Page 71 of Twisted Violet
She swipes her tongue over the dusting of sugar on her lips. Slow and absentmindedly, like she has no clue she’s lighting a match inside my fucking chest.
That’s it.
Fuck it.
I slam my drink down and push off my chair so fast, it slams into the glass railing behind me. I don’t even pause to think as I stride toward the kitchen, heat climbing my spine, something reckless sparking under my skin.
I’m going to burn when all this shit hits the fan, anyway.
Might as well enjoy the fire.
TWENTY-FIVE
VIOLET
I killthe mixer and cough as a puff of powdered sugar explodes into the air around me. My face is a mess. The counter’s worse. I probably look like I crashed into a bakery.
I reach for a kitchen towel, muttering under my breath. “Okay, yeah… maybe add the milk before you mix the sugar next time.”
I’m just about to clean when I hear it.
The heavy thud of footsteps. Fast. Purposeful.
I turn, expecting to see Dallas, or maybe Niko, awakened by the noise.
But it’s neither of them. It’s Rome. And he looks…wild.
His chest is rising, his jaw is tight, and his eyes are burning like I’ve never seen them before. He’s already moving toward me, heat rolling off him in waves.
There’s something in hisexpression I can’t name, something dangerous and hungry and completely untethered.
“Rome?” I ask, voice catching in my throat. “I was just baking- sorry about the mess, I’ll clean it-”
He shakes his head once.
Sharp. Final. And then he’s on me.
I don’t even get the chance to take a step back. His mouth crashes onto mine, hot and demanding, and I gasp as his hands grip tightly around my waist.
My back hits the kitchen island with a thud and I feel the cool granite against my skin as Rome’s body presses into mine, all hard muscle and searing heat.
He kisses like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding back for too long and something inside him finally snapped.
I whimper when his tongue sweeps into my mouth, when his teeth graze my bottom lip like he wants to mark me from the inside out.
“You have no idea,” he growls against my mouth, “what you do to me.”
His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me like I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the counter. Powdered sugar sticks to my legs, my arms, his skin. He doesn’t care. He licks it off of me like it’s holy.
His mouth drags down my neck, rough and wet, and I tilt my head to give him more, my body already shaking from the intensity.
“You smell like vanilla,” he groans, voice ragged. “Fuck, of course you do.”
I claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. He pulls it off in one fluid motion and tosses it across the room. His hands find the waistband of my shorts and yank them down. Mypanties follow, ripped halfway, the fabric stretching before giving way.
I gasp. “Rome-”
“Do you want this?” He asks, going eerily still.
