Twisted, page 22
I move quickly, dragging her by the wrists until her body flies forward and drapes over my knees. She squeaks in surprise and then starts to struggle against me, but my forearm locks against the small of her back, small zips of pleasure zinging down the length of my cock as she writhes on top of my dick, making it so hard it strains against the zipper.
My other hand flips up that tight black skirt she couldn’t stop touching earlier, exposing the smooth apple of her ass cheek, prime and ready to be punished.
I bring down my hand without a second thought, the slap reverberating through the room and off the walls. My cock jerks to attention as I rub my fingers across her flesh, soothing the area.
Glancing toward her, I loosen my forearm, realizing that she isn’t fighting against me now. She’s just prone, on her stomach, her elbows sinking into the couch cushion and her breathing so heavy, I can feel it escaping from her lungs.
“It’s far past time somebody taught you how to shut that mouth of yours,” I murmur, smoothing my hand over the flesh.
“Did you just spank me?”
I bend down until my lips ghost across the shell of her ear. “If you want me to stop, tell me to stop. Otherwise, I’ll do it again, gattina. Over and over until your ass is so sore, you can’t sit for days and your sweet little pussy begs for a taste too.”
She sucks in a breath, her torso fidgeting against my lap, and my stomach tightens, enjoying her reaction. I pause, waiting to hear what she says, but the silence rings louder than ever, just the way I knew it would.
“Now, apologize.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she sneers.
Smack.
The sting radiates through my palm as my hand once again smooths over the cheek.
Her body jerks as she tries to free herself from my hold, but I don’t let her escape, instead pressing her firmly down until my dick pushes into her stomach.
“I’d rather fuck you, wife,” I murmur. “But little brats who need to learn their lessons don’t get things unless they play nice. Now.” My fingers dance over the reddened area of her ass. “Be a good girl, and do what I say.”
She twists her head to see me, fire blazing in her eyes, her pupils dilated and desire sneaking through her features. She can pretend she doesn’t like this all she wants. We both know the truth. This is what she needs.
And I’m the man who can give it to her.
“I’m not sorry,” she whispers.
My cock pulses at her disobedience.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Three more slaps in quick succession and she sinks deeper into my hold, her grunts morphing into moans.
“Julian,” she breathes. “Please…”
My fingers dip between her thighs, running along the lace of her underwear, her pussy dripping so much it drenches the fabric. “You know what I want.”
“I’m sorry,” she finally says, grinding herself against me.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats.
I lean down and press a soft kiss to the reddened area on her ass cheek. “You’re so sexy when you behave.”
Relaxing my forearm, I expect her to move, but she doesn’t, choosing to stay in her prone position. The moment itself is vulnerable, and I move to wrap my arms around her body, dragging her into me to hold her tight against my chest.
It’s odd, to…cuddle like this. But what I did was intense, and while I know she enjoyed it, I also know it’s important to make sure she knows she did well.
That she pleased me.
We sit that way for a few minutes, and then I move her to the side, making sure she’s comfortable on the couch. Her arms reach out to bring me back. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t move.” I push her hair back from her face. “I’ll be right back.”
She hums, her eyes glazed, and I head down the hall and to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the arnica cream to make sure she doesn’t bruise.
Walking back over, I see she hasn’t moved from her position, and she twists her head toward me, smiling softly.
I stand in front of her, tapping her thigh. “Up.”
She moves without complaint, and I put her back over my lap, lightly rubbing where I spanked before opening the cream and spreading it on the area.
“When I was three,” I start, “I got a stuffed animal. A hand- me- down teddy bear from some kid who lived around the block and didn’t want it anymore. It was dirty and used and already coming apart at the seams, but it was mine.”
Yasmin pulls back slightly, her face turning toward me and her eyes growing wide at my admission.
“My father came home that night and saw me with it. I was afraid he’d take it from me, so before he could, I ran to my room and found a hiding place, beneath the slats in my tiny little bed.” My throat swells with the memory and I swallow around the pain. “I didn’t even make it back out before I heard my mother screaming and him yelling at her for treating me like a girl. For raising her son wrong.”
“Oh my god,” Yasmin whispers.
“He never took it out on me though. It was always her. She didn’t make me enough of a man. She didn’t cook dinner right. Sometimes the way she was breathing just annoyed him, I guess. It was always her fault.” I grit my teeth, my nose scrunching against the burn growing behind it. “But my mother is a vengeful woman, and she knew who was really to blame.” My eyes go unfocused, and I stare at the wall behind Yasmin, the memories so vivid it’s like I’m there. “That was the first time I remember my mother beating me. Hours after her own pleas quieted and my father had gone back out to the bars, I was lying in my bed, that stupid fucking bear cuddled tight against my chest. And she came raging in, dried blood around her nose, a shiner on her face the size of New York, and my father’s belt wrapped around her fist.” I lift up my shirt from my torso, pointing to a small scar, one of many that are hidden beneath the ink. “She liked to use the metal end. Really get her point across.” I let out a small laugh. “There were tears in her eyes though, and she promised it would only hurt for a little. But that’s the thing about abuse, I guess. The pain always lasts even after the bruises fade.”
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.
“You are so goddamn beautiful, do you know that?” he murmurs, his free hand caressing my calf and gliding up slowly, massaging the muscle as he does.
