Page 32 of Stained In Sin (The Twisted Trilogy #1)

I nod my head, lips shaking as I start to cry. You’re not okay . He pulls me int o him and wraps his arms around me. His embrace is warm. He smells like whiskey and mint, with a hint of fire. He lets me sob into his chest as he strokes my hair.

We break apart, and he grabs my bags, carrying them inside.

We stand in the foyer, a fire burning bright in the stone fireplace. The song “Time is running out” by Muse plays throughout the space.

He grabs a glass of wine from the island and brings it to me, giving me a relaxed smile.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“So, tell me. What happened?”

I walk over to the couch and sit down on the edge, sipping on my wine. He sits down next to me, placing an arm around me. Something about his demeanor has changed. He seems less cold, but almost inviting.

“So. My parents confronted me… They told me that you showed up demanding to see me.”

“That’s it?”

“Then they told me that they think you are dangerous… that you have changed me.”

His eyes skate down to the reminder he left me.

“Did they see it?”

I nod slowly—a smirk curls upon his lips.

A blush paints my cheeks. His smile lights me up from the inside.

“Did you talk to Astra?”

My face pales at the reminder.

“No…”

He nods.

“She told me about Amara… I didn’t know. I didn’t check my phone. She tried to talk to me, but I was too late,” I choke out the words. The sadness forms a pit in my stomach.

He glides his thumb across my cheek, drying my tears.

He takes my glass from me, setting it down on the table before us. His strong arms swoop around me, pulling me onto his lap, straddling him.

I bury my head into his chest as my crying eases.

His fingers trail up my spine, intertwining in my locks. He pulls my head back off his chest, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes me.

My eyes remain closed as he grinds into me. His hard length rubs the sensitive spot between my legs. He makes me forget. He is all I want. You love him. Don’t ever let him go.

His grip on my hair relaxes as he moves his hand to my throat, squeezing the sides gently. I let out a soft moan as I roll my hips against him. This feels right.

His free hand glides between us as he shoves my shorts to the side. He rubs up and down, as I melt into his touch. He is intoxicating.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” his raspy voice sends a shock to my core. “Mm-hmm,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he plunges his fingers deep inside of me. My back arches at the sensation. My body tingling with need. Need for him.

He pleasures me with his fingers in long, slow strokes. The pressure in my core builds.

He quickly releases me, shoving my hips up off of him. He shoves down his pants, freeing his hard length.

I hover above him. With a primal look on his face, he fists my shorts and rips the material in half, shedding me of the thin material.

He lines himself up as I lower myself onto him. Feeling him stretching me. The angle makes my breath catch, and a moan fills the air around us.

He grabs the bottom of my sports bra, lifting it off me. He tosses it as he grips both of my breasts in his palms, squeezing as I glide up and down o n him.

He groans as my walls tighten around him.

His hands move around my body. One landing on my throat and the other gripping my hip tightly. He bounces me up and down on top of him. He loves you. He wants you.

I feel myself reaching my climax as stars threaten my vision. He squeezes tighter around my throat, and my body convulses on top of him. The pleasure overtakes me as I pulse around him.

He continues to pound into me as he swells inside of me.

The sensation is warm as it melts my core.

I collapse down on top of him, listening to the steady thump as it beats through his sweaty chest. I press my eyes closed as we fuse as one.

He makes me forget. Tell him. Tell him how you feel. He feels it too.

“I love you,” I whisper.

They say that when you love a man, everything else fades— the noise, the fear, the past— because love is supposed to be enough. But he didn’t say it back.

* * *

Dante fell asleep pretty quickly. I haven’t been able to sleep. He made me forget all of my problems momentarily. They all came rushing back once the silence took over. The deafening silence that threatens to steal my sanity.

I roll over, rechecking my phone. It’s 3 A.M. Fuck. I need to sleep. I recheck my messages to see if I have any from Astra. Nope. There is one from an unknown number, though.

I open the message, and it’s a photo with a caption.

The caption reads:

He will always love me more .

Above is a photo taken of Dante plowing into a woman from behind.

You can’t see her face or his, but you can clearly tell it is him from the tattoos.

I want to cry, I really do. I’m afraid I have no more tears left to give today.

I am sinking back down into the black void. It’s just a game. He doesn’t love you.

I lock my phone, not wanting to think about the message. I lay in the bed, numb, next to a man who I thought might care about me. Too bad I have nowhere else to go. I have burned all of my bridges.

* * *

I wake up to Dante tracing over my scar. They are slowly healing and no longer as painful.

“Good morning, princess.” His smile is infectious. He probably gives everyone that smile.

“Can I ask you something?” I say timidly.

“Anything.”

“Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

He remains silent for a beat. His responses are always calculated. He never responds to me impulsively, unless of course we are fucking.

“Why the fuck would I do that? Why would you think that?”

I tense at his harsh tone. I didn’t expect him to become angry at such a simple question.

“I—I got a message. A picture actually,” my voice wavering, “it was a picture of you fucking another woman… I just had to make sure it wasn’t true.”

He jerks upright and throws his lamp across the room. My breathing escalates, and I am scared. The look in his eyes has turned murderous, and I am the only one making it happen. He was so kind a moment ago. I sit up, unsure if I will need to run. He won’t hurt you. He is safe.

He still stands at the side of the bed, breathing steadily, as if he were a trai ned assassin.

“When? When the fuck did you get that?”

“Early this morning…”

“Were there more?”

“No…”

“Good.” He closes the distance between us, placing one hand on my throat, applying slight pressure.

“If you get a single message, you tell me. I don’t give a fuck what it is, you tell me.

I live a dangerous life, and I will not risk losing you.

I also want to make it clear as fucking day, that you Evelyn, are mine.

You are the only one. You will be the only one.

I don’t care what the fuck happens, it is you and me. Got it?”

My chin trembles, and I nod my head. He pulls me into him and kisses my forehead, comforting me. I need him. He is all I have left. You can’t trust him. He is lying to you. He would never admit it.