Twisted Lies (Twisted, #4)

by Ana Huang

Because despite Christian’s cold nature, he makes her feel everything when she’s with him. Passionate. Protected. Truly wanted.

An Alonso didn’t suffer from anxiety attacks or spend their nights worrying about every little thing that could go wrong the next day. An Alonso didn’t seek therapy or air their dirty laundry to a stranger. An Alonso was supposed to be perfect.

but there was nothing disinterested about the way his eyes held mine. Dark and knowing, like they could strip away every mask I showed the world and find the broken pieces of the girl hiding underneath. Like they thought the brokenness was beautiful anyway.

“It’s one of my many talents,” Christian drawled. The suggestiveness was subtle, but it was enough to send a rush of heat over my cheeks.

“Careful, Stella.” His low warning pulsed between my legs. “I’m not the gentleman you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a gentleman at all.” A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. “Smart girl.”

Black had always been my favorite color. Silent. Deadly. Impenetrable. I felt at home in it, like shadows merging with the inky wells of night.

“Butterfly?” Beautiful. Elusive. Hard to catch.

“Because I don’t want to be jailed for murder if anyone touches a hair on your head.”

Some photos were worth a thousand words. This photo said only one. Mine.

Despite what happened last night, her light still shone through, and she was more resilient than a lot of people, including me, gave her credit for. That’s my girl.

He wore head-to-toe designer business wear, but those bright amber eyes and the predatory grace with which he moved reminded me of a panther lazily stalking its prey. A beast drawing out the inevitable because he’d grown tired of the ease with which he captured what he wanted.

“Stella Rosalie Alonso, if you do not apologize to your mother this instant, I will⁠—” “I suggest you don’t finish that sentence.” Christian’s quiet voice sliced through the toxic fumes of my father’s anger like they didn’t exist.

“You have too much confidence in me.” “You have too little.” His voice was closer this time, a velvet touch against the bare skin of my neck and shoulders.

The silvery glow caressed her skin in a way that made her look ethereal. An angel sleeping in the arms of a monster.

“I thought you don’t believe in love,” I teased. “You’re right. That was the wrong word.” Christian touched the small of my back while his eyes met mine in the mirror. “Because love is ordinary. Mundane. And you, Stella…” The soft rasp of the zipper filled the air as he dragged it up my spine in one exquisitely, torturously slow glide. My breath left my lungs at both the sensuality of the movement and the raw intimacy of his next words. “You’re extraordinary.”

“I want to make a few things clear.” Christian’s lips brushed mine with each word. “Touch another man, he dies. Let another man touch you, he dies. Tell me I can’t touch you…” His grip tightened on the back of my neck as his voice dropped. “And I will fucking die.”

“I thought it was obvious, but in case it isn’t, you’re mine, Stella.”

“You belong with me. Exclusively. There is not a world or lifetime where that’s not true.”

until I was knuckles deep

“You taste…”

“Like mine.”