Page 24 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

I let go of her wrists, but control was long gone. What started as a game to break her composure had turned on me—I was the one desperate now, trapped between pulling back and the undeniable urge to lose myself in her until we were both left breathless and ruined.

I stood there, fighting to steady my breathing, but the look she gave me—those eyes full of need, begging for more—made calming down a joke.

Every nerve in me screamed to go back, to finish what we’d started.

But I had a point to make, to show her she couldn’t push me without consequences.

The plan was simple: make her regret playing games with me.

But I’d taken it too far, and what was supposed to be her punishment had turned into my own private hell.

Fuck, what was I thinking?

I needed to get away before I lost my shit entirely.

Yanking off my belt and tossing it onto the nightstand, I walked into the bathroom, desperate for a cold shower, but the icy water didn’t do shit. I was still fucking hard, the picture of her beneath me stuck in my head like a goddamn brand.

I planted one hand on the cold tile while the other wrapped around my cock.

Slow strokes. Tight grip. Pretending it was her—Isabelle on her knees, her hand around me, her fingers sliding like she knew exactly how to break me.

I could almost feel the heat of her skin, see the way she’d look up at me while she did it, and fuck, it was almost enough to push me over.

The door creaked open, a sound that should’ve snapped me out of my little fantasy. But no. If anything, it just made me take my time, my satisfied grin growing.

Isabelle was there, watching me like a good little voyeur.

A few moments passed—her standing there in silence, me dragging it out, knowing I had her attention.

I turned my head, giving her a side glance. “You like what you see, Siren?”

Her mouth dropped open, a soft, helpless little sound catching in her throat. She bit her lip, desperate to keep it together—but her eyes gave her away, glued to every stroke of my hand.

After a beat, her fingers dipped to the hem, dragging her top over her head, inch by teasing inch. The fabric slipped away, and those shorts? Fuck, they fell slow enough to kill me.

Isabelle said nothing—just came to me and stepped under the water.

“Really?” she half-laughed, her body jerking against the freezing spray. “Trying to cool off?”

She adjusted the tap, turning the heat up until steam rose in thick waves around us, and she faced me. Her gaze dropped, dragging over my body, until it landed on my hand. That’s where it stopped. Watching.

There was no teasing smile. Just her—silent, steady, completely in control.

And me, barely fucking holding it together.

“Walking in on me like this—pretty bold, don’t you think?”

My cocky line sounded great. Too bad my last two brain cells were busy arguing whether to keep stroking or just fucking beg. And still—somehow—I managed a grin, smug as hell, like I wasn’t already fighting the edge she kept shoving me toward .

“I’m here to settle the score,” she said as her hand closed around mine.

She let out a shaky moan, eyes glued to the way our hands worked me, like she was already tasting what was coming.

It broke whatever thin thread of control I had left.

I caught her by the neck and pulled her into me, our mouths colliding hard and hungry, her hand still wrapped around me, still working me slowly while I kissed her like I was trying to drown in her.

When she pulled away, that smirk said it all. She was dragging it out on purpose—teasing, keeping me right on the edge as if she knew exactly how little composure I had left. Spoiler: not much.

“Are you sure about playing games?”

“I’ve never been more sure. And I’m gonna make you feel every second of it,” she said sweetly, thumb flicking over the tip in a way that made my whole body tense and a rough sound claw out of my throat.

She sank to her knees, her stare never breaking, and licked me from root to tip like she had all the time in the damn world. Her mouth followed, warm and wet, taking me inch by inch, pulling back just enough to make it torture before sinking even deeper.

I barely stayed upright, one hand slammed against the wall, the other buried in her hair, holding her where I needed her.

Her tongue circled me slowly, dragging a raw sound from my throat.

When she pulled back, her lips hovered just over me, her breath hot against my skin. “You taste so fucking good. I could suck you for hours.”

I didn’t even get a breath in before she swallowed me again, deeper this time, her throat clenching around me.

My hips bucked forward, shoving deeper, and the sound she made —

I was losing it.

“Fuck,” I whispered, barely breathing, my voice nothing but shredded air.

My legs were trembling, every muscle locked up, straining to hold. Every helpless little sound that broke from her lips undid me, piece by goddamn piece.

And then—

She stopped. Just pulled away, as if she hadn’t just set my whole goddamn body on fire.

