Kiss Me Twisted (Ashes of Us #2)

Prologue

Berkley

I’ve never felt more exposed or more certain.

Rowen’s touch is reverent, warm where it glides over my skin.

His voice is low and careful, brushing against my ear as he presses a kiss to the crook of my neck.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and the way he says it.

.. like I’m something fragile, like I matter more than air.

“We don’t have to rush this. I’d wait forever if that’s what you need. ”

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes—steady, sure. Because I am. This isn’t nerves or second-guessing. It’s real. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you... all of you.”

The breath he lets out feels like a held truth finally released. His eyes burn, not just with hunger but with something deeper. Something that sinks into my chest and takes root.

“I’d do anything for you, Berk. You ask it, and it’s done. No questions.”

God. The way he says it melts something in me. I smile, soft and a little shy—but real. Because that promise? I feel it down to the bone.

When he kisses me again, it’s slow, unhurried.

Like we’ve got all the time in the world.

His hands map the curves of my body like he’s memorizing every inch, like I’m something sacred.

One slides behind my knee, guiding my leg around his waist—and the shift sends a tremble through me I don’t even try to hide.

He feels it. “You doing okay, baby?” he murmurs, brushing my hair back like I’m something delicate.

“Perfect,” I whisper, and it’s the truth.

Then his voice turns rougher, teasing—Rowen can’t help himself. “You gonna be this sweet when my brother’s slide between these luscious thighs?”

My eyes go wide, heat blooming in my cheeks fast and furious. I whip my head to the side, but Rowen just laughs—soft and unfiltered like I’m his favorite thing to look at.

He hooks his finger under my chin and gently coaxes me to face him again. “No more hiding, Berk,” he says, and it’s softer now. “We’ve already done the hardest part. We want you—and you want us. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The kiss that follows settles something inside me. Like he’s saying, we’re in this now. All of it.

Clothes hit the floor in a rush, like we were never meant to wear them to begin with. And then it’s just us. Nothing between us but skin and years of feelings that have been waiting for this moment to catch fire.

Rowen takes his time, like there’s no one else in the world but me. Every look, every touch, feels like worship. His mouth finds my breast, and my breath stutters. My fingers twist in his hair, needing something to anchor me because I’m already floating.

When he trails lower, kissing over my stomach, my whole body tightens with anticipation.

And then his fingers find me. He groans low in his chest, and I swear I feel it everywhere. He touches me like he already knows what I need. Like I’ve been his all along.

He teases first—slow, deliberate. I’m writhing before I can stop myself, and then he’s inside me. One finger. Then two. Stretching. Preparing. I bite my lip to hold in the sound clawing up my throat, but it escapes anyway—a soft moan that betrays just how much I want this.

“You feel so fucking good, Berkley.” His voice is rough, reverent, and when I look at him—really look—he’s already watching me.

He kneels back, wrapping a hand around himself, and I can’t look away. He spreads my slickness over himself, and I feel heat flood every part of me. Then he hovers over me again, steady and close, and his voice—God, his voice—drops.

“You ready for me, baby?”

My answer slips out before I can second-guess it. “Mmhm… yes.”

He stills, like my words hit him square in the chest. His hands find my hips, grounding us both, and I feel the full weight of what this means. This is no longer a maybe. It’s us—real and raw and inevitable.

His tip nudges against me, dragging slowly, and my breath catches.

“Eyes on me, Berk,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. “I want to see you… every second of me sinking inside you.”

And I do. I hold his gaze as he presses forward, inch by inch, so careful like he’s afraid to break me. I can’t breathe, can’t think—only feel.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hitching as he draws back before easing in deeper. I gasp, legs tighten around his waist instinctively, and he freezes. “Just a little more, baby… hang on to me.”

I do. I hold on to him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

When he pushes the rest of the way in, a soft whimper escapes—followed by his low groan that feels like it pulls stars from the sky.

We stay like that for a second—chests heaving, limbs tangled, everything suspended in this raw, beautiful pause.

And then I move. Just a little. A silent invitation.

