Twisted Fate (Dark Heart Duet #2) - Ella James Page 0,48

check my phone, finding that she’s still next door, and have some water and another cup of coffee—which pretty stale now. Then I shower, trying not to think of what went down in this room earlier.

That turns out to be a losing proposition. Every second I’m not on the phone with Alesso, who’s been waiting to hear from me, or capturing a spider that hitched a ride inside the cabin on a log, I’m replaying this morning with Elise.

I try not to think about that moment in the shower—when she trailed her fingertip over my skin. Or the first bit in the bedroom. What I tell myself to focus on is how she asked if I’d stolen the cabin. How she called me “thirty-something,” like she doesn’t remember my birthday. I can still feel her eyes on me as I stood at the kitchen counter, making coffee so she wouldn’t see how much it fucks me up to talk about my dad and what all happened after.

Even now, I get this nauseated, roller-coaster feeling when I remember telling her I loved her. Honestly, that shit is classic. Always with my heart taped to my fucking sleeve. I hate how I’m like that.

Still, the way her mouth felt on my cock, the way she looked when I’d glance up from worshipping her pussy—that stuff’s going in my jerk-off vault forever.

After I get a fire going, I sit on the couch in the same spot where I was with her. I lean my head against the couch’s spine and try to summon the feeling of Elise moving on my lap. The way her arms felt as she wrapped them around my neck. The way her warm cheek nuzzled mine.

“Now I see you. I’ve been near you, and you’re not that different.”

“It’s okay, cuore.”

“I would have done everything I could have done to save you. Every single thing.”

God, it’s…fucking crazy. That she said that shit to me. Elise was right here, on this very couch, and she was hugging me. She said she would have saved me.

Would have. But it’s enough. It’s more than enough. It doesn’t matter if it fucks me up, remembering the feel of her, the taste of her, the smell of her. I don’t care how much it hurts. I want it. I would fall through frozen ice over and over if I knew it would lead to seeing her. And touching her. Even hearing her voice.

I can feel her hand in my hair. I can feel her soft, warm cheek against mine. I can feel her mouth around my dick. So good.

I shut my eyes and let my mind make a collage of moments.

“You twisted me up. And I’m still twisted.”

“You still smell the same. Isn’t that weird?”

“I think regret is our thing, don’t you?”

I let myself remember how it felt to hold her. I can feel her mouth kissing my throat, and I’m hard in my black sleep pants. I stroke myself a time or two, and suddenly I can’t keep sitting here. It’s that same feeling I had earlier this morning, right before I snapped the blades onto my boots.

I pace around until I feel like I can breathe. Then I tell myself I need to eat. I rifle through the pantry, finding that the only things I’ve got are Vienna Sausage, olives in a jar, and some frozen salmon. The damn salmon looks freezer-burned.

I lean my hip against the counter, rubbing my temples, and that’s when I hear a creak. I’m at the dining table in a heartbeat, reaching under the ball cap I keep on a placemat, which hides a small revolver. My eyes lock onto the rear door, which has a very insecure cube of four small windows. I hear someone opening the screen door—jeez, they’re being fucking loud—and wrap my hand around the gun’s grip, cursing myself for not replacing these windowed doors when I purchased this place a few years back.

Then a cloaked figure moves into view. She lifts her head and…it’s Elise.

She looks up, through the window, her coat’s hood falling further down her forehead. I see the moment she sees me. Her eyes widen, and she makes a funny little face where her mouth opens—like hi Luca, I’m here. She looks…maybe nervous.

My hand can barely manage to turn the doorknob. Then the door is open, and she’s standing there in her wine red coat and tall, fur-trimmed boots. Her cheeks are red, there’s snow on her eyelashes, and she’s