Page 108 of Twisting Beauty

He leaned in until our noses were practically touching. “Every time you close your eyes, you think of me. Every time you touch yourself, it’s my name in your mouth. You know it is.”

He flicked his tongue across my top lip. A mark. A claim. A promise.

An ache surged through me, raw and urgent, twisting low in my belly until my muscles trembled, wetness leaking into my leggings, my cheeks flaring hot because I feared he would feel how soaked I was getting.

“Before this is over, you’ll beg me to fuck you. I’ll make sure of it.”

His filthy arrogance made me want to slap him. But a treacherous ache pulled tighter low in my belly, and hating him did nothing to stop it. “Fuck, I hate you,” I breathed.

He leaned in closer, his mouth a breath from mine. “I hate you, too.”

For one stupid, treacherous second, I leaned in too.

“So good to see my children getting along so well.”

A deep voice cut through the tension from below.

I pushed Lorcan off me and turned, breath snagging in my throat.

Lorcan stepped back, his hands jerking off me.

Alistair was standing at the base of the staircase, glancing between us with interest.

The horror of how much of that he might have heard or what he might have seen stabbed my chest like an ice pick.

For a moment there was a long silence, like a held breath.

“Well…” His voice grew rough and disapproving, cutting through the foyer like a whip crack. “Don’t just stand there. Greet your father properly.”

Lorcan and I flinched at the same moment, an involuntary jolt as if struck by the same invisible hand.

Lorcan cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

He descended the stairs first, me following him, and extended his hand to his father in a stiff handshake.

Alistair took it but didn’t let go. Instead, he squeezed. A flash of wicked pleasure crossed Alistair’s face as Lorcan’s jaw tightened, barely suppressing a wince.

Lorcan didn’t pull back. He just took it, standing there like a statue while his father hurt him for sport.

The burn in my hand bloomed sharp and sudden, phantom pain needling through my palm as if Alistair had crushed my bones instead, my mirror-touch sparking alongside the empathy I couldn’t seem to kill.

I let out a small whimper and clutched my hand.

Lorcan glanced over to me, then to my hand, and his brows pressed together.

I should have let it go. Should have stayed still. Stayed silent.

But I moved on instinct, stepping between them and placing my uninjured hand against Alistair’s wrist. “Enough.”

Silence fell so cleanly it seemed to ring.

For a long moment, Alistair just looked at me.

Then he smiled. It spread slowly, as if I had just handed him a piece of information he had not known he wanted.

He released Lorcan.

Then he turned his full attention to me.