Twisted Desire (The Knot Duet Book 1)

by M. Mabie

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Twisted Desire

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  ALSO BY M MABIE

  ABOUT M MABIE

  Twisted Desire: Book One of the Knot Duet

  © 2018 M. Mabie

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/ publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, alive or dead, is coincidental and not indented by the author.

  LICENSE NOTICE. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book man not be resold or given away to other people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DISCLAIMER. This is a work of adult fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author does not endorse or condone any behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity and explicit sexual situations.

  Editing by Skye J. Callahan

  DEDICATION

  For Megan Cooke—not the blogger, not the reader. Just Megan, my dear friend. Many times, when I counted backward from ten, you counted with me.

  This is for you.

  PROLOGUE

  REAGAN—FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 2010

  Our fucked-up history was Hell dressed up in heels and pearls, suits and cuff links, pretending to be Heaven. Had either of us known it really was Nirvana—and not the mirage we’d thought—maybe we could’ve stayed.

  Our relationship was a dream I’d never wake up from. Sometimes it felt like a fantasy. Sometimes a nightmare. A mind fuck that had me ticking down numbers.

  Fuck starting from ten.

  Fuck ten a long time ago.

  With her, I should have started at infinity. At least then I’d have more time. More minutes of torture. More seconds of bliss. At infinity, I would have had the time to prove her wrong. If I’d only known she was.

  Nine times I let her go. Maybe more. Maybe less.

  She never wanted what she said at all, and every time I fell under her spell, I proved her right. Every fucking time. Every mistake. Every misstep. Every time I held back from my instincts.

  Still, with us, fault was universal.

  We’d both failed each time. All eight or so times I’d denied myself by not telling her the truth, I hadn’t realized I’d denied her a thousand times more.

  I only ever wanted her. Fuck money. Fuck power. Fuck my pride. Fuck all seven days of the week without her. Fuck other women and fuck the whole country of Switzerland.

  Fuck knowing damn well in my gut the whole fucking time.

  But while she was there in my arms, under my body, I’d settle for fucking her. She knew it was how we could’ve been.

  Fuck her stubbornness. Fuck her fucking ability to stay away for six or the half-dozen months at a time while she chased her tail. I stood by and watched, all but cheering her on.

  Fuck the sound of her voice when she laughs. Not any old laugh—fuck those, too—but specifically the special one. Her Reagan laugh. I wish I could mute my memories of her, but that laugh will haunt me forever.

  That laugh belonged to only me, along with a handful of other fragments of her that I never took the time to piece together. If I had, she might have been whole. She might have been mine if I’d added them all up.

  Ironically, I didn’t look for the sum of the real her. How many math classes did I need to learn this one damn woman? Certainly ones I hadn’t taken. Certainly ones I would have failed.

  If I could go back to the beginning, I’d add more up than just how many times I could get any of my five fingers, my tongue, and cock into her. I’d add her only-for-Reagan parts. They’d been there all along.

  They were enough.

  Starting with the four or so seconds, where she didn’t even know her name—let alone mine—before she cried out in ecstasy. That wonder in her eye. The pull of the tendons in her gorgeous neck. The tightening of her brow. The slack of her jaw.

  Plus.

  The way she looked handing me coffee, naked in the kitchen. Her wet hair matted and untamed. Her skin pink from the hot shower. The print the bathroom tile left fading on her shoulders.

  Plus.

  The way she stretched her feet when she woke up in my sheets. Spreading them and wiggling the one we knew would always be our toe.

  Plus.

  The way she could recite every ingredient in her favorite dishes. How she knew about cheese from other countries, even though she’d never visited most of them.

  Plus.

  The way she kissed my Adam’s apple, then rubbed it with her thumb. Only to kiss it a second time.

  Those were things meant only for me.

  I’d add every time she called me, and I answered.

  I’d subtract the times I didn’t because I was selfish and wanted her to show up instead.

  Then I’d multiply that total by the times she told me she more-than-just-loved me. Which was exactly three. I hadn’t even realized what she meant the first time, but the second time, I was sure to make up for it. The third had been tonight.

  We’d been two people lost. Wandering around, pretending we’d known everything.

  Even though it was most likely the last time I’d ever fuck her, it would also—mercifully—be the last time we’d ever fight.

  Sadly, it was the first time I’d seen the power my words had held over her the whole time. I’d watched her heart break. I’d watched as she crumpled to the floor and sobbed. I’d felt like I was doing the same.

  It was too late for our hearts.

  I’d surrendered, given up, and shot one precise, verbal bullet through my heart, then watched it pierce hers.

  There was nothing left. I’d hit zero for the last time.

