Page 96 of Twisted Shot
The room is quiet, washed in the soft golden glow of a bedside lamp. The faint hum of the city slips through the windows, muffled by heavy curtains. Her presence is everywhere. A pair of heels by the door. A charger curled on the nightstand. The sweet, citrusy scent of her perfume still clinging to the air like a secret.
He’s craved this moment with a hunger that borders on obsession. He’s imagined the taste of her on his tongue so vividly it’s stolen sleep from his nights. Her breathy moans, the soft, helpless sounds she makes when pleasure overtakes her—they haunt him, echoing in his mind like a pulse he can’t silence.
He wants to feel her writhe beneath him, trembling, breath hitching as he drags her apart with nothing but his hands and mouth. Wants to watch her unravel, knowing every broken gasp, every flutter of her hips, is because of him.
She found him tucked away in a quiet corner with Jake not even an hour ago, his tie loosened and his smile just for her. Without a word, she slipped her keycard into his hand. Her fingers lingered against hispalm, her gaze steady and full of promise, speaking volumes in the space where words could not fit, not with the final sweep of the gala waiting and Naomi already tugging her away.
She picked him.
Not the version in the mask. Not the man with the witty banter and filtered words.
Him.
Real, flawed, anxious, and entirely fucked up.
And now he’s here, heart thudding like a drum in his ribs, in a place he’s dreamed about for months.
His eyes fall to the edge of the dresser, where his black mask sits.
He picks it up, turning it over in his hands. It’s lighter than he remembers. Just plastic. Painted charm. A story he needed—until now.
Theo sets it back down.
He’s done hiding.
When the door clicks open, his heart lifts and stumbles all at once, like it always does when he sees her.
Mila steps inside, closing the door behind her quietly. She’s kicked off her heels and carries them by the straps. The soft silver dress clings to her in all the ways it did earlier, but now—alone in this space—she looks like something out of a dream.
She sets her shoes down by the door and crosses the room slowly. Her blue eyes lock on his, with a mix of excitement and trepidation. And something inside him settles. He’s not nervous anymore.
Because this feels right.
“Theo, we should talk—” she begins, but he’s already across the room, lifting his hand and gently brushing two fingers across her full lips.
“No more talking,” he murmurs against her ear, his voice low and husky. “I don’t want to waste a single second on words anymore.”
He feels her breath catch, the smallest hitch that betrays the same urgency clawing through his veins. Her body presses into his with instinctive hunger, and for a moment, all he can do is hold her there, their mouths so close they’re already sharing breath, already tethered by the heat simmering between them.
He pulls her closer, his hands firm at her waist, fingers splayed across the soft curves of her body.
The first kiss is soft. It feels like surrender, like finally, after all the goddamn detours and tension and want, he’s allowed to touch her like this. And then she sighs against him, leaning in, and it’s no longer soft. She deepens the kiss, and his blood spikes, hot and hungry.
His hands slide lower, palms flattening over her hips, dragging her flush against his thick length. Her body fits against his perfectly, and it sets something dark and possessive alight inside him, something primal that refuses to let go now that he has her.
He guides her to the bed, walking her backwards while never looking away, each step heavy with the weight of everything he wants to do with her. His hands explore as they go, mapping every curve that has haunted his sleep and hijacked his focus for weeks, each touch driving him further from restraint. When she turns for him, her back pressing to his chest, the firm ridge of his cock settles against her ass, and he exhales like she’s knocked the breath out of him.
His lips hover near her ear, and when he speaks, his voice is a dark whisper. “This is a beautiful dress, Daisy, but I need you to take it off for me. Now.”
He feels her shiver, the reaction immediate. Her body leans into his, and that’s all the invitation he needs.
His fingers find the delicate zipper, sliding it down with aching precision. As the fabric loosens, he presses a kiss to one bare shoulder, then the other, lips trailing where silk once touched skin.
She steps out of the dress, and he catches it before it hits the floor, turning to drape it carefully over the plush hotel chair.
When he turns back, she’s standing there in nothing but a pair of white lace panties and bra, delicate and nearly translucent.
He drops to his knees in front of her, unable to stay standing a second longer. His hands circle her waist, applying gentle pressure until she sits on the edge of the bed. His eyes never leave hers as he takes her in from this new angle, worshipful and starved, barely holding himself back. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
