Page 12 of Twisted Devotion

“Aria? Are you listening to me?” Marco’s voice is tight in my ear.

As I press the button to unlock the car, the lights flash.

And then—BOOM.

A deafening crack splits the air. I’m flung backward, hitting the ground hard. Flames engulf my car, roaring into the night sky as smoke billows upward.

“No,” I whisper, my voice shaking. My heart sinks, a heavy, aching weight in my chest. My car. My baby. Gone.

Carefully, I push myself up, testing my limbs. Nothing seems broken, but my body feels like it’s vibrating with shock. My chest tightens as fear claws its way to the surface.

My car just exploded.

As the fire roars on and the wail of approaching sirens grows louder, one question blazes through my mind:

Did Nicolas Paolo just try to kill me?

4

NICOLAS

Aria tastes exactly the way she smells—like strawberries. Sweet, tempting, addictive.

Her body feels even softer than I imagined, molding perfectly against mine as I grip her waist and pull her close. My hands tighten around her, grounding us, as my tongue slides into her mouth, finding hers. Our tongues meet. Moving in an all-consuming dance.

When I nip at her lower lips, she moans—a sound that sends heat surging through me. I press her harder against the balcony railing, letting her feel how much I want her.

My hand ventures beneath her dress, cupping her breast. She responds by tilting her head, arching into me, her hips grinding against my growing hardness. The sensation makes my head spin, drowning out any sense of control.

With my free hand, I grab her ass, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, desperate to leave a mark. Her hands claw at my shoulders through my shirt, nails biting into my skin. I don’t know if she’s trying to hold on or push me away.

This is wrong. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I know it is.

But all reason dissolves when her fingers slide up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. There’s only her. Only us.

I push the hem of her blue dress higher, exposing the smooth, flawless skin of her thighs. The sight makes my pulse race and my chest tight with desire. I run my hands over her legs, savoring every curve, every inch of her.

Leaning in, I kiss her again, tracing the line of her jaw, down to her neck, and then to her collarbone. Her skin is warm and soft and tastes faintly of something sweet. I press my lips to the line of her cleavage, letting my tongue explore the valley between.

I wonder how my cock would feel between those soft folds of flesh. Then my fingers graze her panties, and she moans my name.

“Nicolas.”

I pull back, wondering why her voice is suddenly so deep.

“Nicolas,” she says again.

I jerk awake, my chest heaving. There's a sheen of sweat on my forehead, and my dick is practically pulsing in my pants.

What the hell was that?

For a moment, I just sit there, staring at my bedroom ceiling, my pulse refusing to settle. No matter how long I stay like this, the dream clings to me, sticky and relentless.

I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Aria Rossi. Marco’s sister.

Off-limits.

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