Twisted (Never After #4)(11)

She swallows, her throat moving beneath the pads of my thumb.

“If I wished for it,” I murmur, leaning in until our noses touch, “I could make you need nothing but me.”

She scoffs, turning her face away.

The urge is there to pull her back, to force her to stay still until I allow her to move, but I resist the temptation, releasing her and straightening as I run my palm down the front of my shirt. “I promise…” I pause, reaching out and tapping my fingers against her cheek. “I’m not someone you want on your bad side.”

“You’re not someone I want on any side,” she retorts.

“No?” I lift a brow. “Silly decision for such an educated girl.”

“You know, I think you might be the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.”

I laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” she retorts. “I know that you’re a creep.”

“And you’re a spoiled brat.” I shrug. “But I’d still use you to my advantage if I could.”

Her head tilts to the side. “What?”

My heart speeds in my chest, making the cavity tighten as the thought that’s been itching my brain solidifies into a full-fledged idea. One that could solve everything.

Ali wants her to marry, not willing to leave anything to his perfect daughter unless she has a man to claim it, and I… I could be the one she marries.

I’ve thought of it before but brushed it off instead of allowing the plan to take root because while it wouldn’t be a hardship to have her in my bed, I’m afraid my ears would bleed from the annoyance of her voice, and my short fuse at putting up with her obnoxious attitude might not let her survive a single night.

But it would be a temporary annoyance and one that would solve almost all my problems. And now that she’s standing here in front of me, with my cock at half-mast and my mind whirling at the plan taking shape in my head, it sounds almost appealing.

Marry the girl, let the old man die, and then kill her and be done with it, inheriting everything without the bitch of a daughter attached to my side.

My spine straightens and I let my eyes drop down the length of her, looking at her for the first time as if she’s my prey and I’m ravenous to eat.

“Clearly, Ali’s done something to upset your fragile ego. And you said it yourself. He listens to me.”

“His biggest flaw, in my opinion.” She smirks.

“Cute.” I smile. “A smart woman would see me as an opportunity.”

“I…what do you mean? Are you saying you want to…help me?”

“I’m saying it seems advantageous to have me in your corner. Me, the one who holds sway with the most important man in your life.” I quirk a brow. “Assuming he is the most important man in your life?”

Her body folds in slightly. Clearly, she gets the insinuation of me bringing up her secret lover, and she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Of course he is,” she murmurs.

Humming deep in my throat, I nod and reach in, pressing my thumb and forefinger against the bottom of her chin, pinching slightly. “Then I suggest you put away those claws, gattina. Why make me an enemy when I can be an ally?”

Fire rages behind her eyes and I spin around, a sick satisfaction at leaving her without the chance to respond spreading through every vein in my body.





Chapter 5





Yasmin





I’ve kept Aidan a secret from everyone in my life for years. To the outside world, he’s nothing but a childhood friend. And at first, they were right. I was lonely when I was home, and he was just there. But then before I knew it, he had stolen my heart like a thief, and when I wasn’t sure what the feeling was, he told me it was love.

As I sit across from my best friend, Riya, watching her sip on raspberry Bellinis and moan around twenty-dollar chocolate croissants, I can’t help but wish that she knew. That I hadn’t kept this secret from everyone and had allowed her to be my rock.

Maybe, if I had someone to talk to about everything, I wouldn’t feel so alone— wouldn’t feel like I’m suffocating on air.

“These croissants are nothing but sugar and carbs,” she says as she leans back in the metal patio chair, her black-painted fingernails scratching her stomach. “Worth it though.”

I hum, grabbing my Canon EOS R3 camera, snapping a quick photo of her.

She grins and flips me the bird.

I snap another one, already imagining how good it will look in black and white. Riya’s sass doesn’t need color to bleed through the lens.

Photographing people in their element is my favorite part of taking pictures. There’s something so cathartic about candid photos, capturing a single solitary moment and keeping the emotion alive forever.

“God, I hoped you’d grow out of that after college.” Riya nods to my camera as I set it down beside me.

I grin, picking up my Bellini and taking a sip, letting the bubbles sit on my tongue and mix with the sweetness of the raspberry. “Well, I’d hoped you’d grow out of being a bitch, but we can’t all get what we want.”

She guffaws, tossing a napkin across the table at me. I grin, placing my drink back down.

Riya and I have been meeting for Sunday brunch since our college days out in Oregon. We were roommates there just like we had been for years, having had plans to go to college together since we were little kids running around in the boarding school our parents threw us in.