Twisted (Never After Series)

I’ve been trying to get ahold of Ali all week, but he hasn’t returned my phone calls and I haven’t had a chance to stop by his house. He’s been a ghost on email, having gone from working from home to not really existing within Sultans at all, and I wonder if he’s taken a turn, one that has him unable to do things that require focus and energy.

A twinge of unease smarts in my chest when he doesn’t answer again when I try to call, and my leg shakes beneath my desk. I’m not sure if he’s just feeling worse for the wear or if he’s avoiding my calls because he wasn’t quite as accepting of my relationship with Yasmin as he made it appear.

Either way, I need to break the news that we’re legally wed, and I want to do it in person.

Ending the call to Ali, I dial Yasmin’s cell instead. She forwards it to voicemail, and I grit my teeth, taking a deep breath to keep the annoyance from suffocating every pore.

She’s also been avoiding me; stubbornness obviously runs thick in the Karam family line. I haven’t minded much, since I don’t need her to do anything other than exactly what she has been, sitting in my house and sending message after unanswered message to the boy for the past seven days since we were married at the courthouse.

I haven’t had much time to care about her silence because I’ve barely been home as it is. Sultans can only run for so long without me focusing on what’s important there, and with Ian gone to Egypt, I’ve been up to my neck in meetings both within Sultans as well as after-hours meets in an empty  warehouse I own on the outskirts of town with the Romanos, the Italian outfit that’s based in New York. They supply us with the weapons we use to trade for access to the mines across the world.

And that’s how this business works. Everything is a negotiation, and there’s no true good and evil. The separation is an illusion created by those of us in power to keep the masses at bay and feeling as though there are people fighting for what’s right.

But the truth is that one hand always washes the other, and I’m the water that rinses both clean.

In the few spare moments I’ve had, I’ve taken to pulling up her string of texts and call logs. She hasn’t done anything crazy, other than act like a desperate girl eager to regain the attention of that street rat.

It is surprising how he’s ignoring her, however. An odd one- eighty from the eager kid who was willing to turn the world upside down to prove his love just a couple weeks ago.

But I’m sure that when he returns home, she’ll snare him again.

I remember peering at them through the thin slat of the door in the room where they used to have their secret rendezvous.

Blowing out a breath, I try to shake away the image of her naked body, but it keeps dragging me under, and as usual these days, I can’t clear it from my mind.

Frustrated, I slam the phone down on the receiver, half- hard from just the singular thought of her, my hand running slightly over the growing bulge to temper my arousal.

It doesn’t work, and instead of being able to move on with my day and clear her from my brain, I let her take over entirely. Closing my eyes, my palm rubs against my now painfully hard erection, imagining her beneath my desk, her soft hand being the one to tease me.

Would she beg for my cock? Choke on it?

Groaning, I unzip my slacks and pull out my throbbing dick. Gripping it at the base, I slowly roll my hand up the shaft, my heart racing and my stomach tensing from how good it feels.

I imagine Yasmin’s pouty lips slipping over the head, her tongue flicking the slit on my tip and those perfect dark eyes staring up at me as she sucks me down.

My hand moves quickly, fingers tingling from how badly I wish I could grab fistfuls of her hair and slide into her mouth instead of the poor substitution of my palm.

Would she take me all the way down? Let me glide along her tongue and slip into the back of her throat?

My balls tense, heat collecting at the base of my spine, and I stroke faster, my hips thrusting up into my hand, wishing like hell that I could feel the wetness of her mouth and hear her gagging on my cock, the sparkle of her ring, proving to the world that she’s mine, glinting in the lighting as she works the base of my dick in tandem with the strokes of her lips.

That last visual does it, and I grab a handkerchief just in time to catch the heavy spurts of cum that release into the rag, my vision dotting with stars.

Goddamn.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve come so hard.

Blowing out a breath, I tuck myself back into my slacks, tossing the handkerchief into the bin beneath my desk, and reach up to tug at the roots of my hair.

Shaking off the momentary weakness, I refocus my thoughts on what’s important, which is figuring out what the hell Ali is up to.

Yasmin should go with me to see him. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to step up and show Ali that we’re happier than ever. Picking up the phone one more time, I call her. She forwards to voicemail again. I press redial and finally she picks up.

“What?” She sounds angry.

“Get ready to go. I’ll be there in thirty minutes, and I want you on the front steps waiting.”

She sighs. “Where are we going?”

“To see your father.”

I hang up, knowing that she won’t pass up the opportunity, and walk out of my office, stopping briefly to look at Ciara as she types away on her computer. She looks frazzled, and if I had to guess, I would assume it’s from the extra workload she’s taken on ever since I’ve put Ian on the side mission of keeping the boy occupied. Ian didn’t hire Ciara to be an assistant, but she’s doing a surprisingly good job, and although I haven’t mentioned anything, I plan to give her a raise when he returns.

