Twisted By Desire (Lust, Desire and Love Trilogy #1)

by Desiree A. Cox

  “Your house is amazing.” What do you say to someone who has seen my shack of a house earlier then brings me to his emperor’s castle? I was completely in awe; I’d never been inside a house like this. The closest I’d been were the few times when my mom had taken me to open houses when I was younger.

  We climbed the stairs so he could show me the second floor. None of the doors to the bedrooms were visible from the foyer; each had a small hallway off the balcony. He told me the house has six bedrooms, six full and two half baths. We stepped just inside the first four bedrooms far enough to see the pristine staging without exploring the rooms. Each seemed like they were the size of my entire one-thousand-square-foot house and each had its own bathroom. I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d really brought me here. And why had he skipped that fifth hall?

  Next, we went down the stairs to the full finished basement, which had a beautifully appointed movie theater with seating for twenty, a bar, and a fitness space that was like a mini Planet Fitness, a basement master suite, and kitchenette. Nothing was missed in this house as far as I could tell, but I also lived in a two-bedroom house that only has a living room, kitchen, and a make-shift dining area downstairs with two bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, so what did I know?

  He then led me to a corner of the basement and pressed a button on the wall. Within seconds, a door slid open and revealed an elevator. Really? A fucking elevator? Again, why did he bring me here?

  He pressed the button and the doors closed.

  “Now you will see where I spend the majority of my time when I’m not at work or by the pool.”

  The doors closed. His heated eyes met mine. My mind wandered, and I tried the telepathy thing again. I wanted him to kiss me, take me. Press me into the wall of the elevator, his mouth consuming mine, his hands grabbing my hair, his strong fingers pulling me and lifting me to wrap my legs around his waist as our lips are locked. Feel his strong fingers slide inside my wet heat. Nope, it still wasn’t working.

  When the elevator opened, we stepped into a hallway with a set of double doors right in front of us.

  “This is my bedroom.”

  He opened the doors to reveal the second-floor ridiculous master suite, as if the elevator to the basement wasn’t outlandish enough. He ushered me into a very spacious bedroom, yet there was no bed. Maybe he has one of those Murphy beds or a sofa pull-out, I thought.

  “How high is this ceiling?”

  “It’s ten feet in here.”

  The room had furniture arranged for seating and there was a three-sided gas fireplace. There was a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. A laptop was sitting on the coffee table. There was a double door on the wall between the two chairs.

  I wasn’t sure how much more of this house I could take. I felt like a pauper who had escaped and sneaked into a mansion. I was waiting for security to come get my broke ass and throw me out. He placed his electrically charged fingertips on my lower back and escorted me through the double doors into a room that actually looked like a regular bedroom, that is if by regular you mean palace-regular.

  The bedroom had a huge king-size poster bed with a canopy attached. It sat against a wall in the middle of two floor-to-ceiling windows that made it look breathtakingly grand. On the wall opposite from the bed was a very large flat screen TV.

  “So, wait, if this is the bedroom –”

  “That was the sitting area; it’s part of the bedroom.”

  I giggled at the absurdity of having a sitting room. My eyes drank in the furnishings, which were top line.

  “That TV is huge. And how nice is that to watch TV while lying in bed?”

  “It makes me not want to get up on Sunday mornings.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  The en suite bathroom had marble sink countertops, a double or triple-sized shower, a huge sunken soaker tub, heated marble floor, and stainless steel fixtures. As we walked out of the bathroom, Jeff swung open the doors on each side of the small hallway that opened to two very large walk-in closets, each almost the size of small bedrooms.

  I felt like I had stepped into a magazine photo. He told me his assistant had helped him find the decorator when he purchased the home. I stood in amazement, taking in the entire room, my mind boggled by his home. One day, I wanted this. I wanted a huge house just like this.

  “You’ll never guess what I like the most in the house right now,” Jeff said as he held my hands. Our eyes met. If my eyes could talk, I knew they were saying ‘kiss me, damn it.’ His lips were perfect and slightly tinted from the wine.