My breathing comes in small puffs of air, delight at his compliment filling up my body and sending warmth through me as his fingers play with the hem of my skirt that fell back down when he moved me to the table. Slowly, painstakingly, he pushes it up until the material is bunched at my hips and the cool air kisses the skin of my ass.
His palm feels strong and rough as he grabs a handful of the cheek, muttering something Italian under his breath and then smoothing across the skin.
He moves then, the thick length of his erection pressing against me and making my body ache for more as he leans his upper half across my back, his lips ghosting across my ear, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down my spine.
“Tell me you like my hands on you, gattina.”
The words soar through my throat and try to tumble off my tongue, but I sink my teeth into my lip, not wanting to give in, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being able to demand everything from me when he’s already got me splayed out and dripping for him like this. Besides, when I rile him up, he likes it. I can tell because even through his pants, his cock stiffens when I don’t do as he asks.
My fingers dig into the wood of the table next to my face, tempering the urge to reach down the front of my bent-over body just to relieve the throbbing ache that’s pulsing between my legs.
I think I might die if he doesn’t touch me soon, but I still don’t want to give in.
Smack.
A sharp sting radiates across my right ass cheek and my teeth bite harder into my lip, the taste of copper flooding my mouth. He smooths over where he just hit, and the anticipation of what he’ll do to me next sends a buzzing through my body, my muscles tensing and butterflies exploding in my stomach, fluttering so intensely it feels like I might fly.
It’s never felt like this before.
“When I ask you a question, amore mio, I expect you to answer it.” Another smack of his hand in the exact same spot, followed again by him caressing the already tender skin.
He’s still holding me down by the nape, but now he moves his touch, skimming it upward until his fingers are tangling through my curly strands and fisting my hair. His other hand teases the lace of my underwear before gripping tightly and pulling.
I feel the rip on the skin of my hips before I hear it, and then the panties are gone and I’m exposed, at his mercy, and I’ve never felt so alive.
His fist tightens in my hair, and he pulls, a harsh stab of pain radiating on my scalp that sends a shock of pleasure straight between my legs.
My body bows as he brings me up, my back coming flush to his front, his chin resting perfectly in the crook of my neck as he forces me to lean my head against his shoulder.
His right hand moves up to the front of my blouse, repeating the tearing motion, buttons popping off my silk shirt and scattering on the rug as he rips the fabric easily, like it was made for his hands.
My chest heaves as I’m left in nothing but my bra, and soon that’s gone too, thrown somewhere on the floor, and then I’m completely naked, my nipples pebbled and begging to be touched.
“Where’s that smart mouth, bad girl?” He cups my right breast in his hand while he pulls roughly on the makeshift ponytail he has clutched in his other fist. “Don’t want to give it to me now?”
His fingers pinch my nipple before he holds my entire breast in his hand, manipulating the flesh until the pleasure turns into torture, the ache between my legs intensifying from his touch until it becomes almost too much to bear.
“Please,” I pant out.
“Sei bellissima quando implori.”
My body vibrates, and his palm dances down the front of my torso until he’s hovering directly over where I need him most, his hand cupping my pussy like it’s his.
“I could do so much to make you scream,” he purrs.
His middle finger slides along the seam of my pussy, my clit throbbing from the ghost of his touch as he drags it all the way down to my entrance, dipping in just a little to tease the outside of my hole.
I moan, my muscles giving out as I practically collapse against him, his front remaining plastered to my back as he plays with me like I’m a marionette dancing on his strings.
“But you like my hands on you,” he states. “Be my good girl and tell me how it feels.”
“I hate it,” I say, biting my lip even harder.
He moves and smacks my pussy, the sharp sting radiating all the way down my legs, my body shaking from how badly I want him inside me. To ease this ache. He removes his touch, bringing his palm up to my face, my wetness glistening on his skin as he rests his fingers against my lips.
“Your wet cunt doesn’t lie, gattina.”
His finger parts my mouth and forces its way in. I whimper, my tongue wrapping around his digit as I lick myself off his skin. “That’s my girl, sucking yourself off me like a desperate little slut,” he rasps. “You can taste the truth, can’t you, baby?”
I nod against him, so turned on I don’t even want to fight it anymore. I just want to do whatever he says so that he’ll make me come and I can keep feeling this way forever.
He removes his fingers from my mouth, and I wantonly whimper in protest.
His hold on my hair loosens, hand moving to wrap around the front of my throat now, my pulse pounding so heavily I’m sure he can feel it.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I love it when you touch me. Please,” I beg, my legs trembling.
My body is so on edge that everything feels heightened. The air is cool as it whips against my overheated skin, the rug scratchy as it digs into my knees. My pussy is aching as his hand finally gives me what I need.
His thumb rubs my clit and immediately my vision grows hazy, so lost in the pleasure I wouldn’t be able to see the forest for the trees, and when his fingers slide effortlessly into me from how drenched I am, I let out a loud moan, my head dropping back against shoulder. His other hand tightens around my throat, being careful to avoid my windpipe.
He’s done this before. Jealousy whips through me like a tornado, but just as quickly as it came, it’s gone, my stomach tensing as he rubs against my sensitive nerves.
“So responsive,” he murmurs . “You feel like fucking heaven, and I’ve barely touched you.”
