33. Chapter Aria
T he sun rays come through my window early in the morning, waking me up. I sit up, stretching my arms with a big yawn.
I’m so exhausted.
We had more than enough rounds last night, and I’m feeling the consequences today. Not that I mind, anyway.
The left side of the bed feels cold to the touch, disappointment flooding through me.
Did he leave?
After we took a shower together—that ended in the most amazing shower sex— and we got in bed, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Last thing I remember is him kissing the top of my head and hugging me as he whispered good night .
I get up and walk to my closet, grabbing my favorite oversized sweater. The only thing I kept of my ex, but the thing is just so damn comfortable I never threw it away. Looking over my drawer, I notice our clothes neatly folded.
So he actually didn’t leave, and he’s a clean freak.
Walking out of the bedroom, I call out, “Damian?”
“I’m in here,” he says from the other room.
My studio.
No. No. No. Did I forget to lock it up last night?
I was so wrapped up in him, in the heat of the moment, that I must have forgotten. I typically lock the room when I have people come over. When it comes to my art, I’m so sensitive about it—mostly ashamed—if I’m being honest. Which is why even though I have some of my pieces hanging all over the loft, I make it a point to not sign my name. It’s not something I wish to share with the world, not anymore. It feels like a strange fever dream at this point.
My body trembles as I walk into the studio and find him in the middle of the room, in his boxer briefs, his eyes dancing in awe from one painting to another. Most of my favorite pieces are hanging in this room, since I like admiring them and using them as inspiration. Thin, white blankets stained with paint are scattered all over the hardwood floors to avoid any stains. White canvases of all sizes are all over the place, and a floor standing easel in the middle of the room with an unfinished painting. Having the easel in the center helps me look all around, and appreciate all of my art that is hanging all over the walls.
He looks over his shoulder, and my stomach feels queasy as his gaze locks with mine. His eyes are filled with awe; and pride. And it makes me feel so vulnerable and exposed, I want to crawl out of my skin.
“This is amazing, Darling. Did you paint all of these?”
I look away, embarrassed. “Yes. It’s just a hobby. Can you get out of the room, please?” I sigh.
“A hobby ?” He shakes his head, amazed. “You’re a full-on artist, Aria. Why didn’t you tell me?”
My hand takes a life of its own and starts scratching my neck, and my arms. My skin is itchy all over, like a sudden rash taking over. “I’m not an artist, trust me.” I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. My voice trembles as I ask, “Can you please get out of the room now?”
His brows furrow in confusion as we both walk out of the room. “I’m sorry. I was on my way to the kitchen to get some water and saw the door open, a painting caught my eye and I just got lost in it. In your art. Your beautiful art, may I add.”
I nod, locking the room. “I’m just very weird when it comes to my art, okay?”
He squeezes my arm caringly. “Wanna talk about it?”
“I’d rather not. ”
“Aria…” There’s a warning in his tone. “When are you going to open up to me? I’m here for you.”
“It’s not like you open up to me either,” I retort.
He flinches at my comment and nods. “It’s not easy for me.”
“ Ha . And you think it’s easy for me? I don’t want you to look at me differently, Damian.” I gulp. “You mean too much to me now.”
And that’s the truth. He’s too important to me now and my life is too complicated. My insecurities are too many to count.
He brings me in for a hug, kissing my forehead. “I told you, I’m here to catch you if you fall. Always. But we can talk about it when you’re ready. And you’re absolutely right, I need to open up too. I will.”
I don’t think I will ever be ready to dump years of childhood trauma on anyone. I feel safe around him, sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to get him into something so personal. Not even Sophia knows the extent of it, and she’s my best friend.
But this is the man you are falling in love with. When are you going to open up? Let him in before you lose him.
It’s just so hard. How do you share something you were reprimanded for doing since you were little? My brain is not wired to do that. I tried working on that issue in therapy during college, but it meant I had to face so many years of childhood trauma I stopped showing up and just started hoping for the best. I’ve never truly given it a fair chance, but I need to figure out a way to do it. Soon .
“Are you hungry? I was going to make some breakfast.”
I nod. “I’m starving. Let’s make it together.”
He hums in approval. “How does French toast sound?”
“Easy enough to make.” I shrug.
He’s making the French toast and bacon as I cut up strawberries and bananas into small pieces.
“You should give me something else to do. At this rate, I won’t learn anything.” I pout.
