Page 55 of Twisted Love

I freeze. Wife. The word slips from her lips like an accusation, but it lodges itself somewhere deeper inside me. It’s the first time she’s called herself that, and damn it, I like the sound of it more than I should. I like the way it anchors her to me, a declaration, even in anger. My lips twitch upward despite myself.

I study her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly parted as though she’s waiting for me to strike back. And I realize, with a pang just how much I’ve missed this fire in her. Annabelle’s easy laughter, her finishing school charm—none of it holds a candle to Raven’s furious, messy, maddening presence. This, right here, is what I crave. What I’ve always craved.

“It’s the day of the great dance,” I murmur, my tone softer now, the weight of the night pressing against me. “Shouldn’t we dance instead of arguing?”

Before she can retort, I move closer, lowering my head until our faces are inches apart. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You were flirting with that bitch. How could—” she starts shakily.

But I don’t let her finish. I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers. It’s heat and desperation, a collision of all the things we haven’t said, and won’t admit. Her hands come up instinctively, palms pushing at my chest, but the effort is puny and lacking conviction. She doesn’t really want me to stop. I can feel it in the way her body yields to mine, and in the way her lips part beneath the pressure of my own.

Suddenly, her resistance falters entirely, and I feel her drowning in the kiss, the same way I do. My hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, warming her in the freezing air. Fireworks explode above us, the brilliant colors lighting up the sky.

Then the world falls away.

And it’s just us. No Annabelle. No party. Nothing. Just the unrelenting pull between us that neither of us can escape.

Her breath mingles with mine as her body trembles against me. Her hands, which moments ago were weakly pushing me away, now grip the fabric of my shirt as though she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. Her resolve crumbles like sand under the tide as she melts into me.

My hand trails down her back, feeling the soft curves that I know as well as my own heartbeat. I shouldn’t. God knows I shouldn’t. But every rational thought evaporates as she presses closer, her lips moving with a fervor that drives me wild. The cold air bites at our skin, but it only fuels the fire between us.

My lips travel down the curve of her jaw, finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear that makes her gasp. Her head tilts back, exposing her throat to me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I can’t help the low growl that escapes my throat. She shudders.

“I hate you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with longing.

“Shh,” I murmur, my lips grazing hers again.

I guide her toward a gazebo tucked into the shadows, away from prying eyes. She hesitates for a moment, glancing toward the distant lights of the ballroom.

“No,” she breathes, her voice barely audible. “We can’t … not here …”

But when I sit and pull her onto my lap, her protests dissolve into a sigh. She’s straddling me now, her dress riding up to expose the delicate lace of her stockings. My hands find her thighs, sliding up to her hips. I grip them firmly and pull her tight against me.

My hands slide beneath her skirt, finding the thin strip of fabric that separates me from her. I hook my fingers around it and pull it to one side.

“Someone will come. We shouldn’t,” she mutters frenziedly.

“Then stop me,” I whisper and slip a finger inside her tight wet pussy. Her response is a soft whimper and total surrender as she arches helplessly against me. With her head thrown back her hands clutch at my shoulders. I lean in, my lips brushing against the exposed curve of her throat as I suck the soft skin.

She moans and moves restlessly against me, chasing the sensation with an urgency that matches my own. My fingers thrust in and out of her drawing soft cries. She bites her lip to stop herself from crying out.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” I murmur, my voice thick with adoration. “Completely mine. Don’t you dare forget it.”

Her eyes snap open at my words, her gaze locking with mine. There’s a fire there, a challenge that only fuels my desire. “In that case fucking act like it,” she snarls.

I don’t hesitate. My movements become brutal, almost primal.

Raven falls apart on top of me, trembling and unable to stop her cries. I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing every desperate, muffled sound. Her surrender is intoxicating, but it only feeds the fire raging inside me.

When she finally stills and becomes limp, her breath comes in shallow gasps against my lips. Gently, I lower her onto the bench, the rough wood a stark contrast to the softness of her skin. The faint light from one of the lantern-style lamps nearby spills out into the garden, casting her in a glow that makes her look almost otherworldly.

She has tempted me again, and I don’t resist. My hands move slowly, reverently, as I slide the fabric even higher, exposing the smooth curve of her thighs. I pause, letting the anticipation hang heavy between us. Her chest rises and falls, her lips part as if she can’t believe what we’re doing. She watches me, her eyes wide and dark, pupils blown with desire.

“Earl … we’re behaving like animals,” she whispers hoarsely.

“I know,” I agree, and lower my head, my lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, the delicate curve of her shoulder. I need to taste every inch of her.

“Someone will come,” she warns nervously, as her fingers clutch together the edges of my jacket.

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