Page 25 of Twisted Love

But I don’t stop, my only focus is on escaping, not letting him see me cry, but just as I reach for the handle, the door slams shut with a force that makes my heart leap into my throat. The sound reverberates through the room.

Before I can react, he spins me around and catches both my arms. His strength overwhelms mine with ease as he holds me against the door. I meet his eyes, dark and blazing with emotions I can’t decipher—anger, frustration, something deeper, something that terrifies me.

I struggle against him, but it’s futile. His grip doesn’t loosen, and I’m trapped, caught between the door and the storm of emotions radiating off him. All I can hear is the erratic pounding of my own heart.

The sharp rise and fall of my chest pressing against his hardness. His eyes bore into mine, dark and unrelenting, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body, suffocating me further.

“Now what?” I finally bite out, my voice trembling with defiance. “Is this it? Do you want to hurt me? Hit me? What?”

His lips twitch into a bitter smile, and it’s the most chilling thing I’ve ever seen. “Why would I damage something I’ve already paid for?” he murmurs, his tone low and dangerous, sending a shiver straight down my spine. “There are other ways to make you sorry if you betray me again. So, here’s your last warning—stop talking to Charles.”

“I’m not talking to him!” I yell. Now I’m angry too.

“You better not be lying to me, Raven. I’m not seventeen and stupidly in love anymore. I know who you are. I know what you are. And I’ve accepted it.” He leans in closer, his breath hot against my cheek. “But for your own sake, don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. You have no idea what I’ll do if you betray me again.”

Betray him? The word rattles around in my mind, an unwelcome echo. My throat tightens, and I search his face, desperate for answers. “Betray you again?” I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible. “What are you even talking about? I’ve never?—”

“Shut up,” he growls, cutting me off before I can finish.

Then his hand moves to my chin, his fingers firm as they tilt my face up to his. Before I can react, his lips crush mine, but it’s not a kiss. It’s an invasion, hard and bruising and filled with anger. My hands come up to push him away, to resist, but the moment his tongue brushes against mine, I feel something deep inside me unravel.

The taste of him— his heat, his fury—sinks into me, winding its way down my throat and settling in my belly like a fire I can’t extinguish. My knees feel like jelly and my legs buckle beneath me, and I cling frantically to him, my hands fisting in his shirt as though I’ll fall apart if I let go.

The press of his body against mine is pure pleasure. Every inch of him, solid and unyielding, traps me against the door, his heat searing through the thin fabric of my dress. I can’t breathe. All I want is him, at this moment, even though it terrifies me.

His lips move over mine, unrelenting, demanding, and I meet his intensity with my own, my tears breaking free and rolling down my cheeks as the tension in me crumbles. I hate him for making me feel this way. For turning me into this shaking, vulnerable mess.

And yet, I love it.

Then I hate myself for loving it.

When he finally pulls back, I gasp for air, my chest heaving as I look up at him, my vision blurred with unshed tears. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. It sends a shiver of indescribable longing through me.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can say anything.

CHAPTER16

EARL

Iwas going to take her against the door, empty every last ounce of anger and lust into her, but the moment I see her eyes well up with tears, the raging inferno in me cools, and something inside me breaks. I stare at her in shock.

I’ve hurt her.

I’ve actually hurt her.

In a flash, I put her away from me, swing open the door and walk through it.

“Don’t walk away from me. I want to talk to you,” she calls, chasing me as I stride down the corridor. Her bare feet are light on the hardwood. I ignore her and keep walking until I reach the sanctuary of my bedroom. I turn to close the door and she is standing right there.

Her eyelashes are still wet. I turn away from her, shrug off my jacket, and start on the buttons of my shirt. My fingers move fast, fueled by irritation at myself. The sound of the door clicking shut behind her stops me. I glance over my shoulder, and there she is, standing just inside the doorway, her arms crossed like she’s holding herself together.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice sharp. She followed me—this is on her.

“I … uh …” She hesitates, her hands twisting together in front of her. “I wanted to talk to you about one of the reasons I agreed to this marriage.”

I arch a brow, pulling my shirt free of my shoulders and tossing it onto the bed. “Oh?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “I thought it was because you want a lavish lifestyle.”

Her expression tightens, her fists clenched by her sides as if she’s physically holding herself together. “My father is ill,” she says, her eyes boldly holding mine. “He has thyroid cancer.”

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