Wilted Love

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'He lowered his face, brushing his lips against mine as he made his way to my ear, whispering harshly 'You're Mine.' ' --- Majority of us try to avoid our exes at all cost - but not Diora. Her family at the brink of losing everything they've built, Diora takes up the offer to marry into the most influential family in London - the Anson family. Only catch is, she needs to get together with her billionaire ex and the next heir of the Anson Enterprise, Night Anson. A loveless relationship bound to a contract, not realising she got more than she bargained for - so many untold secretes with her fate in someone else's hand, who can she really trust? Betrayal, dark romance and thrill. * * * * * * * * UPDATES: Every Friday BONUS CHAPTERS: I might publish two chapters in one week! Although this depends on time

Romance / Erotica
4.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

‘Give me your hand.’ He demanded, as he roughly grabbed my hand from my lap. I didn’t bother to look at him. ‘Remember to-’

‘To smile.’ I cut him off, knowing this would make him mad. However, I couldn’t care less. I turned to look at him, his face held no sort of emotions, which I must admit, is a lot more terrifying than when he’s mad. I watched him cautiously, looking at the corners of his mouth that slowly turned up. I could easily tell he was forcing his smile. And as if on cue, his deep voice cut the silence as he spoke through gritted teeth.

‘Yes, my little flower.’ I continued to look at him with a poker face as he squeezed my hand. ‘Didn’t we talk about this?’ He questioned. ‘To not speak until you’re spoken to?’ He rose his voice with each word. ‘To not finish my fucking sentences?’

’Listen here, Night,′ I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and trying to collect the little bit of courage I had left. ’We might be engaged, but you have no right to tell me what to do.′ I snatched my hand away from his claws. ‘I don’t care if you’re legally mine, I will rip this contract into pieces. It will be the end of you and me.’ His eyebrows furrowed together.

Once again, he took my hand and locked his fingers around mine. Just as I was about to protest, the limousine doors opened revealing a sharp white light that consumed the dimmed purple ones within the car.

I could hear lots of cheering and chanting. No matter how many years have gone by, this will never be something that I will get used to. I could hear the flashing of the camera snapping from every direction and I wasn’t even out the door yet.

Night held onto my hand even tighter as he walked out the limousine first and I followed suit. He let go of my hand and for a second I felt a rush of relief that I wouldn’t need to touch this repulsive snake. Alas, with the luck I had, he quickly wrapped his whole arm around my waist pulling me closer to his chest. To everyone from the outside, this looked like a romantic gesture, but I and Night both knew this wasn’t a romantic gesture, far from it.

He brought his mouth near my ear, his warm breath on my exposed skin sent shivers down my body.

He softly whispered ‘It’s okay, I got you,’ as he pulled me even closer to his side. One good thing about him was that he protected me during the army of paparazzi and crazed fans that would try to attack me.

Yes, me specifically. For some unknown reason, there is a handful of fans and media tabloids that believe our relationship is just for show. A PR stunt if I must say.

No matter if we have bodyguards around us, he always tried to protect me, shielding me behind his muscular arms. This was a gesture I highly appreciated from him; the only gesture that was genuine. We managed to fiend our way through the swarm of paparazzi and fans, and into our temporary apartment complex.

We walked to our room, his arm not once leaving my waist until we closed the doors. He roughly removed his hand off my waist and walked towards the bathroom. I walked straight to the living room and slammed myself against the soft velvet sofa.

‘Diora, where is my comb!’ Night shouted from the bathroom. I sighed loudly with my face against one of the fluffy pillows. ‘Someone put me out of my misery.’

‘How am I supposed to know where you leave your goddamn items?’ I screamed back in frustration. He’s 24 years old and still needs someone to tell him where his stuff is.

Just when I thought I could sneak a quick nap, he marched into the living room, yanking my leg and shaking it to grab my attention. Instead of turning around, I groaned.

‘Stop moaning and help me find my fucking comb,’ he sighed loudly. I knew he was frustrated, but I can’t give in to his childish tantrums just yet.

He continued to complain and I had enough. I stretched my arms out and bent my ass up, arching my back. His annoying voice was replaced by silence. I knew my ass would grab his attention.

I slowly brought my upper body up and stretched my arms as well, before getting off the couch. I made sure to do it extra slowly.
I could hear his breaths becoming heavier, I couldn’t help but smirk at how easy it was to evoke any type of emotions.

I turned towards him, swaying my hips slowly and stopping right next to him, with our faces just a few inches away. I gently put my left hand on his shoulder, caressing it slightly, before tugging him forward, being as rough as I could.

His hands snaked their way around my waist as I put my mouth near his ear. I let out a low, throaty laughter, leaving gentle kisses at the side of his face. ‘I don’t care where your comb is.’ I whispered. His hands slowly descended to my hips, squeezing ever so gently, yet firmly. ‘I have a Gala to get ready for.’ I continued to torture him with my best sultry voice I could put on.

I tried to prey his body off of me, but that proved to be difficult when his claws were attached to my hip. He brought his lips next to mine, making sure to softly brush his lips against mine whilst making his way to my ear, nibbling at the lobe.

‘I don’t think you’re going anywhere.’ He pushed me against the couch arm, letting go of me, allowing me to tumble over falling on the couch. He took one last glance at me, laughing and then walked off.

‘Fucking bastard.’ I mumbled.

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