pants struggle to contain my hard-on and my balls pulse with need.

Her nails dig into my skin. She snuggles closer. I tighten my woven fingers together, knowing I’ll ravage her if I move my hands out from behind my head.

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