Page 33 of Twisted Love

My mind is a swirling storm of raw desire. I tell myself to look away, to pull back before I fall too far, but I can’t. My eyes are locked on her, tracing every detail, committing every inch of her to memory as though I’ll never see her like this again.

Her gaze is unwavering, fearless. There’s something in her eyes that shakes me—a quiet strength, a vulnerability she doesn’t attempt to hide, and an intensity that mirrors my own. The way she looks at me makes my blood roar, makes every muscle in my body tense with need and my chest ache. My mouth dries and my hands clench at my sides, resisting the overwhelming urge to reach for her, to feel the softness of her skin under my palms, to claim her.

She tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. I don’t know how she does it—how she manages to unravel me with a single look. It’s infuriating and intoxicating all at once. It’s shocking how much power she has over me.

Her eyes move over me, slow and deliberate, like she’s taking her time to commit every detail to memory. Her gaze trails downward, over the hard planes of my chest, the muscles slick and glistening under the water, down to the sharp line of my hips and lower. Her eyes linger there. My cock hardens even more till it is curved and leaning towards my navel.

“Like what you see?” I ask, my voice low and rough.

Her eyes snap back to mine. “I do,” she says simply.

CHAPTER19

RAVEN

Water cascades over Earl’s taut shoulders, dripping down his chest and along the lean lines of his body. He doesn’t move, but his eyes devour me from afar. It’s as though he’s daring me to come closer, to break the barrier he’s so carefully erected between us.

The heat of the shower wraps around us, steam curling in the sizable stall.

I’m trembling—partly from the desire that’s been simmering under my skin all day long, partly from the emotions twisting inside me. My mind is full of the memory of the ravenous desperation with which he kissed me earlier—God, he kissed me like a starving man. It made me breathless and filled my heart with hope. But he stopped suddenly, as though terrified of what might happen if he let it go any further.

Now, as he watches me, I see that war inside him again. The way he loathes me, yet can’t seem to stay away. It’s that obvious hesitation, that struggle, that is what gives me courage. Maybe one day he’ll break and tell me why he pushes me away so vehemently. Why is he so furious at me?

But right now, all I want is him. To feel him. To let this tension between us snap.

I take a step forward, and the water streams over me. I’m close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His chest rises and falls sharply and his jaw is tight. Still, he says nothing.

Brushing my fingers against his wet skin, I gently push him so he is leaning against the tiled wall. He doesn’t stop me, just keeps watching as if I’m not quite real, a phantom that could vanish at any second.

Without a word, I lean forward, pressing my lips to his chest. His skin is warm and wet, the faint taste of him still not washed away by the water. I hear his sharp intake of breath, and feel the way his body stiffens under my touch. My lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of him. I kiss the dip of his collarbone, the curve of his pectoral, the hardness of his abdomen. Each kiss feels like a small victory, a crack in the armor he is desperately trying to keep intact.

When my lips brush against his nipple, his head tilts back slightly, a low, guttural sound escaping him. It’s a sound I’ve heard from him before, one that never fails to make my knees weak. Emboldened, I swirl my tongue over the hardened peak, and his hands fly to my shoulders, gripping me tightly as though trying to anchor himself.

I glance up, meeting his gaze, and the sheer vulnerability in his eyes almost undoes me. But I don’t stop. I kiss my way lower, sliding to my knees on the wet tiles. The water droplets clinging to him glisten like tiny diamonds, and I’m struck by how utterly beautiful he is. He’s watching me, his chest heaving, his lips parted slightly as though he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

My hands trail along his thighs, trembling slightly as I take his gorgeous cock in my grasp. He’s heavy and hard, and I can feel the pulse of his arousal against my palm. I look up at him again, searching his face for any sign of protest. There’s none. Just a desperate, raw hunger that mirrors my own.

Slowly, I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling over the sensitive tip. He groans, his head falling forward as his fingers tangle in my hair. The sound sends a thrill through me, and I take him deeper, savoring the way he fills me, the way his control begins to slip.

“Raven,” he rasps, his voice strained and thick with need. His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me, urging me to take more. I obey, letting him press deeper, letting myself become intoxicated with his taste and smell. He’s completely in control now, and I love it. I love that he’s letting himself go, even if just for this moment.

His hips begin to move, shallow thrusts that he tries to hold back but can’t. I relax my throat, letting him in further, and the sound he makes is almost feral. His hands grip my hair tighter, and I can feel him trembling, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and breathless. I do, my gaze locking with his as I take him as deeply as I can. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he watches me, the intensity between us crackling like a live wire.

The feel of him overwhelms me—the smoothness of his skin, the pulsing heat against my tongue. Every inch of him seems to demand my attention, his arousal filling my senses. The faint saltiness of his seed, the musky scent of him in the steamy air—it intoxicates me, leaves me craving more. I can’t get enough, as though every part of him is designed to draw me further under his spell, to make me lose myself completely.

I pull back just slightly, wrapping my hand around his length to stroke him slowly, deliberately. My fingers glide from the base to the tip, slick and firm as I keep my lips and tongue working on him. I savor every reaction, the way his body jerks against me, how his breathing falters. Then I trace my tongue down the elegant line of his shaft, tasting every inch, letting it glide lower until my lips reach the heavy weight of him.

I press kisses there first, soft and reverent, before taking one of his balls into my mouth. The new sensation makes him groan, low and guttural, and I can feel his hand tremble in my hair. His reactions send a thrill through me, a wave of triumph, a surge of pride. I’m unraveling him. I’m making him come undone.

I suck harder.

When he finally spills into me, his release is shuddering and violent, his whole body tensing as he emits a strangled groan. I swallow every last drop, my own body humming with a strange mix of ecstasy and gratitude. Without his help, I wouldn’t have been able to schedule my father’s treatment. It had been the greatest source of pain and worry in my life; that I would lose my beloved father simply because I couldn’t afford his medical bills. But Earl made that terrible burden magically disappear. No matter how difficult he made things for me, I won’t forget this amazing thing he did for me and my father.

As I rise to my feet, my legs shaky, I meet with his gaze once more. There’s something different in his eyes now, something softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls away, retreating behind his walls once more.

"Turn around," he murmurs, his voice low, barely audible over the sound of our ragged breaths.

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