Twisted (Never After #4)(45)

Just like last time, her nails dig into the back of my hand until they cut through flesh.

I smother a hiss at the pain and tighten my grip until her skin blanches, bending down to ghost my lips across the shell of her ear. “Careful,” I whisper before dropping her hand completely. Moving toward Anthony’s desk, I look down at the shiny, new marriage license, picking up a pen and holding it out toward her. “You’re more than welcome to plan the wedding of your dreams and have him walk you down the aisle. But this is about us.”

She strides toward me, her eyes flicking between the pen and the marriage certificate on the desk’s top. She moves and I wrap my free hand around her wrist, locking her in place.

“In time, you’ll forgive me. I just couldn’t wait another minute to tie us together. Until death do us part.”

Swallowing, she jerks her chin, taking the pen from my hold and twisting toward the license.

My heart ratchets higher, slamming against my ribs as she leans over, her back arching slightly as she prepares to become mine.

I wasn’t sure what I expected when she got here, but it wasn’t this. I’m pleased things are going so smoothly, but I’m not naive, and her being so agreeable makes my hackles rise. Still, the scratch of ink on paper has never sounded so sweet. One step closer to Sultans becoming mine, just as much as Yasmin. She signs her name and then looks up at me, a dark look coasting across her features.

Her jaw tightens and I beam at her.

“What now?” she asks.

I smile. “Now, we get married, gattina.”

Anthony stands at the front, his face drawn and somber as he officiates what must be the quickest ceremony in New York history.

Yasmin’s mouth gapes when I pull out the 8.92-carat canary-yellow diamond, slipping it on her finger along with an eternity band, and she keeps a brave face when she slides the simple black ring on mine. But I can feel the tremor in her hands.

Stepping in close, I brush the tight, black curls away from her face. “Is this the part where I get to kiss the bride?”

I don’t really want to kiss her, but she’s been so docile and tame the entire time she’s been here, and a part of me wants to see how much it takes to get her riled. To stoke that fire that I love to feel, just so I can imagine all the ways I’d love to snuff it out.

She runs her hands up the front of my torso, my abs tightening. I resist the urge to shove her away as she rests her fingers on my chest. I stare down at her, my body stiff as a board, nerves on edge from having someone touch me. I blow out a deep breath and she smirks as she rises on her tiptoes. If I weren’t paying close attention, I’d think that she was enjoying this, but I see the flash of grief in her eyes right before her lips meet mine.

My synapses fire like an explosion, so intense it’s almost painful, but I push through the feeling and wrap my arm around her waist, dragging her closer, my teeth sinking into her lower lip to anchor her to me.

Her lips part and I inhale her breath like it’s stolen air.

My eyes are wide open and so are hers, a battle of wills that neither of us are willing to lose. My tongue slips against hers and she stiffens but allows the movement. And when I deepen the kiss, falling prey to the sweet taste of her mouth, her lids flutter before closing completely, her body relaxing against mine as she starts to kiss me back.

My stomach somersaults, my cock suddenly so hard it aches, and I fist the material of her dress, feeling—for the first time in my life— as if I can’t get close enough. It catches me off guard, and I should be wary, take it as a giant red flag waving in my face, but instead, I’m lost to the new sensation of having someone touch me and not hating the way it feels.

One of my hands slips up her side, enjoying the way she gasps into my mouth, and I cup her jaw, my thumb pressing against her chin to pry her open further.

Christ.

A throat clears, and Yasmin and I jump apart, our hands dropping away from each other like they’ve been doused in acid.

Her hand flies to her mouth, her wide gaze filling with horror as she stares at me.

I force a haughty look, even though my insides are reeling. “No need to get shy, gattina. You’re my wife now. Nobody will think twice if you take what’s yours.”

Her eyes narrow, but she lowers her hand and glances around, looking at Ciara, Razul, and Anthony. “I prefer to do things like that in private.”

A slow smile spreads across my face. “Then let’s go home.”





Chapter 19





Yasmin





Julian’s home is exquisite, which pains me to say. He’s so revolting that in my head, I’ve built up everything else about him to be just as bad, so when he drove us through the hidden hills of Badour, past the iron gates and down the rows of trees that line his quarter-mile driveway, I was taken aback by the view, to say the least.

And now I’m in the family room that’s just off the open kitchen, staring out at the lush forest that hides his mansion from prying eyes. It’s a beautiful view, one that if this were any other scenario, I would bask in. The sun is starting to set over the tops of the trees, splashes of muted orange and pink breaking through the leaves.

But instead of enjoying the scenic moment, I’m trying to keep from throwing up.

I kissed him. Like, actually kissed him. My tongue was practically halfway down his throat. And I can pretend that it was nothing more than me playing the part— and to be fair, that’s how it started— but I’m trying this new thing where I’m completely honest with myself. I have to be, or else my mind will get too muddled in the white lies to see the finish line and have a fighting chance of coming out of this on the other side.