Twisted (Never After #4)(72)

A tear escapes from the corner of Yasmin’s eye, and I drop her wrists, reaching out to swipe it away, letting my thumb drag down her perfect face.

“When you’re a kid, you don’t really know any better. The only thing you do know is that she’s your mom, and moms are supposed to love you. To be your safe space. Not the other way around. I just wanted the best for her, even after she was the cause of so much pain.”

“Julian…”

I hush her, my fingers never stopping their motion on her skin. “So you see, I wish she would die. To free me from this guilt that lives inside me, festering like an infected wound, knowing that if maybe I had just never existed, she wouldn’t have had so much strife.”

Emotion, thick and volatile, floods through me, pouring into my chest and filling up my veins until I can’t think straight. It’s too much. Too strong. And I need to do something to make it go away.

Yasmin spins around on my lap and I let her, her face staring up at me with a new look in her glossy eyes, one I’ve never seen. I’m not sure if I like it there or not.

My fingers follow the trail of wetness on Yasmin’s face until I’m cupping her chin and lifting, dragging her into me.

“If I’m the devil, amore mio, cast stones at the one who made me.”

And then I kiss her.





Chapter 30





Yasmin





My heart slams against my rib cage, trying to leap out of my chest and soar into his, and I’m not quite sure why it’s happening or how to stop it. Maybe it’s to soothe what Julian feels like may be broken or to simply comfort the vulnerable little boy locked inside.

Either way, I don’t have much time to process what he said before his lips are on mine, stealing the breath from my lungs like he needs it to survive.

And I’ve been kissed before, but the way Julian devours me— like he can’t stand the thought of staying away for another second, like I’m the only thing he needs and nothing will get in his way— shows me that maybe I’ve never truly been kissed.

There aren’t butterflies in my stomach. No soft pitter-patters of flapping wings or gentle flips. Instead, he causes an inferno, raging through my system and disintegrating me.

My fists unclench as his hands grip the sides of my face possessively, both of us no longer able to fight against whatever this is that’s been slowly steeping for the past couple of weeks.

Now it’s pulling us both under, and it feels so good I don’t care if it makes me drown.

I moan into the kiss, my eyelids fluttering closed as his tongue slips against mine, his hands tilting my head like he needs to get deeper, to taste more. It makes my stomach drop and twist like I’m on a roller coaster, and I sink into his hold, my arms wrapping around his neck, fingers digging into his hair as I try to get as close as possible.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know that logically, I should be pulling away. That I should be fighting whatever this is between us and making sure I don’t fall for what I know is just another manipulation.

For a second, Aidan flits through my thoughts, guilt for what I’m doing trying to seep into the moment, but then I remember that he wants nothing to do with me. And to be honest, nothing with Aidan has ever felt like this. The thought is gone as quickly as it came, the passion coursing through me washing Aidan away like he was written in chalk and not carved on my soul.

Besides, it’s been a while since anything has felt good in my life, so as selfish as this might make me, I’m going to grab on with both hands and hold on tight. I’m going to take the temporary respite while I can.

He tilts my face, breaking his lips away and dragging his mouth down the expanse of my neck, his teeth nibbling and sucking on every piece of bare skin he can find.

This doesn’t feel like a one-time thing.

It feels like ownership.

The thought sends a spear of heat through my middle, making my back arch and my body fall further into him.

His hands move from where they were cupping my face, grazing down my sides and causing my breath to stall and goose bumps to prickle beneath the silk of my shirt.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer until not a single centimeter is left between us, his cock pressing against my torso, thick and large and something that I’m suddenly desperate to feel.

Before I can overthink it, I reach out and run the palm of my hand from the base all the way up, reveling in the way his body stiffens and his breathing stutters from where he’s still nibbling on the crook of my neck.

My pussy throbs, wetness seeping into my black lace thong, and I imagine what he would feel like slipping between my legs. I bet he would split me apart, dominate every single part of me.

Make me feel loved and secure and whole, even if just for the moment.

He groans but moves his own hand in between us, halting my movements and bringing my arm back up to his chest. I ignore the slight stab of rejection I feel when he does, and then he’s spinning me around quickly, lifting me up as he stands until I’m sideways in the air.

I gasp, letting out a small squeal as he maneuvers me exactly how he likes, forcing me to bend over the edge of the coffee table. My elbows ache when they slam into the carved wood, and my knees sink into the purple and gold Persian rug beneath us.

His hand skims up the length of my spine, sensing a shiver racking through me. I lift my head up and am about to turn to look him in the eye, but his palm wraps around the back of my neck and forces me down until my cheek is pressed against the table and my body is supple and open beneath him.