Page 25 of Blood and Lies (A Twisted Duet 1)

Slowly, I wound up the fabric, little by little, letting my fingers brush against her skin. “Here, with me, you have no will but mine. The word ‘no’ does not exist in my world.” The hem of her ugly nightgown curled up in my hand, and my knuckles grazed against her bare skin.

I yanked her leg up, twisting it to the side as I stared down at the prominent scars, depicting something beautifully twisted and perversely inviting. The hunger those scars awoke inside me burned like acid in my stomach, letting me crave the warped desires that always churned in the deepest part of my soul. It wasn’t something I was prepared for. It wasn’t a complication I anticipated when I put this entire plan together, but fuck me, it slammed against my chest, shaking my very foundation. Even though my hatred for this woman poisoned the blood running through my veins, my cock pulsed and ached with a need to extract something twisted out of her. A part of me wanted to taste her, sample her—devour her. I wanted to see her succumb to wicked desires I knew were gnawing inside her, to let her feel what it was really like to be completely and utterly consumed…and owned.

I looked up at her eyes burning like white fire. “You are no longer Tatum Linscott.”

Her chest was rapidly rising and falling, her breaths coming out shallow and fast, its warmth gently moving across the skin of my neck.

“Who am I?” Her voice was soft, as if she were too afraid to ask but needed to know.

The need I saw in her eyes was too tempting, too inviting, and it was feeding the lust that festered in my groin.

I let go of her leg, reached up, and tore the rag down the front, exposing her breasts. She yelped then fought to cover herself. But I grabbed her arms in my hands, squeezing tight, pushing her forcefully against the wall. Allowing my gaze to travel down her chest, staring at her full, round, naked tits, I licked my lips, the sick fucker inside my head loving the way her body shivered and trembled.

I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “You’re my little mouse now.”

Chapter 9

TATUM

There was no mistaking the feral look in his eyes as he stared at me, licking his lips like he was preparing to taste something he wanted…me.

“Take your hands off me.” I tried pushing him away, but it was no use. His grip around my elbow tightened, the look of alpha possession glowing from his face as he allowed his gaze to run down every naked part of me.

Even though my heart was about to rip through my chest, my stomach churning with panic, I swallowed my fear, determined not to show weakness. But there was something else, a need that flickered inside my core, a feeling of want that primed my body to be taken. His hot breath stroked my skin with soft wisps of sensual promises and ignited a slow burn inside me. My nipples hardened, my thighs clenched, and my lips parted slightly with expectation. The feeling instantly shattered my mind in shards of confusion and disgust, yet every muscle in my body was clenched in search of release. How was it possible I could want this man—this man who held me here against my will, who wanted to break and hurt me? Why would my body react so sinfully toward a man who had the power to ruin me with his touch, wreck me with his wickedness while he relished my demise?

No…never.

With his eyes narrowed into slits, he looked up from my naked breasts and into my eyes. For a moment, it felt like he saw the need I so desperately tried to suppress, the same need I saw casting a shadow over his face. It became too hard to breathe, as if the air had thickened with a sultry tension that swept through me, settling in my belly. By the way his eyes darkened, his tongue flicking over his lips, I was certain he felt it too.

Abruptly, he let go of my arms like my skin burned him, cold air replacing his touch. Taking a step back, he roughed his hand through his hair, glancing down at the floor, seeming confused, mortified…exactly like me.

I grabbed the torn fabric and tugged it together, covering myself. Castello started to pace, his hand still clutched in his hair while he repeated the same phrase in Italian over and over again.

“Non lei, non la…Non lei, non la…non lie, non la…” Not her, never her.

What he didn’t know was that I understood every word. I spoke Italian fluently, but that would remain my secret…for now.

With confusion, I watched him pace, wondering why he would repeat those words. Why not me? Why never me? It didn’t make sense. Was he experiencing the same turmoil inside as I did a few seconds ago, his body pulling him in a completely different direction than his mind? I didn’t know what the hell was going on, and by the looks of it, neither did he.

When he stopped pacing and spun toward me, I sucked in a breath. The look of need was gone, replaced with burning anger, intimidating the hell out of me.

I stepped back, not knowing what his next move would be. We were surrounded by so many different emotions, it was impossible to predict which one would consume us next.

For a few seconds, we stood there staring at each other, waiting, expecting, anticipating. The silence was heavy, laden with tension and something else, something so intense I felt it in every bone of my body. I was too afraid to try to place it, to determine what it was, because deep down I already knew, but there was no way I would acknowledge it. Not with him. Not with him being the devil currently ruling my Hell.

He stalked toward me, my heart beating faster with every step he took. I didn’t recognize the look in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was murder…or lust—lust that had no place between the two of us. We were enemies. He hated me, I feared him, so why did it feel like there was something stronger, something that would ultimately destroy us both?

He stopped in front of me, so close I could feel his breath coating my cheeks. All I could do was close my eyes, unable—unwilling—to determine what went on in his dark mind, what he wanted from me now in this very moment, because I was too afraid I would give it to him.

His hand touched the inside of my thigh, and I gasped, my stomach about to explode, my knees trembling beneath me. One simple touch of his hand, and I seemed to have lost all control over my body.

“This isn’t going to work, Tatum.” His voice was low, soft, like the feel of his thumb slowly moving up the inside of my thigh. It was a touch that had the power to turn that flicker of need into a brightly burning flame and to turn the confusion inside my mind into darkly shadowed hate.

His touch wasn’t cold as I had anticipated, but instead it singed my skin, causing me to inhale sharply. Up and up his hand moved, and the longer his touch remained on my skin, the more rapidly I started to breathe.

What the hell is happening?

Fear ran rampant inside me, but my body somehow responded to his touch, betraying me in the worst possible way. I didn’t dare open my eyes. I didn’t want to witness how he was looking at me for fear I might look back at him in the exact same way. I didn’t want to risk being swept away by whatever the fuck was happening since it was too wrong, too disgusting…too twisted, exactly the way I wanted it for so long. It was the most decadent kind of torture as my mind fought his touch, yet my body embraced it.

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