  As I watched the tears fall from her eyes—after I pushed into her for the very last time, filling her with everything I’d never told her—misery infected my gut.

  Then, I felt the knot constrict.

  We’d tangled the delicate thread between us too many times.

  It tightened to a point of throbbing pain. I knew there’d never be a minute left in my life where I didn’t feel the ache of her. Her absence, the source of blinding tension. The sharp pulse of a love ripped from me before I had a chance to watch it mature.

  That was all that was left of me.

  Zero and the knot.

  ONE

  PRESENT

  REAGAN—Saturday, September 18, 2010

  It was a beautiful wedding. My sister, Blake, had never looked happier. Casey was a hell of a guy. A man who would make her happy.

&nbs
p; My phone buzzed in my pocket just as my new brother-in-law carried my sister off. I was kind of glad they were calling it an early night. I’d never leave her party early, but if they were done, so was I. I was at the end of my rope. Maybe not physically, but mentally and emotionally, I was exhausted.

  I pulled my cell out of my suit pants, almost knowing who it was, but not knowing what kind of message it would be this time.

  NORA: What’s your room number? I’m in the lobby.

  She was there? In Oregon? No.

  I was never that lucky. Where Nora Koehl and I were concerned, neither of us ever got what we really wanted. Only watered-down, failed attempts. I couldn’t fathom her being there like I’d fantasized about damn near all fucking day. Especially when I needed her that night like I did. Her being there was on the out-of-reach shelf, right next to every other impossible notion.

  ME: I’m busy.

  NORA: I know. I got a flight and rented a car. But I’m here now.

  Wasn’t it too late? Hadn’t we said everything? Pointed fingers enough? Would this ever just fucking end?

  I’d had a few beers, but suddenly the ground felt closer, and the sky seemed to sit on my shoulders. The world was so heavy.

  She was there and wanted my room number, but that wasn’t like her at all. She rarely came to me. Especially not like that—on her own.

  I was exhausted from our games. Pretending one thing to get another. Reverse psychology? What a joke.

  ME: I only have one bed Nora, and the chair in the room is small.

  NORA: Do you want me here or not?

  Did I?

  We both knew I did, but I was tired of fighting about it. I was tired of all the obstacles. All the stress. All the wondering. All the fear. All the yelling. All the things I’d said and didn’t say. All the things she would and would never admit.

  For one night, I just wanted her and peace—in the same room. Even if she stayed, I didn’t think I’d achieve that. Still, if she was offering, I wanted her to make-believe with me.

  One more very last time.

  It was selfish and weak, but it was what I needed. If I couldn’t have the real thing, I would gladly take the illusion as a bitter consolation.

  It was better than nothing at all.

  I didn’t worry about the registration desk not giving her a key. I knew more than anyone how brilliantly charming she was. She’d have my key and a complimentary bottle of champagne if she laid it on thick enough.

  ME: 330. On the end.

  NORA: I’ll be there waiting when you’re done.

  I stood at the bar and ran my finger around the rim of my beer. Was I really going to let it happen? Had I ever had a choice? One of the things I was terrible at was telling her no and sticking to it, downright refusing her. It was always halfway. I’d never mastered denying her entirely.

  I never would.

  Because deep down inside my body, as I stood there around my family, something within me beckoned to her siren’s call. Something so purely greedy and forever thirsty for her roared.

  An insatiable impulse to claim her. Take her. Have her underneath me, powerless against how my body made hers feel. Not because I forced her, but because she’d chosen it.

  She’d told me once that I’d known her body better than anyone.

  You’re fucking right I did.

  That’s because her shell was the only thing she’d give me one hundred percent.

  Her mind. Her heart. Her future. I’d get only fractions—with no common fucking denominator in sight.

  So, her body I mastered.

  Every inch cataloged. Every sound recorded. Every happy minute we’d shared was solidly grounded in my mind, but each of her tears eroded bottomless canyons into those memories.

  She thought it was just her body, but what she didn’t know was I knew so much more. I knew her reasons. I knew her demons. I even knew the truth in the lies she told herself.

  I lifted the glass to my lips and wondered how long I could take it before I wouldn’t be able to walk casually to my room.

  No. I’d have to jog if I waited much longer.

  It was a kamikaze mission. I had only one defense. I refused to journey into that room with my fractured heart on my sleeve.

  Not again.

  If I was only some over-bearing control freak—according to her—and she still came to Oregon, then that’s all I’d give her. After all, it was what she expected of me. I wouldn’t let her take more than that without something in return this time.

  No more handouts.

  She’d get the Reagan Warren she claimed I was. The one I never truly was with her.

