Page 70 of Twisted Love

“Are you alright?,” he asks, his voice soft but laced with something deeper, something that stirs the air between us like a tangible thing.

I nod, my throat too tight to form words. Instead, I reach up my hand, my fingers brushing lightly against his chest. His breath hitches, and for a moment, we’re both frozen, caught in the wonder of each other.

Then I rise to my feet, the blanket slipping from my shoulders to pool at my feet. The cold air brushes against my skin, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is him—on the way his eyes darken as they roam over me, on the way his chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath.

I step closer, my hands finding their way to the hem of his shirt. “I never thought the smell of smoke would be such a turn-on,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “You should rest.” His voice is resolute.

But he doesn’t stop me as I lift his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, strong lines of his body. My hands glide over his skin, the warmth of him is beautiful.

“Raven,” he warns, but his voice is a husky murmur.

I silence any further protests with a kiss. Soft and tentative at first, but the moment he responds, everything shifts. His arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him, and the kiss deepens, igniting a fire that burns hotter than the one outside.

He tries to pull back, his hands gripping my arms as if to steady himself. “You’re not well enough,” he breathes, his voice strained.

“I’m well enough for this. Let’s make a deal. You do all the hard work and I’ll just lie back and enjoy myself,” I reply, my lips brushing against his.

But he hesitates.

“I need you. Please.”

Something in him snaps when he hears me beg. He scoops me up in one fluid motion and carries me to the bed. The world tilts as he lays me down gently, his body hovering over mine.

The air between us crackles with anticipation as I reach for him, my fingers trailing down his chest. He shudders under my touch, his restraint unraveling with every second.

“Raven, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“It’s been so long since I heard you call me that,” I whisper, guiding his hands to the hem of my gown.

He hesitates for a heartbeat, his eyes searching mine, but then he gives in. The gown slips over my head, and his hands follow, exploring every inch of me with reverence.

When he leans down, pressing his lips to my collarbone, a soft gasp escapes me. His kisses are a sinner’s kisses, slow, deliberate, each one a confession, a silent apology, and a promise to do better.

My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips trail lower. His breath against my skin sends a shiver down my spine, and I arch into him, needing more.

“Oh baby,” he groans, his voice breaking as his control slips further.

And the intensity of his gaze steals the breath from my lungs, and then he kisses me again, pouring every ounce of himself into it.

His lips are firm yet tender, the heat of his mouth igniting something primal within me. I cling to him as if letting go might shatter this fragile moment, my hands threading through his smoke-scented hair, tugging him closer.

His kisses move down the curve of my neck leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His fingers trace the outline of my collarbone, his touch reverent, as though he’s memorizing the lay of my skin. When his lips close around the sensitive peak of my breast, a gasp escapes me. The sensation sends a delicious shiver racing down my spine.

My body arches into him, desperate for more.

But he doesn’t rush. He lingers, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub, his teeth grazing just enough to drive me wild. A whimper escapes my lips, and I feel him smile against my skin, his hands splaying across my waist as if to steady me. The warmth of his breath against my bare skin makes goosebumps rise, and I can’t stop trembling.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “Every inch of you.”

A mixture of vulnerability and longing swells inside me. He continues his journey, his lips exploring every curve, every hollow, every freckle and scar, as though they hold stories he’s desperate to learn. His hands skim the length of my thighs, parting them gently, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

There’s a question in his eyes, a silent request for permission.

I nod and he leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine for a brief, heart-stopping moment before he claims my mouth again. The weight of his body settles over me, grounding me, and I can feel his need pressing against me, undeniable and urgent.

When his hard cock finally pushes into me, the world blurs at the edges. The stretch is exquisite, a perfect ache that steals the air from my lungs. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. He kisses my temple, my cheeks, murmuring soothing words I can barely hear over the pounding of my heart.

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