He doesn’t hesitate. He moves with me, into me. And the friction—oh God, the friction—is too much and not enough all at once. My fingers grip the sheets, my mind a blur of sensation and need.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine, our breaths tangling.

“Rowen, please.” His name spills from my lips like a prayer—desperate, full of everything I can’t put into words.

He hears it. Feels it. And just like that, his restraint snaps.

And I give myself to him completely.

He thrusts forward again, and my breath leaves in a choked moan I don’t even try to hold back. It’s like something ancient and written into my bones clicks into place—like we were always meant to fit exactly like this.

A matching sound rips from him, low and raw. He buries his face against my neck, his lips brushing the skin there as his voice rumbles through me. “You okay, baby?”

The concern in his tone hits me harder than anything else. Even now, especially now, he’s still making sure I feel safe, seen, wanted.

I turn my head just enough for our eyes to meet, and I know without a doubt this is where I’m meant to be. “Perfect,” I whisper, and I am. Then, because I can’t help myself, I add with a little smirk, “Now make love to me like we’ve both been dreaming of.”

That wink I toss in? Yeah, it does exactly what I hope it will. I watch his restraint fray at the edges; feel it unravel with a hungry sort of reverence. His grin tilts, a little wicked, a little wild, and full of something that makes my entire body hum. Possession. Tenderness. Fire.

He tangles one hand in my hair and slides the other along my thigh, urging my leg higher until I’m wrapped completely around him—until we’re so close it’s hard to tell where he ends and I begin.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes, and I barely get the chance to nod before he drives into me again. It’s deep, deliberate, and slow enough to make me feel every inch.

I gasp, the sound getting lost in the hard, claiming kiss he presses to my mouth.

Everything inside me tightens. My hands cling to his shoulders, and I feel the tremor of an orgasm roll through me like lightning under my skin.

“Good girl,” he growls against my lips, his movements turning rougher, more desperate. Each stroke sends sparks through me, dragging me closer to another edge with every beat of my racing heart.

Then his voice drops again—gritty and commanding, like a match being struck. “Give me another,” he grits through his teeth. “I want to feel you come apart for me one more time.”

That’s all it takes. My nails bite into his skin, my legs lock around his hips, and when he shifts just right—like he knows my body better than I do—I shatter. My back arches, a cry slipping from my throat, and I lose myself completely.

“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing me through it, catching every breathless sound I make as he finally lets go too. We fall together, trembling and tangled, wrecked in the best way possible.

“Damn, Berk,” he murmurs, sweeping a few damp strands of hair away from my face. He presses the sweetest kiss to my temple like he’s trying to anchor the moment. “You undo me. Completely.”

I laugh—because it’s true and because I don’t know what else to do. It bubbles out of me, light and messy and full of something I haven’t felt in forever.

Joy.

And it hits him like a punch to the chest. I see it in the way his lips twitch up before he even knows he’s smiling.

A genuine smile, the kind I haven’t seen since before life carved its edges into all of us.

Since before grief wrapped its fingers around our throats.

Since before the world turned cold and sharp.

But here, with his arms around me and our breaths still tangled, he softens. His grip, his stare, even the storm he always carries in his chest—it all goes quiet.

Then I do something dumb. I reach up, touch his face like I’m trying to memorize him, and kiss the tip of his nose.

And his whole world stutters.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” I say, my voice thick with sunshine I didn’t even know I had left. Sweet. A little sarcastic. Pure me.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts to meet my eyes again—and something shifts. Deep. Certain. Heavy in the way only love can be.

“I love you, Berkley,” he says, voice rough and stripped bare. “It’s only ever been you.”

The words punch right through my chest—and for once, I don’t flinch at the hit. I lean into it, into him, because I know.

It’s only ever been him... them. All of them.

~~~~~

Time slips by in a blur, like I’m floating on air.

Every time I close my eyes, I feel Rowen’s hands on me—his voice in my ear, the way he looked at me like I was the only girl in the world. That feeling... it lingers. Sticks to my skin. And I don’t want to wash it off.