She glances up at me from her computer.

“Reschedule my meeting with the PR department today. Something’s come up.”

She nods, her lips thin and her eyes downcast.

It takes forty minutes to get back to my house after sitting in traffic, and when I pull up around the circle drive, Yasmin is sitting on the front steps of the house, wearing black sweats that cinch around her ankles and a white hoodie, leaning back on her elbows.

The Audi R8 purrs as I stop in front of her.

“You’re late,” she complains as she slips into the passenger seat.

I sit and stare at her, one of my hands on the wheel of the car and the other resting on my thigh, my gaze involuntarily drinking her up like water in a desert. There’s something about seeing her dressed down like this, like she just woke up from a nap and has nobody to impress, that has my chest tightening and my dick twitching.

“What?” she asks, her brows lifting to her hairline.

I’m thankful for the sunglasses that hide my gaze from her view. I don’t need her knowing how much she affects me. Not until I figure out how to make the feeling go away. I would give anything to go back to before I spied on her and the boy in that room, because before that night, she was always just Ali’s spoiled daughter. Too young and too annoying to even be on my radar. Now…

Things would be much easier for me if I wasn’t suddenly attracted to her.

I put the car in park, leaning over the middle console, the side of my arm brushing against her chest. She sucks in a breath, slamming herself against the back of her seat. My face is almost directly in front of hers now, and the scent of vanilla overwhelms my senses as I reach around her.

“Wh- what are you doing?” she rasps.

Pulling on the seat belt, I drag it across the front of her body, the backs of my knuckles ghosting against her breasts as I buckle her in, then move back to my own seat, gripping the steering wheel so I don’t do something completely out of character like grab her face and shove my tongue in her mouth.

She clears her throat. “Thank you.”

I don’t respond, my teeth grinding as I stare out the front windshield and drive onto the streets.

“We’re really going to see my father?”

I nod, a tendril of worry creeping up my spine when I remember how long it’s been since I’ve even spoken with him. “Have you talked to him?”

Her body slumps against the passenger door, her eyes glazing over as she stares out the window. “No, he hasn’t answered his phone. But I’ve talked to his nurse. She said he’s been sleeping a lot. And she’s upped his pain reliever to keep him comfortable, so he’s been groggy.”

We come to a red light, and I take the opportunity to glance over, unable to ignore the melancholy bleeding from her features. It fills up the car and wraps itself around me, trying to drag me into its depth, but I won’t let it. The last thing I need is to show weakness in front of the enemy. And even though lately Yasmin doesn’t feel like it, that’s what she still is. The enemy.

The one person who is standing in the way of what I want most.

So it doesn’t matter that I empathize, just the slightest bit, with her sadness over losing her father. I won’t let it matter.

“He doesn’t like to have me around when he feels so weak,” she blurts out.

It doesn’t surprise me. Ali’s always been a proud man, making sure he presents only the best version of himself in every aspect. It’s something that I’ve always respected, revered even. Something I molded my own image around based on seeing him do the same.

There’s a strange feeling inside my chest, making me want to say something to ease the hurt on her face, but I tamp it down, staying silent instead until we drive through the security at the estate’s entrance and stop in the front circle drive right by the gaudy fountain.

I throw the car in park and am walking around and opening her door to offer her my hand before she can even unbuckle her belt, and when she slips her palm in mine, allowing me to pull her from her seat, my stomach flips.

She glances at me from under her lashes, a curious gleam coasting through her bright eyes. And she keeps stealing glances as we walk up the front steps together, our hands still entwined, my thumb rubbing against her wedding band.

“Put on a good show and I’ll bring back the boy,” I offer when we reach the door.

She exhales, staring at me with wide eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

She lets out a sound, her hand flying up to her mouth to cover the noise. “So he’s okay?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” I tilt my head.

“He’s been quiet, and I just thought…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m glad you haven’t hurt him.”

I play with the underside of her ring, my chest tightening from the look on her face. I don’t enjoy the way she’s making me feel bad for her, like I should care. Like I should try to make it better.

It’s annoying, feeling like I need to be responsible for someone else’s emotions. I’m still trying to break free from my mother’s hold; the last thing I need is to add someone else to the mix.

My grip on her fingers tightens. “I told you that your time with me didn’t need to be miserable. There’s only one thing I want from you, and that’s you to be my wife in public. I don’t care if in private, you become his whore.”

The grateful look on her face drops and she rips her hand away, scoffing. “Fuck. You.”

Then she opens the door and walks inside, her footsteps strong and furious as she marches down the hall to find her father.