Page 83 of Twisted Addiction
The cold marble dug into my thighs as my legs dangled, toes scraping uselessly against the air. He stood between them—imposing, furious, unrelenting—his breath ragged with something dark and dangerous.
“Do you still love me, Penelope?” he demanded.
His voice was a snarl, low and trembling with rage, but his eyes—those ice-blue eyes—held a flicker of something else. Something broken. “Tell me.”
Tears blurred my vision, streaking hot down my cheeks.
I hated him. God, I hated him. But beneath the hate, the love still lived—raw, irrational, the kind that refused to die even after everything he’d done.
The memory of him under the oak tree, smiling at me like I was the whole world, cut through the fear like glass. The fire escape, the stolen kiss, his trembling hands the first time he said my name.
Why couldn’t I let go?
“Speak,” he barked, his grip tightening until pain shot through my jaw and my vision sparked white.
I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. “I do.”
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering before fury returned. “You do what?” he hissed, leaning in, his breath warm and cruel against my lips.
“I... I love you,” I choked out, the words tearing themselves free through my tears.
For a heartbeat, silence fell. Then—
He laughed. A hollow, joyless sound that cut deeper than any insult. Slowly, a cruel smile curved his mouth. “Penelope...” he said, almost softly. “You poor, deluded girl.”
He leaned close, his forehead nearly touching mine. “I will never... love you.”
The words struck like gunfire.
My chest caved, breath stuttering as something inside me cracked open.
His tone dropped lower, venomous. “No one will ever love you the way you want. Do you know why?” His thumb brushed my trembling lip, deceptively tender. “Because I won’t allow it. You ruined me, Penelope... and now, I’ll ruin you.”
My heart twisted, torn between terror and the ghost of what we’d been.
“Completely,” he whispered, his gaze unwavering. “Our wreckage will be shared — buried side by side — because I’ll never let you go.”
He leaned in until his lips grazed my ear, his final words a vow forged in madness and grief.
“I’ll be your end, Penelope,” he murmured, his voice almost tender now. “And you’ll be mine.”
His hand tightened on my jaw before his mouth crashed into mine.
It wasn’t a kiss—it was punishment. Possession.
His teeth caught my lower lip, grazing, then biting down until pain flared sharp and hot.
I gasped, but no sound came.
My mind went blank, a haze of shock and heartbreak freezing me in place as the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth.
When he pulled back, the world tilted. Blood traced a slow path down my chin, and his voice came low, guttural—half growl, half confession.
“I hate you, Penelope.”
Then he kissed me again.
Harder this time.
