Twist Me

“Life is nothing more than a fucked-up roulette,” she says softly, “where the wheel keeps spinning and the wrong numbers keep coming up. You can cry about it all you want, but the truth of the matter is that this is as close to a winning ticket as it gets.”

“How old are you, Nora?” he asks next.

I blink. “Twenty-one.”

His expression darkens. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Almost eighteen,” I admit reluctantly.

A man, not a boy.

gets up and walks toward me, still holding me with his gaze. He walks leisurely. Calmly. He’s completely sure of himself. And

truggle against them.

I can hear her screams, though.

I don’t know how old he is, but I’m guessing he’s closer to thirty than twenty.

His hair is dark and curls slightly. His face is hard and masculine, each feature perfectly symmetrical. Straight dark eyebrows over those strikingly pale eyes. A mouth that could belong to a fallen angel.

can feel his eyes on me, even from a distance.

I wore a push-up bra

I often wake up feeling hot and uncomfortable, throbbing between my legs. Dark sexual images invade my dreams, stuff I’ve never thought about before. A lot of it involves Julian doing something to me, usually while I’m helplessly frozen in place