Page 111 of Twisted Addiction
Before he could speak, I reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and let it fall soundlessly between us.
The air hit my skin, sharp and cold.
His eyes darkened but he didn’t move.
“Milaya,” he groaned, the word breaking on his tongue.
My love.
My curse.
He leaned forward, drawn by something neither of us could name, but I pressed a trembling finger against his chest, stopping him.
“Stay still,” I whispered, my voice a mix of command and plea.
His heartbeat thudded against my fingertip, steady and violent.
For a second, the world narrowed to that single rhythm.
This—this moment—was my last act of defiance. My last illusion of power. The only thing I could take from the man who had broken me, from the life that had stolen my innocence.
I slid off my trousers, then my g-string, until I stood stark naked before him, my skin prickling under his gaze.
His eyes were desperate, veins popping in his hands and forehead, his body taut with restraint, as if I’d cast a spell to keep him frozen.
“Milaya...” he growled again, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room.
“Patience.” I said, a teasing edge to my voice as I reached for his singlet, pulling it off to reveal the hard planes of his chest, the bandage on his arm stark against his skin.
I tugged at his trousers, freeing his erection, hard and straining, a testament to his hunger.
I held it, my fingers wrapping around its warmth, and bent my head, lifting my eyes to meet his.
His expression was raw, tortured, as if I were punishing him with every touch.
My lips brushed the tip of his cock, and he growled, the sound reverberating through the room, a primal roar of need.
I took him into my mouth, slowly at first, my tongue tracing the sensitive skin, drawing another groan from deep in his chest.
I had no experience, but I’d read enough erotic novels to guide me, each movement deliberate, fueled by a mix of desire and vengeance.
I sucked harder, my lips sliding down his length, his hands twitching as if fighting the urge to grab me.
“Don’t.” I ordered, my voice muffled but firm, and he obeyed, his fingers clenching into fists.
My mind churned—Seraphina, his plan to marry her, to divorce me once I was gone.
The betrayal stung, fueling my movements, my mouth working him with fierce intensity.
I hated that I thought of her, hated the jealousy burning in my chest, the irrational urge to find her, to press a gun to her head and demand she leave him.
I sucked harder, the pressure building, a storm of anger, pain, and pleasure I couldn’t untangle.
I wanted this moment to be mine, to claim him one last time, even as I carried his child, a secret he’d never know.
His hand landed on the back of my head, and this time I didn’t stop him, letting his fingers tangle in my hair as he groaned, “Milaya... Milaya... God...”
His body tensed, and a rush of hot, thick liquid flooded my throat, burning as it slid down my esophagus.
