Page 15 of Twisted Love

Her response, when it comes, is calmer than I expected. “I... I don’t think I’m ready. We’ve barely spoken. Maybe in a week or two, when we’ve had more time together?—”

The sound of my harsh and hollow laughter is like a slap in the air and cuts her off mid-sentence. She stares at me with a mixture of horror and disbelief. The laughter dies on my lips, replaced by something darker.

“I have no interest in wasting time with you. The terms of our agreement are simple. You’re the mistress of this house, and when I need someone to fuck, you’re supposed to look pretty and oblige.”

Her sharp intake of breath is audible in the silence that follows. Then I see tears well up in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry. Her lips tremble as she asks, “What is wrong with you? When did you turn into this... this monster?”

“Monster?” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air, heavy and accusing. “Is that what I am now? A monster? It does have a nice ring to it though so thank you, I guess, for the compliment.”

She is flabbergasted.

“Are you going to do what’s needed or not?” I ask, my tone cold and clipped, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “The consequences are simple: this marriage will be annulled immediately. You move your things back out, and we go back to having nothing to do with each other. I’ll give you a minute to decide.”

I step back, crossing my arms, my gaze unyielding as I wait. My words hang in the silence between us, as sharp and unyielding as the blade I feel twisting in my chest. Her eyes never leave me, but her fingers tighten painfully around the edges of her oversized hoodie.

She doesn’t respond at first. She just stares at me, her wide, tear-filled eyes searching my face for something—maybe the man I used to be or the man she thinks I still am somewhere beneath all this anger and bitterness. But I’m not him anymore. He died a painful death a long time ago.

Her shoulders rise and fall with each shaky breath. Then I see the exact moment the fight drains out of her. Slowly she rises to her feet. Her movements are fluid. She takes a step forward, then another, until she’s standing just inches away from me.

I can feel her warmth, smell her sweet scent, hear the soft hitch in her breath, and see the glint of unshed tears on her lashes. It hits me like a punch to the gut—this woman I’ve spent years trying to hate, this woman I wanted to make suffer, is still the one person who can unmake me by just standing in front of me. And I hate her for it. I hate myself even more.

But I don’t let it show. I lock my jaw, keeping my face impassive. “Get on your knees,” I command. My voice crackles with unspoken emotions, regrets, and a longing that I’m too proud to admit aloud, but my cock is rock-hard with anticipation.

Her gaze meets mine, defiant at first, but then her eyes soften, searching me for something—an answer, a promise, perhaps even remorse.

“Why are you making something so beautiful ugly?” she asks sadly, as she lowers herself, her enormous eyes looking up at me imploringly. In the past, there would have been no denying those eyes. They can melt a man’s heart, but my heart is a tarnished stone.

I run a finger along her soft cheek and my voice is silky with hate. “Don’t fool yourself, baby. What we have is raw, primitive, compulsive, wicked, and as necessary as breathing, but it is not beautiful. You are mine and you will perform for me for as long as I need you to. When I ask you to do something you will do it no matter how humiliating it is. So save the pretty words. They’re wasted on me.”

Her breath hitches with shock. Then she drops her head and for a while is as still as a statue, then her pale hands rise and find the waistband of my briefs. Every fiber of my being tightens under her touch. She pulls the fabric down. Her eyes widen and, for a moment, she pauses. I see her staring, her lips parted as if she’s surprised by the changes to my body.

Does she remember how it used to be between us? If there’s a flicker of recognition in her mind—of how we once fit together so effortlessly. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I want to ask her. I want to know if there have been others—how many others have seen her, touched her the way I have, or made her feel the way I did. But the thought of hearing the answer makes my stomach twist with jealousy. I can’t bear it, so I bury it deep, where it can’t hurt me.

Her hand is steady as she reaches out, hovering for a breathless moment before her fingertips graze the length of my cock. The contact is so delicate, so tentative, it sends a sharp, electric pulse through me. Her fingers brushing against my hot skin feel both foreign and achingly familiar. Heat radiates between us and my breath catches. I remember this. Oh God, I remember this. Raven. My Raven. Mine. Mine. The past comes crashing back with shocking ferocity.

The world tilts. This is going to be unbearable.

Goosebumps scatter over my body as her fingers glide over the length of my cock, her touch exploring every ridge and vein with an almost reverent curiosity. As if in awe of the changes she is seeing. Her thumb traces a deliberate path along the throbbing vein that runs down the length of me. She adjusts her grip, tightening just enough to make my breath stutter. Her thumb brushes over the tip, slow and deliberate, smearing the bead of moisture there. Then she leans forward and licks the head of my cock like a cat. Tasting me.

Then her eyes flick upwards and her gaze locks with mine. And I see everything—wonder, aching need, and something deeper, something primal and unspoken. Her eyes flicker with recognition. She sees the same thing in my eyes. That pisses me off. This is not a love-making session. She must understand that. This is just lust. Animal lust. Nothing more. She must never know how little control I have left.

“Get on with it,” I snarl icily.

She flinches at my brutal tone, then obediently wraps her hand around my girth, her hand sliding carefully, as though she’s holding something precious. Her other hand joins, cradling the base, her slender fingers joining together encircling the full length of me. I feel the warmth of her breath as she leans closer. Her lips stretch as her hot mouth takes me in.

She looks up at me then, her gaze locking onto mine. My chest tightens. At this moment, nothing else matters—not the years we’ve been apart, not the ugliness that gnaws at the edges of my mind. All that exists is her and my hard cock pushing deep into her throat.

CHAPTER10

RAVEN

Iknow he is trying to make this moment as ugly as possible, but he can’t because it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and I’m so turned on I am dripping wet. The texture of his skin, the feel of his silky skin against my tongue—it’s a mix of the familiar and the new, setting my senses ablaze. Memories rush in, unbidden and overwhelming. Of a time when we were so young and our love was innocent and full of passion. Every inch of him is burned into my memory, but experiencing it again now is almost too much to bear.

I trace him from root to tip, feeling the heat and hardness of him against my mouth. His skin is smooth, stretched tight over steel, and I savor the way he pulses, alive and raw. My hand wraps around the base of his cock, fingers tightening just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. I pump him slowly, teasing, while my tongue circles the sensitive crown.

There’s salt and warmth and that taste that is uniquely his. My hands press into his strong thighs, my fingers curling into his skin as if anchoring myself against the storm he ignites within me. A heat builds within me, raw and insistent, spreading from the pit of my stomach to every nerve ending in my body.

I close my eyes, shutting out everything but the way he feels and tastes and he lets out a ragged sound above me, and it sends a shiver down my spine. His hands hover near my face, trembling as if he’s caught between holding back and surrendering. I feel his restraint, his tension, and the way he fights not to fall back into old habits.

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