  “I will guess…the master bedroom or that amazing movie theater.”

  “Right now, it’s you.”

  Corny; he’s got no real swag. He pulled me into him, holding me by my shoulders and kissed me with the utmost delicacy. He pulled back and stared into my eyes. Swag or not, he was fine as hell and kissed like an angel. “You don’t mind being here, do you? We can go out if you’d prefer.”

  “No, no, it’s been great.” I was still shocked he’d said I was his favorite thing and still feeling confused about the reason he had decided to bring me here. We had only been out one other time, and it hadn’t been what I’d call a successful date. He really didn’t know me. I figured that wine must have been working overtime on him. Light weight. Whatever it was, though, I found myself hoping that it wouldn’t stop. I wanted him so bad; I needed him to put out the fire burning between my legs.

  “Good.” He stared at me. “I have a feeling it will get even better.” I could feel his zeal and lust burning into me, penetrating me, as he glanced down my body and back up, my sex contracting as his nonverbal cues propelled his intentions to me.

  He pressed his soft lips into mine again, and this time, his tongue slipped inside. Our tongues whisked and swiped while his hands moved from my shoulders to my waist, then down, cupping my butt cheeks. He squeezed me firmly into him, pressing me tight against his bulge. His hands slowly raised my mini dress up so he was able to slide his hands across my exposed butt cheeks.

  “What a nice, soft ass,” he whispered into my mouth. The thong I had on was the skimpiest one I could find. His hands were so soft against my skin, making me crave more of his exquisite touch, shivering with longing.

  “Thank you.” You’re not the only one who can work magic, my gorgeous man. My hands caressed his back and shoulders, using my fingertips over his shirt to make him squirm into me closer as he held me tight. His hands were working at pulling my dress over my head to reveal my breasts.

  “You are beautiful,” he proclaimed as he took a step back to look at me thoroughly. He turned me around so my backside was facing him, “Mmm, Mmm! What a great-looking ass.”

  He turned me back around into him and ran his fingers through the length of my hair, kissing down my neck to my eagerly waiting hard nipples. I let out a low moan.

  He led me over by his bed, where he sat down and pulled me up onto him, my thighs straddling the erection that was still trapped in his pants as he lay back flat on the comforter. I rubbed my hungry sex up and down over him, feeling my mound and his length pressing together. My breath hitched, anticipating how good it would feel to have him inside me.

  He quickly rolled me over so I was beneath him. He hovered over me before standing to remove his clothes, never moving his eyes from mine. “You’re sexy as hell.”

  “I like what I see, too,” I replied, my voice now husky with need. I scooted back farther on the bed, and moved onto my elbows to take him in, but I couldn’t sit still. Once his pants were removed, he joined me on the bed, his erection readily available to me, coming closer and closer to my face. Another non-verbal cue, I get it, you want me to suck your cock. I took his thick head in my mouth. He reached his hands to the crown of my head, signaling me to take all of him into my throat as he moaned his approval of my fine-tuned craft. “Oh, damn, Nikki.”

  I could feel his erection getting even harder and deeper into my throat. I tried to pull back, but he held my
head tight in place, almost gagging me. I wanted to feel him inside my hot sex; I was so hungry for him to fill me. He rubbed his hands down my stomach to my mound and brushed feather-light strokes across my heat. His fingers slid under the waistband of the tiny sheath that was protecting me from full exposure. He parted my wet, swollen lips, stroking twice before sliding into my eager hole.

  He withdrew from my mouth and bent down to kiss me. His breathing was ragged, his impatience to sink deep into my sex was evident. He lay on the bed next to me, kissing me, caressing and kneading my breasts, then running his fingers back down to my molten wet slit.

  His smile was the sign that he was more than ready to give me what I wanted. He reached for a condom that was in his top nightstand drawer, removing it from the packet and rolling it on in what seemed like one fluid motion. He stroked himself a couple times, then earnestly he pressed into me, just allowing the hard, bulbous crest to part my lips and sink in to just beneath the mushroom-shaped top.

