Page 34 of Twisted Love

I hesitate, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. But there’s no mistaking the command in his tone. Slowly, I turn, my palms finding the cool, slick tiles of the wall. My breath hitches as I feel his hands on my hips, firm and grounding, guiding me into place. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, anticipation coiling in my belly like a spring about to snap.

"Hands on the wall," he says, his voice rougher now, more urgent.

I do as he says, bracing myself as the heat of his body presses against me. The angle bends me slightly forward, and I can feel the weight of his gaze burning into my skin. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the tension between us almost unbearable.

I reach back and my fingers wrap around his length. He’s so hard and so impossibly smooth. The way he throbs under my touch makes my knees tremble. The sound of his sharp inhale is a reward in itself, spurring me on. I stroke him slowly at first, teasing, savoring the way his hips twitch toward me, the way his breath hitches with each deliberate movement.

"Don’t stop," he growls.

I don’t.

I trace my fingers along his shaft, down to the base, and then lower still, my lips curling into a smile as I hear the low, guttural noise he makes. The air was thick with steam and the raw scent of desire. His hips jerk, his control slipping further with every touch.

His fingers slide down my body and brush against the slick, swollen folds of my sex. I gasp, my body arching into his touch as he strokes me with a precision that leaves me trembling. The wet heat of his fingers sends sparks shooting up my spine, and I can barely keep my balance as he teases me, pushing me to the brink. His fingers slip into me.

"You’re so silky," he murmurs, almost to himself, and I hear the awe in his voice.

"Please," I whisper, my voice trembling with need. I don’t care how desperate I sound. I just need him—now, completely, without reservation.

He answers without words, his fingers withdrawing only to be replaced by something much larger, much harder. The head of his cock presses against me, its size stretching me even before he fully enters. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks in, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

He’s so thick and seems to go so impossibly deep. I can feel every inch of him as he fills me completely. I brace myself against the wall, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. He doesn’t move at first, just holds himself there, buried inside me as though savoring the moment.

"Fuck," he groans, his voice raw.

"Fuck me, Earl. Fuck me," I beg, my voice barely audible.

That’s all it takes. His hips pull back, and then he thrusts in, slow and deliberate at first, as though testing how much I can take. But there’s no need—my body welcomes him, drawing him in with a hunger that matches his own. The rhythm he sets is almost tender, a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic need that burns between us.

Eventually, the tenderness gives way to urgency and his thrusts become faster and harder, each one driving me closer to the edge. The sound of water and our bodies colliding fills the stall. I cry out, unable to hold back the sounds of pleasure that spill from my lips, and his hand moves to cover my mouth, muffling my cries as though reminding me of the danger of being overheard. It’s an act of habit, something we’d had to do in our younger years so as not to get caught. There’s no need for it now, but it warms me either way. It’s almost like he’s lost in that time. It’s too easy to remember, impossible to forget, just how good it was—just how good we both felt to the other.

Fucking like this completely dissolves the antagonism between us, making it seem as though no time has passed at all and we are still the other’s soulmates. I melt into him on one particularly brutal thrust, my eyes rolling back, my back arching. He glues his body to mine, his hard hand curving around my waist like a vice as he keeps me from sliding down to the floor, like the pool of wax my entire body mass seems to have melted into.

His body rocks against mine, each thrust sending ripples of wonderful sensation through me. I cling to the wall for support, my fingers splayed against the slick tiles as he drives deeper, harder, until the world narrows to just us—him and me.

“Earl,” I gasp, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer. I feel as if I’m drowning in him and he must feel it too because his hands grip my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. The tension coils tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable. He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear.

“You feel so fucking good,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, almost broken.

That takes me over the edge. My head falls back against his shoulder as my climax crashes through me, violent and unrelenting. It pulls his name from my throat in a desperate cry.

His arms wrap around me, one hand cupping my breast as his thumb brushes over the hardened peak, the other splayed across my belly, holding me against him. I feel him everywhere, his strength, his heat, the steady rhythm of his thrusts as he chases his own release. His fingers tighten on me, grounding me as I spiral in the aftershocks of my pleasure, my body trembling uncontrollably.

“Raven,” he growls, his pace quickening, more erratic now, and I feel it building in him, the way his body tenses, his breaths coming faster and rougher. I reach back, my hand finding his cheek, and he turns his head to press his lips to my palm, the gesture so tender it steals my breath.

When he finally comes, it’s with a force that makes him shudder against me, his grip on me unyielding as he spills inside me. The heat of him, the way he buries his face in the curve of my neck, the relentless spray of water falling on us as he groans my name feels like coming home.

As the last tremors fade, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds me, his chest heaving against my back, his lips brushing over my wet skin in a way that feels almost reverent. I close my eyes and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel whole.

CHAPTER20

EARL

I’m not done with her. I’m never done with her. I push the stall door and grab a towel. I wrap her in it.

“Follow me,” I say, and grabbing another towel head straight to the bed. I finish towelling myself, drop the towel to the floor and sit at its edge. Dampness still clings to my hair and skin. Moments later, she appears, her own towel wrapped loosely around her, the sight of her steals the air from my lungs. She pauses in the doorway briefly, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but when she meets my gaze, something unspoken passes between us. She crosses the room slowly, her steps light and careful and comes to stand in front of me.

I reach out and take her wrist, and gently pull her onto the bed. She comes willingly and I position her on the bed. Her legs fall open under my hands, and I settle between them, my gaze never leaving hers. She looks at me like I’m the only thing tethering her to reality, like she might shatter if I so much as blink.

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