Twisted Lies (Twisted, #4)

by Ana Huang

“Wrong answer.” I collared her throat with my other hand, pinning her against the rocky wall while I pushed her legs wider with my thigh. I kept the pressure of my thumb against her clit and slid a finger inside her tight, wet heat.

“I’ll ask you again.” I pushed my finger to the hilt and withdrew it slowly, wrangling the loudest moan from her yet. “Do you like being finger fucked out in the open like a good little slut?”

“Yes.” Her admission spilled out as a choked sob. “Please…oh God…” Her head tipped back again as I dragged my fingers out and rubbed a lazy circle on her clit with my thumb before I slammed them back in.

“Scream for me, sweetheart.” I pushed a second finger inside her, stretching her. My cock ached to replace my hands. I was close to losing it, and she hadn’t even touched me. “Let me hear how much you love this.”

“Let go, Stella.” My mouth grazed her ear. “When I tell you to scream, I want you to fucking scream. Or I’ll bend you over and spank your ass raw until you beg me to let you scream.”

A kiss with her wouldn’t be just a kiss. It would be my fucking end.

Not when I needed her more than my next breath, and not when I would rather cut off my arm than deny her anything.

My resistance crumbled like a sandcastle at high tide. I let out a low curse before I groaned, fisted her hair, and slammed my mouth down on hers.

Despite what I’d said about love being a drug, Stella was my greatest high. A temptation with no escape. An obsession with...

He swept his tongue along the seam of my lips, demanding entry again, and I granted it. A sigh of pleasure drifted from my mouth to his when his thumb caressed my nape and he devoured me so thoroughly that I didn’t know where I ended and he began. He tasted like heat and spices, a combination so addictive I could easily spend the rest of my life consuming him and only him. A sting of pain sharpened the pleasure when he nipped my bottom lip and smiled at my surprised gasp.

“You asked for a kiss, Stella.” Christian’s rough voice scattered tingles through my stomach. “This is how I kiss.”

“Just the way I like it,” I said.

“You never should’ve let me kiss you, Stella. Because one taste isn’t fucking enough.” His words and the touch of his gaze warmed me more than the tropical sun. “Who says it has to be one?” He let out another groan before he kissed me again, hungrily and thoroughly, like a man starved.

“You must love that dress,”

“You’ve worn it five times since spring began.”

“I didn’t realize you noticed what I was wearing.” “I notice everything about you.”

I put on my earrings. It’s fine. Everything will be fine. “You look beautiful.” My heart skipped a beat. I turned my head, and my doubts retreated into the shadows once again when I saw Christian leaning against the doorframe, watching me get ready.

“I love this dress on you.”

“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.”

“You don’t have any other commitments tonight, I presume.” His tone was relaxed, but when he turned, his eyes smoldered with so much heat I thought I would combust from the sheer intensity of it. An electric current tied our gazes together as he removed his cuff links with a slow, deliberate preciseness that made my mouth go dry. Rough hands. Whiskey eyes. Control.

“No.”

“Good.” Clink. Clink. The sounds of his cuff links hitting the silver tray echoed in the dark and throbbed low in my belly. “Take off your dress, Stella.”

“Tell me.” The tiny glide of his finger over my hip was enough to send my pulse into overdrive. “Do you want sex, or do you want to be fucked?”

My thighs involuntarily clenched at the way he said fucked. It was the dark purr of a predator toying with its prey, making them beg for their own destruction before it pounced.

I didn’t want soft kisses and gentle caresses. I wanted skin and blood. I wanted nails scratching down his back and bruises on my hips. The commands. The release. The oblivion.

“That’s what I thought.” He tore my underwear off with one sharp tug before his mouth crashed over mine, swallowing my gasp and ensuing moan when he fisted my hair hard enough to make my eyes water.

I watched as Christian shed his clothes, revealing broad, sculpted shoulders and a sexy V cut that led down to his… Oh my God.

“How would you like to be fucked, Butterfly?”

“On your back and spread wide, or on all fours taking every inch of my cock in that tight little pussy?”

“Both.” More whimpers poured out when he worked another finger inside me and pumped both in and out—slowly at first, then faster and faster until he found a rhythm that made my head spin. “As hard as you can.”

I heard a groan, followed by a harsh command. “Get on your hands and knees.”

He fisted my hair with one hand and gripped my hip with the other hard enough to bruise. “Remember…” I let out a small cry when he yanked my head back until his mouth was next to my ear. The head of his cock slid against my slick entrance until I practically panted with anticipation. “You wanted it hard.”

He released my hair, pushed me facedown on the pillow, and slammed inside me with a single powerful thrust.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Another, more guttural groan. “That’s it, sweetheart. You can take it.”

“Good girl.”

Then Christian slammed into me again, this time with such viciousness it knocked the breath out of my lungs. I squealed, my mind blanking at the sudden, forceful invasion. Dark pleasure burst through me, and I barely had time to catch my breath before he started moving again. One hand stayed on my hip while the other pressed against the back of my neck, forcing my face deeper into the pillow. Rough hands. Savage strokes.

“You feel so fucking good,” Christian grunted. “It’s like your pussy was made for me. Every fucking inch.”

Tears and drool soaked my pillow as Christian pounded me mercilessly. I’d been reduced to a wreck, held together with nothing but mind-numbing pleasure and the softest pricks of pain. It wasn’t sex. It was pure, hard fucking…and it was exactly what I needed.

I didn’t want gentle. I wanted passion in its rawest form. I wanted the oblivion that came with pleasure and the knowledge that, no matter what form that pleasure came in, I could trust the person delivering it not to hurt me. Because as rough as Christian was, I’d never felt safer.

“You’re dripping all over my cock, sweetheart. Look at you.”

“An angel about to come from being fucked like a whore.”

“Please, I need to…” My reply devolved into a hoarse scream when he pinched my clit. My brain short-circuited, and my body spiked with pleasure so intense I instinctively tried to scoot away.

“Try that again, and I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit.” I yelped when his palm landed on my ass with a warning slap. He lifted his hand and closed it around my throat. “I want to feel you coming on my cock, Stella.” His fingers dug harder into my skin with each word.

“I can still feel your pussy rippling around my cock.” He cupped my breast and rubbed his thumb over the stiff peak. “As beautiful as I imagined.”

He kissed me harder, his mouth claiming mine and his hands mapping my most erogenous zones as he fucked me toward another orgasm.

“Harder. Please, I…oh God…” My moans pitched higher when he increased his pace and the tremors of a second climax quaked through me. Slowly at first, then all at once when Christian pinched my nipple and drove into me with as much force as the beginning of the night.

“You did so well,” he murmured. “Such a good girl.”

“Is this the surprise?” I eyed the Harley parked next to us as Christian fitted a helmet on me. “I never would’ve pegged you for a motorcycle kind of guy. It’s kind of sexy.”

I didn’t get a chance to finish before his mouth covered mine and he kissed me with a soft, desperate viciousness that I felt from my head to my toes. “Tell me…” He curled a hand around the nape of my neck. “Does this feel fake to you?”

“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.”