Page 37 of Twisted Shot
Her orgasm rips through her like lightning, sharp and bright and all-consuming. She goes slack against the wall, her legs trembling as she gasps for air, barely able to stay upright.
She should feel embarrassed. They are outside in the dark, one turn from being discovered. But all she feels is the press of his hard body against hers, his breath still rough, the way his fingers linger against her thigh.
She feels owned. Worshipped. Wanted in a way that steals the air from her lungs.
He keeps her braced against the wall, panting, as he slips his hand from beneath her dress, fingers glistening with her wetness. Maintaining eye contact, he lifts his fingers to his lips and gives them a long, slow lick. Something in his chest rumbles, a sound of pure male satisfaction as he tastes her.
He steps back, pushing off the wall, leaving weak-kneed Mila to regain her balance. He reaches out to straighten her dress, his hands trailing up her body and adjusting her headband that is no doubt askew. He touches her like she’s precious.
“Go back inside, Daisy,” he rumbles, voice thick with heat. “Natalie will be looking for you.”
She sucks in a breath at the sound of her best friend’s name.
Her eyes flick up, meeting the stranger’s. Still hidden. Still unreadable behind the mask and smudged black makeup. She hadn’t told him her name—her real name. And Natalie hadn’t come outside. She would’ve noticed.
Her gaze darts around the shadowy backyard, her thoughts tangling as she tries to catch hold of them. “Wait—how do you?—”
But he’s gone.
The shadows swallow him like they’ve been waiting.
Mila stares into the darkness, heart pounding for an entirely new reason.
She blinks, trying to orient herself. The firelight flickers across the slats of the gazebo, painting strange shapes on the ground. Her skin is flushed, her breath shallow, lips swollen, thighs still trembling where his body pressed between them. Her dress is rumpled, the slit showing too much leg, her pearls askew.
She should feel embarrassed.
And part of her does.
But not for the reasons she expected.
Whowasthat?
She pushes off the wall slowly, still dazed. Her heels wobble for half a second before she steadies herself, gathering what’s left of her dignity. Her fingers ghost across her lips, tingling from his kiss.
She didn’t come to the party for a stranger. She came for Theo.
Theo, with his shy glances and quiet strength. Theo, who wouldn’t—couldn’t—speak plainly to her. Who never made her feel fully wanted, not like that.
Mila straightens her dress as best she can and smooths her hair with both hands, though it’s futile. Her lipstick is probably a smudgy mess. She must look like she was ravished in a bush.
Which, well…she had.
A laugh bubbles up, unexpected and almost hysterical, and she stifles it with the back of her hand as she walks toward the house. Her steps are uneven, but she doesn’t care.
She’s too spun out to care what anyone thinks.
She slides the door open and the pulse of music slams into her, a burst of light and sound. She pauses, glimpsing her flushed cheeks, tangled hair, and haunted glow in her eyes in the glass before stepping through
She doesn’t recognize that woman.
And she’s not sure yet if that’s a good thing or a warning.
CHAPTER 13
MILA
Mila wakes up to hot breath in her face.
