Twisted (Never After #4)(86)

Logically, I know she wasn’t kissing him. I saw her spin around and the way she didn’t respond. Emotionally, it doesn’t fucking matter.

The thought of him having tasted her, having touched her while she’s wearing my ring makes me violently angry, and it’s taking every single ounce of self-control to not go back there and rip his tongue from his body.

Groaning, I run my hands down my face as I try—and fail— to convince myself one last time that it doesn’t matter. That she can choose him, and I’ll survive, the way I have every other time I wasn’t someone’s choice.

Go get her.

Stay.

Fuck.

I smack the sides of my face and stalk toward the door, about to find her and grab her caveman style, throw her over my shoulder, and spank her ass until it’s black and blue for thinking that I’d ever let her leave.

But the door flies open before I can, and there she is standing on the other side, looking like a goddess sent to hell. She storms in, her eyes blazing like a thousand suns, and she slams the door behind her.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?” she asks, marching up to me and shoving her hands against my chest.

I reach out and grasp her wrists, halting her assault. But really, I’ll revel in the pain as long as I get to touch her.

“You don’t get to do that,” she spits. “You don’t get to see something and leave before we talk.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” I grit out.

She huffs. “Classic Julian Faraci. So afraid of letting the little boy inside heal that you throw up walls and shelter him from even living.”

Anger punches me straight in the gut. “Watch your mouth.”

“You watch yours,” she hisses.

I tighten my grip on her wrists, her glare stripping every pretense away until I feel naked and vulnerable beneath her gaze.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for you,” I bite out. “And sometimes that means walking away.”

“Well, I’m sick and tired of every man in my life thinking they know what’s best for me.” She struggles in my hold, trying to break free so she can shove at me again. “Guess what, asshole. There’s this little thing called free will. You should try to let people have it.”

I bite back the amusement that’s trying to break through the rage, my cock hardening from the way her body is squirming against me. I adjust my hold on her, walking her backward, energy wrapping around us like a rope and pulling tight until it’s hard to breathe.

Her back slams against the closed door and I press myself flush to her, the soft curves of her body fitting perfectly against the hard planes of mine, separated only by her arms, which are being held in my grasp between us.

Dipping down, I rest my lips against hers, not kissing, just existing in the same place, her breaths becoming my oxygen. If I stand here for long enough, I wonder if I could fill myself with her.

“I’m no good for you, gattina. I bribe and blackmail and kill. I will hurt you. I have hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” she whispers. “I forgive you.”

Shaking my head, frustrated that she doesn’t get the point, I move her hands until they’re above her head, pressing them tightly into the wood of the door. Her chest brushes against my torso, moving in and out with her unsteady breaths of air.

“You should,” I reply. “That boy out there, he’s got history with you that I’ll never have. Moments that will forever live in your memory, snapshots you’ve taken to freeze the feeling for when you start to forget.” I press my lips to hers, drowning myself in the torture of almost tasting her the way I crave. “He’s got all your firsts, and that’s something I won’t ever get. But I don’t want them,” I whisper against her mouth. “I don’t care to have your awkward moments or your shaky promises and your fumbling hands. And do you know why?”

“No,” she breathes, her eyes glossing over with tears.

“Because I don’t love you like he does.”

She whimpers, twisting her head away. I drop one of her hands, ignoring the way she immediately tries to shove me back, and I grip her cheek tightly, angling her so I can press my face against the side of hers, my lips ghosting across her jaw. I’m pinning her to the door with my body, and her hands are fisting the fabric of my shirt, clenching and releasing, like she can’t decide if she wants to drag me closer or push me away.

“My love for you is dangerous.”

A heavy breath whooshes from her mouth, a tear rolling from her eye, dripping over the back of my knuckles. I move, pressing a kiss to her wet cheek to soak up her cries.

“I would kill anyone who looked at you. Anyone who dared to even breathe too close.”

Her body shakes against mine.

“I want your blood and your anger and your violence and your lust.” My thumb brushes against her bottom lip. “I want your smiles and your tears and your insolent fucking mouth.”

She pulls me in until there’s no space between us, her breasts grazing against my torso with every shaky exhale.

“I want to reach into your chest and hold your heart in my hands, making sure it only beats for me,” I rasp. “But I don’t want your firsts, Yasmin. I want your forever.”

She lets out a cry, her hands clawing into me like she can’t get close enough, but I resist, jerking back as I fight against her hold. I move my other hand up until I’m cupping her face, making sure she meets my eyes.