Page 99 of Twisted Prince

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she assures me, her voice suddenly breathy and entirely too enticing.

I nod, mirroring her nervous gesture as I swallow hard. Then I force myself to take a step back—to give myself enough room to breathe, to think clearly.

I know that it’s technically our “wedding night.” Her dress reminds me of it like a slap to the face. But our marriage is nothing more than an attempt to keep Mel out of the hands of the Boston mafia, away from the Kellys, who could kill her as soon as they have what they want.

So, as tempted as I might be to start something with her, I can’t, I remind myself.

I left her outside her guest room earlier, before I did anything I might regret.

But right now, facing her a second time feels like a test of willpower I might not be strong enough to pass.

“Then, what are you doing outside my room?” It takes considerable effort to keep my voice even, my face relaxed.

Mel steps forward, closing the distance between us and reminding me agonizingly of that night she came to me on Pyotr’s estate—the first night we spent together.

“I feel like I owe you a proper thank-you—for everything you’ve done for me, and Gabby,” she murmurs.

“You already thanked me,” I point out evenly, my pulse thundering in my ears.

But rather than answer, Mel leans onto the balls of her feet, her soft palms finding my bare chest, and slowly, they slide up to comb into the back of my hair.

Her onyx eyes search mine.

Digging for something deep inside my soul.

And her gaze darts down to my lips.

“I know, but I didn’t thank you fully,” she breathes.

She leans against me, closing the last few inches between us as she gives me a slow, scintillating kiss. Her full lips are dangerously soft and inviting, her tongue a refreshing mint that cools the seam of my lips as it darts out to trace them.

Fire races through my veins, and I cradle the back of her head with my palms as my body responds instinctively, my need for her obliterating my self-restraint. My tongue strokes deep inside her mouth, meeting her eagerness with my own exponential hunger.

She tastes like heaven and smells like a goddess. But she feels better than the finest drug—an intoxicating pleasure that leaves me drunk at the slightest touch.

I ache for Mel with a desperation that’s nothing short of sinful.

That’s what makes me force my palm to her collarbone so I can gently push her back.

Our lips part, the sudden loss like a searing lash across my soul. But I keep my hand steady, holding her far enough away that I can meet her eyes for what I have to say.

Because as much as I want Mel, as passionately as I crave her, I don’t want her this way.

“I don’t consider you a whore,” I state hoarsely, my voice coming out harsher than I intend with my scarcely contained desire. “I don’t want you to use your body to try and pay me back. Go to bed, Mel. Before we do something you regret.”

I already regret it.

Now that I’ve kissed her lips, I feel the pain of withdrawal setting in.

It’s going to be a rough night.

Fuck, it hurts.

To see her big, beautiful eyes looking at me like I’m the one who doesn’t want her.

“Please, Gleb, I…” Unshed tears shine in her gaze. “I don’t want you to hate me anymore.”

“Hate you?” My head spins at the suggestion. “Why would you think I hate you?”

---