Page 30 of Twisted Addiction

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “A cage lined with silk is still a cage.”

His eyes darkened, the blue deepening into something cold and dangerous.

His hand twitched slightly on the table, a subtle warning beneath the ice of his tone. “Would you rather I took my desire elsewhere?” The words were slow, deliberate, a razor hidden in silk. “Tell me, Penelope—should I be hunting someone else while you sulk in defiance?”

“I swear, if you cheat, I’ll do the same,” I said, each word deliberate, a blade I didn’t quite know how to wield.

My pulse hammered but my chin stayed high.

He went still. The kind of stillness that felt like a gun being cocked. When he finally leaned back, it was slow, predatory, his knuckles pale against the table.

A smirk tugged at his mouth, cold and merciless. “No,” he murmured. “You won’t.”

“Yes,” I shot back, softer but steadier, daring him anyway. “I will.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a predator’s patience, his jaw flexing as though grinding down the taste of his own rage.

Then—crack—his palms slammed against the table.

The sound ricocheted through the room, a fork skittering off the edge and clattering to the floor.

Before I could draw a breath, he was moving—three long, lethal strides—and suddenly he was there, looming over me.

Chapter 8

PENELOPE

His hands shot out, seizing my arms. His grip was iron but not reckless; tight enough to bruise, restrained enough to remind me it was control, not chaos, that governed him.

My body trembled despite myself, breath hitching.

I forced my chin up to meet his gaze, but his intensity was a living thing, a current that made my knees go weak.

“You’ll never even think of another man.” He growled, voice dragging over gravel. “If you look at any man the wrong way, he dies. If any man so much as breathes your name with hunger, he dies. And if one dares to touch you—” He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over my ear, his words hot and venomous. “—then his entire bloodline burns with him. I’ll hunt them down one by one, until the name of the man who touched what’s mine becomes a curse whispered in fear.”

His tone deepened, almost reverent, almost mad. “You think this is jealousy, Penelope? It’s not. It’s law. You are the territory I bleed for, the only thing I’ve claimed with my soul, and if the world forgets that—then I’ll remind them with fire.”

He cupped my jaw roughly, forcing my gaze up to his.

His eyes gleamed like an unholy promise, both terrifying and beautiful in their devotion. “I’m the only man you’ll dream of, the only name your lips will remember in the dark. You’ll wakeup reaching for me, even when I’m not there. You’ll crave me in the quiet moments, hate me for it, and still come back.”

His thumb brushed my lower lip, a slow, possessive drag that made my pulse stutter. “There won’t be room for anyone else—not in your mind, not in your bed, not in the air you breathe. I’ll be the shadow in your every thought, the ache in your veins. You were made for me, Penelope, and I’ll make sure you never forget it. Not even death will free you from me.”

The words weren’t shouted—they were claimed. A vow and a threat braided together.

In one smooth, almost terrifyingly effortless motion, he lifted me.

My mind screamed too heavy, too much, but he handled me as if I weighed nothing at all.

The cool wood of the table met my thighs as he set me down, the impact reverberating through me like a secret.

One hand stayed on my hip, fingers splayed, anchoring me. The other came up to my jaw, his thumb pressing beneath my chin until I had no choice but to face him—his storm-colored eyes, the heat radiating off him, the sheer gravity of his presence.

For a moment, there was only him: his dominance, his heat, his unshakable claim wrapping around me like a chain I couldn’t quite decide if I wanted to break or wear.

“You left me...” I said, my voice trembling with a mix of accusation and heartbreak, each word heavy with the weight of those desolate months. “For four months, Dmitri. You—”

“So what?” Dmitri’s response was a cold blade, slicing through my chest.