Page 47 of Twisted (Never After)
The words “I’m sorry” are on the tip of my tongue, even though I don’t really feel apologetic. It’s a habit, but somehow, I stop the words from vomiting out.
Things happen in a flash then. Julian moves forward quickly, grasping my upper arm until it cuts off circulation as he drags me farther into my room and throws me on my bed.
The breath is knocked from my lungs when I bounce off the mattress, and my heart beats wildly in my ears. Every single nerve ending is lit up and on edge as I push on the bed with my heels and my elbows, trying to shove my body back as far as possible. He continues to stalk toward me until his knee is pressing into the edge of the mattress, and he grabs my ankles and pulls until I slide beneath his frame.
He looms over me, pressing his weight on top of mine, his corded forearms flexing as they cage me in, resting on either side of my head.
From this vantage point, I can see the muscles in his jaw working and smell the clean linen of his clothes and the hint of spice from his aftershave. My stomach twists when he presses his chest and torso against me, forcing me to lie back.
I swallow heavily. “Wh- what are you doing?”
His hand runs up my side and my breath lodges in my throat, my body vibrating with the need to get away from him.
“Testing out the merchandise,” he replies, his fingers feathering along my collarbone.
I make a noise in my throat, unwanted goose bumps sprouting beneath his touch. “You can’t justdothat.”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the juncture between my neck and my shoulder, and my thighs tense. I hate the way heat shoots through my body when his tongue touches my skin.
“I can do whatever I want,” he murmurs.
“Not surprising from a man who thinks he’s a god,” I say through clenched teeth. I feel flushed, my body breaking out in a sweat from being beneath him, from lighting up in every goddamn place he caresses.
“That’s right, baby.” His hand wraps around my neck and my breathing stutters. “I’myourgod.”
I shove myself up on my elbows as far as I can go, which isn’t far considering a man who’s at least six six is resting his full body weight against me.
“You can make me wear your ring,” I hiss, “and parade me around with your last name, but I willneverbow for you.”
He smirks. “We’ll see.”
Anxiety over what he’ll do next digs into my sides and squeezes. “What’s your aim, Julian? You want Sultans? Everything thatdoesn’tbelong to you?”
The pressure eases off my neck and he cups my cheek instead, his palm hot against my skin. “Hit me again,” he murmurs, ignoring my question, “and you won’t like the consequences. Understand?”
I scoff, twisting my head away.
His grip tightens, and he jerks my face back. “Tell me.”
My nostrils flare, the anger breathing through my insides like a living dragon, but I shove it back, knowing that if I’m going to figure a way out of this, I need to cooperate.
At least for now.
“I understand,” I force out.
He smiles, the sharp angles of his face softening from foe to friend. “Good.”
Patting my cheek, he drops his hold and releases me completely, moving off the bed and running his tattooed hands down the front of his shirt.
“Now, listen carefully, because I don’t like to repeat myself. You will marry me, you will take my last name, and you will be the good, dutiful, little wife that I know is buried deep down somewhere inside that head of yours.”
Anger fills me up so quickly my fingers shake, but I clench the bedsheets and try to breathe through the fury.
“We will make everyone believe we’re in love, and then when your father”—he pauses, swallowing so heavily that his Adam’s apple bobs— “when he passes, you’ll make a public statement that you have no interest in Sultans and as a belated wedding gift will be signing it all over to me.”
“I’d rather die than leave Sultans to you,” I snap.
He chuckles. “Be careful what you wish for, gattina.”