  After teasing me for a few minutes with just the tip while massaging my clit, he brought me to my first orgasm.

  “Mmmm…give it to me.” I’m not the shy, timid type. I knew what I wanted, and I wasn’t ashamed to tell him. I might never see him again, so I planned to enjoy fucking him that night.

  “Are you begging me for it?” His head continued to make shallow strokes at my entrance.

  If that’s the game he wanted to play, I’d play along. “Yes, I’m begging you; please, give it to me.”

  His eyes cut to mine with a stern, committed look. He was enjoying making me want and beg for more of him. He plunged into me deeply, causing me to arch my back and sigh as I felt him press into the innermost depths of my canal.

  “Oh, shit,” I moaned.

  “Damn, you feel good.” He intertwined his fingers with mine and held them to the bed up above my head, kissing me deep, his tongue lashing at my mouth, matching the full-length, deep strokes that were inducing me into an orgasmic high.

  He pulled out. “Get up on your hands and knees, and spread your legs.” He spent time worshiping my ass, caressing, kissing, and tonguing me. He licked down my ass and around to my wet slit, where he massaged my craving bullet until he made me shoot off into another wicked orgasm. “You’re insatiable; I love it,” he said fiercely.

  He got on his knees behind me and thrust his throbbing erection back into me. “Mmm,” I moaned out.

  His stamina was incredible. As much as I liked looking at him and kissing him, I really enjoyed the fucking he was giving me from behind. I was able to let my imagination run wild as he varied the speed and intensity of ensuring my pussy was well fucked. He rubbed his fingers over my ass knot, applying slight pressure with his thumb pad. “Damn, you feel so fucking good, Nikki.”

  Two more orgasms and what seemed like an hour later, he removed the condom and stood on the bed over me. I felt his hot liquid shooting on my lower back and ass in several hot spurts as he moaned out, “Ah, shit!”

  What the fuck! You seriously just came on my fucking back and ass? The more I thought about it, the hotter I thought it was. No one had ever done anything like that to me before. Not even Sky.

  He wrapped me in his arms and held me tight while he kissed my back, between my shoulder blades. He rolled onto his side, pulling me over with him into a spooning position. “Damn, baby doll,” he said.

  “That was phenomenal; maybe I need to come to the castle more often.” My comment was met with silence. Or maybe not. After several minutes, he helped me up off the bed and into the shower, where he joined me.

  We dressed and went down to the kitchen. He offered me a choice of water or orange juice. His refrigerator was nearly empty, which was a surprise. We talked for a little while, I pried for a little more information out of him. I was surprised when he told me his age; he was older than me by ten years. I had just turned twenty-eight, and he was thirty-eight. I had never been with a man that much older than me before, but apparently, I had been made for it because sex with him that night was definitely in the top five best nights of sex ever.

  I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly one AM. We both decided it was time to call it a night, and he drove me back home.

  Chapter 5

  When I woke up the next morning, I found myself thinking about and lusting for more of Jeff. The thoughts of the night before had my sex quivering and contracting for more satisfaction. My mind was clouded by the memory of his eyes, his touch, and his kisses -- the way he’d taken me, the way he’d made me cum over and over, commanding me in his extraordinary bedroom. I couldn’t resist touching myself, sliding my fingers in and out of my wetness while rubbing my clit, making myself cum while thinking of him.

  Feeling satisfied for the time being, I clambered out of bed and searched to find something to wear before going to take a shower. I had to go pick up Abby, then head over to visit and have lunch with my mom.

  My mom was a different person today than she had been years ago. She was so much happier than I’d seen her in a long time. I remembered all too well the pain she’d gone through when she and Daddy had split and finally divorced. She had apologized repeatedly for the fact that my brother and I had heard their end-of-the-relationship showdown. It wasn’t her fault; neither of them had any way of knowing we were standing outside.

  It was one of those things that you wish could be unheard. I can’t think of anyone who would want to hear that last momentous argument, the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. The verbal exchange was so heated the final nail was securely pounded into the marriage coffin. It was so devastating.

