Page 56 of Twisted Love

“It’s freezing out here. No one will come.”

She moans softly but doesn’t stop me when my hands travel lower. I push her dress all the way up so her stomach and hips and pussy are all exposed to me. Her legs part instinctively, and I take a moment to admire her, the way she looks at me with a mixture of vulnerability and trust. Her body is completely at my mercy, and the realization sends a rush of possessive pride through me.

Slowly, I slide my finger beneath the thin fabric of her thong. It’s completely soaked. She shivers, her desire tangible, and glances up to meet my gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” I tell her, my voice low and raw. I try to hold back, but the words just tumble out. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She looks at me hungrily, as though she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets me out of her sight. I lower my head, trailing kisses down her chest, stomach, her hips until my lips reach her fragrant pussy.

I don’t rush. I savor every second, every sensation, as I lower my head and taste her. The taste of her is intoxicating and impossibly addictive. My tongue finds every sensitive spot that makes her writhe beneath me. She cries out, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. Her thighs tremble violently, the soft quiver turning into an uncontrollable shake as her fingers dig into the rough edges of the bench.

She’s fighting to hold on, to maintain some shred of control, but it’s slipping through her grasp like sand. She can’t stop her body from responding to me in a way that’s primal, unguarded, and breathtakingly honest. Every stroke of my tongue draws a desperate, broken gasp from her lips, the sound echoing in the cool night air.

I press deeper, my tongue tracing every sensitive curve, savoring the way she arches into me, unable to stay still. Her hands bury themselves in my hair, tugging hard enough to make my scalp sting, but it only spurs me on. Her soft moans escalate into cries, raw and unrestrained, and I have to grip her hips firmly to stop her from writhing away. She’s utterly undone, her body is already spiraling into ecstasy.

“Earl … oh, dear God …” she gasps, her voice cracking as her nails rake across my scalp. The desperation in her tone, the way she clutches me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded—it drives me to the edge of my own restraint. She tastes incredible, sweet and heady, and I can’t get enough. I devour her like a man starved, each sound she makes fueling the hunger clawing at my chest.

Her back arches, her thighs squeezing my shoulders as she struggles against the overwhelming pleasure.

“Please … I can’t—” she chokes out, but her body tells a different story, moving against me with a frantic urgency. Until I feel the exact moment she falls apart completely. Her cry pierces the night as her body trembles violently, wave after wave of release crashing over her.

I lap at her sweet juices until she’s utterly spent and her hands fall limply at her sides. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, my lips lingering there, and when I look up, the sight of her completely unraveled is enough to steal what’s left of my composure.

I rise and pull her into my arms. Her body is warm, soft, and completely pliant against mine. The taste of her still lingering on my lips, is too much to resist.

“We can’t stay here,” I mutter, my voice thick with desire. “But I’m not done with you. Not even close.”

She looks at me then, her eyes glassy but resolute. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling but certain. “Okay.”

I help her straighten her dress and guide her back toward the ballroom, keeping to the shadows to avoid the curious eyes of the guests, but Annabelle must have been waiting for us because she calls out my name.

I turn around and she waves and starts walking towards us. Next to me, Raven stiffens.

CHAPTER35

RAVEN

The sound of her voice shattered the cocoon of delicious sensations that surrounded me. Earl’s hand brushes mine, and when our eyes meet, there’s a knowing look between us—a silent acknowledgment of what we’ve just done, what we’re both still feeling. My heart races, my skin humming with an unspoken need for him to touch me again. Slowly, I turn away from him and face her.

Annabelle appears.

Her voice is light and twinkling with affability as if we’re all best friends. She sidles up to Earl, her smile wide, her gaze focused solely on him. “I thought you’d snuck out to head home,” she says, ignoring my presence entirely. The way she leans in, the way her body angles toward his as though I don’t exist stings.

Without hesitation, I slide my hand through his, linking our fingers. “We were just about to leave,” I say firmly, my voice steady despite the heat of anger bubbling inside me. I don’t look at Annabelle, focusing instead on Earl. My words are more for her benefit than his. Let her see where his loyalties lie.

But Annabelle doesn’t back down. “Oh, but before you go, I have a small request,” she says, her tone sweet, almost cloying. She tilts her head, a picture of practiced innocence. “Earl, do you think you could spare a moment? It’s important.”

I feel the muscles in his arm tense under my grip, but his face remains unreadable. “If it’s important, say it now,” he replies, his voice clipped. “We’re in a hurry.”

Annabelle’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? “For Raven’s sake,” she says, glancing at me for the first time all evening, “it might be better if we talked privately.”

My patience snaps. “Then don’t bother saying it at all,” I shoot back, stepping forward. My grip on Earl’s hand tightens, and I glare at her. “We’re leaving.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and Earl turns to me, his brow furrowed. “Raven,” he says, his voice lower now, warning, “perhaps I should hear what Annabelle has to say.”

I freeze, astonished that he has responded to me in this way, in this tone, in front of her of all people. It’s like he has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Annabelle’s expression shifts into delighted smugness, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of an argument.

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