Page 19 of Twisted Love

Her hazel eyes are almost all pupils with the same hunger clawing at my chest. It’s like she’s daring me to break, daring me to give in completely. I grip her hips tighter, dragging her up and down slowly, inch by inch, and the soft gasp that escapes her lips sends a shiver through me.

She clenches her muscles around me and I feel every inch of her, every pulse and quiver, and the intensity is unbearable, a mix of pleasure and torment.

“You feel … incredible,” I murmur, the words slipping out unbidden, raw and unfiltered.

She leans closer, her silky hair brushing against my chest, her breaths mingling with mine. Her lips part, but no words come, only a soft, broken moan that sends heat rushing through me. I thrust upward again, the motion forcing her to take me deeper into her slick heat, to feel every inch of me stretching her, filling her. Her nails bite into my shoulders. I welcome the sting, the grounding pain amidst the storm of sensation.

Her head falls back, exposing the tender curve of her throat. I can’t resist. I lean forward, pressing my lips to her skin, tasting the salt and warmth of her. My teeth graze her neck, as I suck her neck hard, enough to leave a mark, to claim her as mine. Her moan is loud and uninhibited, and it sends a thrill through me, a primal satisfaction.

“Look at me when you fuck me,” I demand, my voice rough.

Her eyes snap open and lock onto mine, and it’s like the world tilts, narrowing down to just us.

She looks at me as if I’m the only thing that matters in the world as she moves above me, her hips rocking and circling, and her walls squeezing me with every motion. I drown in her. My thrusts meet hers, harder, more demanding, each one driving us closer to the edge, closer to losing ourselves completely.

Fucking her feels unreal—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

She kisses me and her breath mingles with mine, soft and sweet, carrying a hint of something that’s purely her. The taste of her floods my senses, familiar and maddening. I can’t fight it anymore. The memories … they come rushing back with a force that almost knocks the breath out of me.

The way we used to be … reckless, unrestrained, consumed by each other.

Her lips move against mine, urgent, persuasive, passionate, intoxicating, but beneath it lies something else—a bittersweet ache, a reminder of everything we once had and everything we lost. I can taste our teenage years, the laughter, the stolen moments, the promises we made when we thought we’d have forever.

And then it hits me. The betrayal. The knife she drove into my back when she thought I wasn’t there, the words that burned the world I built around her into ashes. The pain cuts through the sweetness like a blade.

A choked sound escapes me, part groan, part growl. My fingers dig into her arms as I push her away, breaking the kiss with a sharp, ragged breath. Her lips are swollen, her chest is heaving, her hazel eyes wide and shimmering with confusion.

I stare into her eyes, and for a moment, all I can feel is rage—rage at her for breaking me, at myself for still wanting her, for still craving her even after everything.

“You don’t get to do this,” I snarl.

She looks at me, perplexed. “You don’t want me to kiss you? I’m your wife.”

“And it doesn’t mean what you think it means. It means what I fucking say it means.”

Her lips part, but no words come. The silence stretches between us. I roll her onto the mattress and look down at her. Her hair splayed out like a dark halo, her body trembling.

How could she look so angelic and be such a cheap whore?

My hands open her legs, rough and demanding. She gasps, but there’s no protest—only the soft, desperate sound of her surrender. I push into her tight heat again. She arches beneath me, her body welcoming me in a way that makes my head spin and my resolve shatter.

There’s no tenderness left.

All the softness we shared only moments ago has vanished. All that is left is something raw, frantic, a clash of need and anger that neither of us can control. I thrust into her mercilessly, relentlessly, my movements unrelenting, driven by a dark fury inside me. Her moans fill the room and they only spur me on, dragging me further into the madness of her.

The sight of her—flushed, trembling, completely undone—makes my chest ache with something I can’t name, something I can’t bear. I squeeze my eyes shut instead, letting the old memory of her burn into my mind.

But that memory is worse. It drags me back to another time, another place. When I believed she was everything to me. When I was totally convinced that she was the love of my life. She and only she would do. The sweetness of her, the way she used to whisper my name like a prayer—it all crashes into me now making me feel bitter.

I hate her for making me feel this way. For breaking me and still holding the pieces in her hands.

I open my eyes and pretend she is a street whore I paid for the night. Her belly is full of my cum and now I’m going to fill her pussy with it. I’ll fill her ass with my seed too. I don’t last long. The intensity, the heat, it’s too much. When I come, it’s with a force that leaves me trembling, my hands gripping her hips as though letting go will destroy me.

She’s not far behind. Her body tightens around me, her cries turning into broken, gasping sobs as she thrashes beneath me, clutching at my arms as though I’m the only thing anchoring her to the world. She calls out my name—or rather my middle name. She used to call me that all the time. A soft and sweet sound I haven’t heard in years.

“James,” she calls, her voice thick with emotion, and it’s like a punch to the gut.

I nearly choke on the flood of feelings that surge through me. It’s too easy to fall, to forgive, to let myself believe for even a second that we could go back. I hate how weak she makes me feel, how easily she strips away the walls I’ve built.

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