  Before I left, I had to tell my parents goodnight, while I still had a shred of poise. They were swaying and laughing on the dance floor.

  “I think that’s enough beer for you,” Mom teased my dad as I neared them. He laughed and tried to dip her, but pulled up quickly before they both lost balance and fell. After the past year, it was good to see them enjoying themselves.

  “I’m calling it a night,” I said as I leaned in and kissed Mom’s cheek. She gave me a why-so-early expression.

  My dad straightened. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Just been a long day and I need to take care of some things.”

  They assumed I’d meant work and were disappointed. I was disappointed, too. I’d love to be at the reception with Nora, laughing and dancing, but that wasn’t my reality.

  The fact was, I was there alone. Nora turned up like she sometimes did, and I was about to go to my room to fuck her like she always anticipated I would.

  I’d finally prove her right.

  Then, I’d move on.

  Or at least I’d say I was for the thousandth time, but at least I’d show her the difference.

  She’d had Reggie all along, no matter how much I’d fought it.

  That night, she’d get the Reagan she’d expected I was from the start. If I had the will-power, I might even ask her to leave when it was over. Although, I’d never been successful at that before.

  “You shouldn’t be working, sweetheart. It’s the weekend. You’re out of town.” In the inflection only a mom could produce, sweet and pleading, I almost said I wouldn’t, just to ease her mind. Pouting, her head tipped to the side.

  Instead of arguing with her, I kissed her cheek again and said, “Goodnight. Love you, Mom.”

  She loved me back and said so.

  My dad let go of her and reached out to hug me. He was a smart, strong man, but he always showed us how much he loved us. Even if I was about four inches taller than him and an easy thirty pounds heavier, he embraced me like he always had. Firmly, how only a father does with a son.

  “Goodnight, Reggie,” he said, giving me a robust pat on the shoulder. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Dad,” I replied.

  Everyone else was busy, so it was a perfect time to slip out.

  I found control within myself to use the stairs, up the three flights, then trekked down the hall.

  If ever there was a time to be mindful, it was then. It would be my biggest test. I’d let the counting happen. I’d let the stress turn me into someone I tried most of the time to keep at bay.

  The door opened to a dark room, but I knew she was there.

  I could feel her in the air. I could smell the Apres L’Ondee on her skin. It was there for me. Maybe the old me.

  The me of a few years ago who would have gone to her on the bed, and tried to show her how much I adored her. Cherished her. No matter how fucked up it was. Back then, I couldn’t help myself.

  That me wasn’t there.

  I briefly wondered if I tried one more time if I could do it. Then, I recalled all the times I’d thought that before.

  No.

  I’d revert back to how I’d approached sex with women who weren’t Nora.

  I’d be calculated. Demand patience. Control all of it.

  I flipped on the light, not exactly prepared for what
I saw. She looked like a sacrificial lamb. Completely naked on her back, one leg bent, one arm above her head. Touching herself as she watched me walk through the door.

  Was she apologizing? Was this surrender?

  No.

  It was her trying to throw me off. It was effective, but not enough.

  My ears rang and a familiar sensation marched up my spine and into my thoughts. I felt a cool sweat break across my neck, and my hands balled themselves into fists. Tightening and relaxing in time with my lungs.

  “What are you thinking about, Reagan?” Nora looked at me like I was there to hang a shelf or open a stubborn window. She was impassive and wore her mask, too.

  Welcome to the show.

  How did she always find new buttons to push with her pretty red-painted fingertip?

  “It’s actually hard to focus and be articulate, Nora,” I contended. “Especially when you’re spread out like that on the bed.”

  I turned away from her, not giving her my attention, and she fidgeted in my periphery. It was the anticipation that drove her mad. That was all I had working for me. My only defense was one of her weaknesses. What made it worse for her was she knew good and damned well how I could play her body like Chopin played his favorite piano.

  I loosened my tie, which suddenly felt like a noose. I didn’t know if I could do it. It would take everything in me to bury my real desires. Ones I only had for her. The real her.

  “You can focus on me, Reagan.”

  She didn’t know how fucking bad I wanted to, but I wasn’t crazy. She was playing me.

  “Turn around and watch me. Watch me finger-fuck myself. I’ll watch you fist your cock, and punish it like it was me. You know how I like watching.” Her voice took on that scripted sound I’d heard her use before.

  My ears flooded with white noise.

  Focus, Reggie.

  Ten. Nine. Eight.

  Fuck it.

  The game changed, and I was getting what I wanted.

  I ripped open my shirt, tossed it aside, and kicked off my shoes. I observed her face transform from Nora playing tricks to Nora seeing how big of a check her ass was about to cash.

  It wasn’t fear. Surprisingly, it was excitement.