Twisted Roses

Page 110

I set a pace that’s slow and languid but deep and intense. Strokes that make her mouth hang open and her eyes glaze over. Though they never leave mine—I don’t let them as I move inside her and she pulsates around me.
I glide a hand up her warm, soft body. Her curvy hips and heaving breasts. The graceful arc of her neck. My fingers wrap along the base and I feel her life in my hands. Her fast pulse thrumming beneath my touch.
Our gaze holds, the air surrounding us charged with passion and feeling.
Another reminder that this is more.
This is something I’ve never anticipated and don’t understand. But peering into Delphine’s dark eyes with the shadows closed in around us, I know it’s something meaningful.
I can’t unfeel it. Nor, I realize, do I want to.
My heart races from more than physical exertion. It beats like it’s for her—and she can feel it too. Her hand slides up my muscled chest, her palm at rest over my heart, feeling its quick and pounding beats that seem to be syncing up with hers.
I push my tongue inside her mouth and angle my hips to drive even deeper inside her silky channel. Her leg’s still draped over my shoulder, her ankle skimming my sweat-slicked upper back. A gasp-moan gusts out of her, and I know she’s close. She’s right on the edge, the heat and clench of her pussy dragging me along with her.
Her body bows up into mine when she comes. She tosses her arms around my neck and clings to me, crying out so loud and explicitly, there’s no way everybody else in the building doesn’t hear her.
I love watching Delphine like this. The expression which passes over her face is beyond intense; it almost looks painful. Her beautiful features frozen in time, brows knitted and her mouth open. The euphoric release she’s been searching for.
“Good girl,” I praise, my voice husky with pure desire for her. “You look so beautiful when you come on my cock.”
She’s incapable of speech, answering me with another strangled, breathless cry as her warm, soaked pussy spasms.
Mine blows through me no less intense than hers. Hard and numbing. The explosive pleasure rushes through me and I gather speed thrusting into her.
And then I come, the sound I make a husky grunt. I’m blinded for those few seconds that it happens. I’m breathing heavily and pressing my face into her soft, pillow-like breasts. Tension leaves my body and I shudder without control.
I linger inside her even as my cock’s done spilling my release and it finally loses its hardness.
Just to stay like this an extra second. Savor the moment and savor her.
What if every night could be like this? What if I could be so privileged?
My future has always had an expiration date. My revenge on Lucius. My death once he retaliates.
But this… what if this could be what’s waiting for me on the other side of revenge? If I were to succeed and somehow live afterward?
Thoughts that infect my hazy mind as I roll over and wrap a possessive arm around Delphine’s hips. Neither of us say a word. We settle against each other in the dark room and buzzing silence, contented and spent.
This could be mine. For good.
28. delphine
When you discoveryour entire life has been a giant lie, you’re left aimless. You lose direction and question everything. For someone obsessed with plans and structure, with achieving lifelong goals and keeping up appearances, it’s enough to destroy you.
Even worse when it’s your father who’s the culprit.
In the weeks after my confrontation with Dad, I’m a mess. It shouldn’t be anything new considering the past eleven months of my life have been—everything since the night in the alleyway that changed me forever.
But this is a different kind of trauma. It’s a soul-crushing realization that my father isn’t the man I thought he was, and that I’ve been manipulated on such a level, I’m questioning what’s real and what’s fake.
Salvatore does his best trying to support me through the ordeal. He gives me space when I need it, and he goes out of his way to cheer me up. Through the grief and heartbreak, I recognize how significant it is that he cares so much—he never judges me, or grows frustrated by the circles I take him in.
One day I’m a wreck stuck in bed. The next day my spirits are higher. The day after that I’m back to being a wreck.
He lets me sleep, and he holds me when I cry. He does small, surprisingly thoughtful things, like picking up a candle from the store that he believes I might enjoy. He questions me when I tell him I’m quitting my campaign for DA and going on another leave of absence—not out of ill-intent, but because he’s concerned and wants to make sure I’m not ruining my career and giving up my dream.
When I’m in better moods, he makes time for me. He takes me out for rides on his bike and he makes passionate love to me.