  Daddy was such an asshole.

  ****

  My mom, Rebekka Hollister, was a very successful real estate broker. She was well known throughout Tampa and a beautiful person inside and out. She had a charming smile that could warm you like the sun. She never left the house looking less than perfect. She only wore mascara to accent her dark brown almond-shaped eyes. She had shoulder-length brown hair that she wore pulled back off of her face with a hair clip. She had to have a million of them because they seemed to match almost every suit she owned. She always wore tailored suits with skirts that fell somewhere between mid-thigh to just above the knee. She had a pair of pumps and a handbag to match every suit.

  She was a flawless professional with a personality as large and wide as the ocean. She loved to laugh and have a good time when she wasn’t working. I loved my mother dearly and wanted to be just like her as I was growing up.

  My father, Calvin Hollister, was a tall, burly man. He wasn’t obese, but he was carrying a few extra pounds and had a large presence. His voice boomed when he spoke. I remember he could be heard for blocks if he hollered out the back door to let my brother and I know it was time to come in.

  He didn’t physically look like he was a good match for Mom. He was nice-looking, just not the strikingly handsome man you would expect to be married to her. His style was more rugged-casual, and he was much more introverted. When he did speak, he had a tendency to come across as crude. He was a Marine veteran turned electrician and was most comfortable in a pair of worn jeans, a shirt that was a couple sizes too big, to cover his beer belly, and a pair of work boots. He was balding on top but refused to shave off the long graying hair he let grow around the sides and back; instead, he pulled it back into an uncombed ponytail. Whenever my parents went out together, he rarely dressed nice.

  One Friday, in the early evening, as Gary and I were coming back from the mall and walking up the sidewalk to the front door of our house; we could hear our parents arguing. We’d never heard that degree of yelling and cursing by either of them -- especially not at each other.

  “You act so prim and proper, but I know you’re nothing more than a slut,” we heard our dad scream.

  “Motherfucker, you have no room to talk. You’re the one out fucking every bitch you see.”

  “If you weren’t so damn uptight, I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Fuck
you, Calvin; fuck you all the way to hell. You never respected me. I’ve had enough of your shit.”

  “You can’t live without me. You’re fucking pathetic; a fucking frigid, pathetic cunt.”

  “Am I a slut or am I frigid, asshole? I can’t be both. You’re such a dumbass.”

  Gary and I were in complete shock as we stood like statues on the sidewalk in disbelief. We glanced at each other; tears were running down my face.

  We finally heard Mom yell, “Get the fuck out of my house, Calvin. Take your sorry ass to your dirty little bitch and get the fuck out of here now!”

  “Good luck surviving on your sorry ass salary. The kids are grown; you won’t get a fucking dime from me.”

  Gary grabbed my arm, yanking me loose from the position my feet felt cemented to, and told me to come on. We retreated to the car and left.

  We returned to the house later that night to find Mom drunk and a tearful mess. She was so out of sorts. She had a half-empty Gin bottle sitting on the kitchen table in front of her as she sobbed into a tear-soaked dish towel. I knew the gin hadn’t been full before she started, but she had still done a good amount of damage, and she didn’t normally drink hard liquor.

  Dad was nowhere to be found. We weren’t sure if he would come back that night or the next day, or ever. But seeing Mom like that was so heartbreaking -- she couldn’t have deserved any of this, not her. I picked up her glass and dumped the remaining drink down the sink and capped the gin bottle.

  “It’ll be okay, Mom.” I said trying to comfort her. I rubbed my hand across her back and felt her shaking.

  Gary and I helped her up and into her bedroom so she could sleep it off. Nothing else was said that night. She gave us each a hug, but continued to cry well after we left her room.

  The next morning, I heard her stumbling out to the phone. She called her job and told them she was sick and wouldn’t be in. I stayed in my bed not moving a muscle so I could hear what else she was doing. She banged around in the cupboards and dropped a few items, but it sounded like she was working on getting coffee. My suspicion was confirmed when the smell of the vanilla roast she loved so much wafted in the air.