Page 104 of Twisted Vows

Our knees bump under the table, and neither of us pulls away. The contact feels bigger than it should. After dinner, we settle into the living room with books like a normal couple instead of whatever mess we actually are. Fire crackles, and shadows dance across the walls. Enzo sinks into the leather armchair with whiskey in hand, his jaw locked, his shoulders hunched forward like he’s carrying the weight of the world. His gaze fixes on the flames but doesn’t see them. I can tell because his eyes have that distant, haunted look that means he’s somewhere else entirely.

I’m on the rug with a book in my lap, but I haven’t flipped a page in twenty minutes because he’s more compelling than any story. He’s quiet, and his knuckles are white around the glass like he’s trying to strangle it. The muscle in his jaw jumps, and his breathing is too controlled, too measured, like he’s using every ounce of willpower not to explode.

Maybe it’s finally sinking in…the demotion, the Russians closing in. It’s all finally crushing him, and watching a man like Enzo crumble is somehow more terrifying than anything I’ve ever considered.

This guy…my husband, technically, my jailer, my weirdly reluctant guardian angel…he’s worried. For me. The thought blazes through me, incinerating my fear and leaving something fierce in its place. I want to scorch that look out of his eyes. Make him feel anything but that bleak dread. I want him.

I snap my book shut loudly enough to grab his attention.

His eyes flick up, wary.

“Enzo.” I hold his eyes as I rise and drift over to his ancient record player.

I rifle through stacks of vinyl until I land on what I want. The jazz melts into the room, slow and smoky.

I don’t waste any time.

Reaching behind me, I catch the zipper between my fingers and tug. That little zipppp pierces the quiet. I slide the straps of my dress off my shoulders, clutching the fabric at my chest. My fingers tremble against the silk.

Enzo white knuckles the whiskey glass.

His expression flares with lust, that dark hunger sliding over me…hot, unyielding, seductive.

Air punches from my lungs as his eyes bore into mine. Warmth spreads up my cheeks, my neck, and travels lower. I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, power rushes through me as this ruthless man comes undone because of me.

His throat bobs as he swallows, and the glass trembles in his grip.

I let the dress collapse around my ankles, exposing my lacy black bra and panties. The fireplace doesn’t help. My skin’s already tingling.

His jaw clenches, and his chest rises and falls like he’s fighting for restraint. “Sophia.”

That desperation in his voice prompts my belly to flutter. Heat pools low. My pulse races. I let my hips sway, gliding my hands up my body to cup my breasts right through the lace. I’m putting on a show, and going by that dangerous spark in his eyes, he’s devouring it.

He tries to reach out, but I step back and grin as his eyes darken. He’s hungry. Good.

I spin, turning my back to him, glancing over my shoulder as I unhook and drop my bra. The fire crackles, matching his sharp intake of breath. He curses under his breath in low, filthy Italian. I arch a little to give him the full view of my bare back and the curve of my barely covered ass. The ache between my thighs pulses right along with the jazz.

His leather chair groans, and he’s up, filling the room with that electric, infectious energy. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him.

“You’re playing with fire, bella.”

Now he’s at my back. His breath sends goosebumps racing down my skin, prompting my knees to weaken. I steady myself, refusing to give in yet.

“You’ve been scaring me with your dour mood all day. I’m done being scared, Enzo.” I spin to face him. “I want to feel something else.”

He snaps, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me into a kiss with zero patience.

As his mouth claims mine, I bury my hands in his hair and return his kiss. His wild, heated tongue steals every breath I’ve got, causing me to growl into his lips.

This is it. The inferno. The chaos. The man I want.

His mouth blazes a line down my neck and collarbone. When he bites my nipple, I gasp. It’s hot, wet, and a little bit mean. Pleasure shoots straight through me. My head falls back to grant him more access, all my bones rattling as his other hand travels down to my wet core. I squirm as his thumb teases me slowly.

I can barely stay upright when he falls to his knees. His hands grip my hips, anchoring me as he buries his face between my thighs. He glances up, those dark eyes blazing.

Seeing this ruthless man on his knees for me? That’s a bigger rush than anything. My heart pounds so intensely, I feel it everywhere.

His fingers hook the waistband of my panties. “These,” he growls, his voice gritty and hot, “are in my way.” They’re off in a flash, sliding down my legs. I kick them away, the soft breeze reminding me that I’m now bare and exposed, with warmth surging between my legs.