I stared at her, jaw tight, chest rising and falling as if I’d run a marathon, every part of me screaming for more.

She knew. Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing—and she wanted me to fucking break first.

“God, I’m so turned on and dying for you to come in my mouth, but it turns out I’m supposed to keep you hanging.”

She even had the nerve to pout like a spoiled little tease.

Fucking hell. I wanted to teach her a lesson. Guess I did. Just not the right one.

She turned to leave, that smug expression lighting up her face.

Yeah. That was her pressing the big red button labeled “Luca’s Final Straw.”

I grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall, my body pressing into hers, my hand sliding up to her throat until she gasped.

I didn’t let her move.

“You didn’t really think you could fuck with me and walk away clean, did you?” I asked, voice rough, lips brushing hers without kissing.

She blinked up at me as if she didn’t have a clue—green eyes big, lip caught between her teeth, all soft and sweet.

But that little flicker at the corner of her mouth ?

Yeah. She was proud of herself.

My fingers curled tighter around her throat, waiting for the panic to flicker in her eyes—something, anything.

Instead, she just smiled. Wicked. Smug. Fucking beautiful.

Fuck. Didn’t see that coming.

She had no survival instinct. No fear. No hesitation. Just looking at me like she wanted more.

She thought she could pull this shit and walk away? Cute.

“You’re in so much fucking trouble.”

I grabbed her and tossed her over my shoulder. Her ass bounced against me—too tempting, too perfect—so I slapped it hard.

She gasped, squirmed, fists pounding against my back like she actually thought it’d make a difference.

I just laughed.

No fucking chance.

I carried her to the bed, tossed her onto the mattress, and just stood there for a second, arms crossed, watching her crawl away as if she thought I’d let her go.

I waited until she glanced up, wide-eyed, before I grabbed her ankle and jerked her straight back.

She shrieked, laughing breathlessly, but it didn’t matter. I was already crawling over her, pinning her down, mouth hovering just above hers.

“You wanted to push me?” I growled, my voice breaking on how close I was to fucking losing it. “Now deal with it.”

She tilted her head, full of that reckless, cocky fire I was about to fuck right out of her, like she wasn’t already trapped.

“Wow,” she said, smirking. “Didn’t think you were so easy to break.”

“Keep running that mouth. We’ll see who’s still smirking when you’re begging me to let you come. ”

No one else would dare push me like this. But her? She did it like she was born to get under my skin. And the worst part? I fucking loved it.

I wanted to make her pay—for that smirk, for how easily she had me wrapped around her fucking finger.

But as much as she drove me crazy, I couldn’t ignore the thrill that came with her defiance.

And now, after all this time, she was mine.

Mine to touch, to tease, to ruin so she wouldn’t dream of pulling that smug shit with me again.

My hands skimmed over her like I was memorizing her, mapping every curve with aching patience. My mouth trailed down her skin, kissing, tasting, lingering long enough to rip soft gasps from her, long enough to make her hips jerk helplessly against me.

She swallowed, trying to act unaffected.

But when my teeth grazed her thigh, her whole body went still, breath caught somewhere in her chest. I licked her slowly, and her moan broke the silence.

“Oh my god,” she whimpered.

“You’re praying to the wrong one.” I pressed another kiss to her skin. “But you might want to start praying… because I’m not letting you have it until I’ve had my fun.”

My tongue dragged circles over her, feeling the way she arched, the way her moans cracked and broke apart.

Her hands fisted in my hair, tugging hard, trying to anchor me there—needy, frantic.

She was close. So fucking close. I felt it in the way her thighs trembled, in the way her breath came in short, desperate little bursts.

And right when she was about to lose it—

I pulled back. Left her gasping, wrecked, while I kissed a path up her body.

She whimpered into my kiss when I caught her mouth, nails digging deep into my shoulder .

“You love the way you taste on me, don’t you?”

I pulled back just enough to catch that look in her eyes.

She bit down on her lip, eyes dark and hungry. “You have no idea.”

Oh, I had every idea. I remembered that night all too well.

The way I’d made her taste herself, the way she’d wrapped her lips around my fingers and sucked them clean.

She wasn’t just swept up in the moment; she was the moment.

And seeing her get lost in something that raw and filthy, every bit as into it as I was, had left me ruined.