He shakes his head with a laugh. “Not after the vodka sauce incident.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
He looks at me, regret clouding his gaze. “It was so salty. Why do you think I didn’t let you eat any and pretty much swallowed it in one go? You were so excited and proud of it. I couldn’t break your heart like that.”
I set the knife down and look at him, my stomach flutters like never before at his confession. The act is so silly, but it’s the little things he does that make me feel special.
Tip-toeing in front of him, I place my hand on his jaw and bring him closer for a quick kiss. He melts at my touch and deepens the kiss, enveloping me in his masculine clean cedarwood scent like a warm blanket.
As we break apart, I wave my hand at the kitchen counter where all the ingredients are spread. “I like this look on you. Very domestic,” I joke.
“I’ll show you domestic ,” he says as he swiftly picks me up like I weigh no more than a feather and drops me on the kitchen counter. He quickly reaches for my sweater and takes it off.
“I hate this fucking sweater,” he says in between kisses.
“Why?”
He gives me a knowing look. “Because I know this is a man’s. So, you know what? From now on you can only wear mine .”
With calculated intent, he walks to the trash can and throws it in, then grabs the leftover from the whisked eggs we used to make the French toast and throws them on top of the sweater, completely ruining it.
“Who would have thought you were a jealous, petty man?” I declare with a teasing tsk .
He walks back to me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, closing the distance. I’ve never been a fan of physical touch. Well, how can you really be a fan of something that you never learned? My family wasn’t known for their loving personality. But with Damian, it’s a constant craving. A need to be touched by him, be close to him .
His hands travel up and down my outer thighs, caressing them softly, leaving a trace of goosebumps. He hums, amusement lacing his tone. “What can I say? You just make me that crazy.”
Before I can respond with a witty comeback, he kisses me fervently. This man hasn’t done anything, and I’m already wet and ready for him. His hand travels south and with his index and middle finger, he brushes my center, picking up some of my arousal, causing me to moan.
He brings his finger to my mouth and orders, “Suck.”
I eagerly do, and there’s something so hot and possessive that thrums inside of me knowing I’m tasting myself on his fingers. Damian’s eyes darken with a primal lust, his gaze following my every movement, like the way I roll my eyes in pleasure, and the way I lick my lips with contentment. My core clenches at the sight of him.
“I need you inside of me, now,” Without a second thought, I take his boxer briefs off, and grab his cock, sliding my hand with a soft, feathery touch back and forth. Feeling his throbbing cock press against the palm of my hand.
A throaty grunt comes out of his lips at my touch. He centers himself to push inside of me, but he stops abruptly and murmurs, “Shit.”
“What happened?”
He hangs his head in defeat. “We don’t have condoms. ”
I rest my head on his shoulder and groan, but then remember when Sophia bought me a huge box of condoms for my birthday as a joke, and I put them in what I label my messy drawer.
“Bedroom drawer, top left. There’s a box of condoms.”
He nods and goes to the room to retrieve the condoms and comes back. “Were you anticipating lots and lots of sexual encounters in the future?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and pointing at the huge box of condoms.
“Sophia gave them to me for my birthday. Said I needed to,” I use air quotation marks, “let loose.”
He nods knowingly with a laugh. Already knowing how Sophia is. “Say less.”
“Now shut up and fuck me, yeah?”
He closes the distance, grabbing me by the neck and squeezing it softly. “Feeling like a brat, are we?”
“Maybe just a bit,” I say, licking my lips and placing my hand on top of his, squeezing a little tighter.
Damian makes me act so differently, so bold. I would let this man do anything to me, because I know I’ll always be safe around him.
With an appreciative groan, he rolls on the condom quickly and fills me to the hilt, my eyes rolling at the delicious sensation. His cock is a perfect fit, and I embrace the fullness of it. Enjoying every single inch.
He starts moving with a punishing, teasing pace that drives me to the brink of insanity. My nails find his shoulder blades, gripping with force to keep from moaning his name and begging him to fuck me harder.
“I know you want to scream my name, Darling, so let’s hear it. I want to hear every sound that comes out of you as I fuck this tight pussy of yours.” He hisses as he starts picking up the pace. It’s like he knows what I need and exactly when I need it.
“Yes, Damian.” I nod breathlessly, moaning his name over and over, giving in to the need. I can’t think clearly when he fucks me like this, much less come up with any witty comebacks, because all I can focus on is the feeling of his throbbing cock inside of me, and all the delicious sensations that come with it.
That wins me a grunt of approval, then he suddenly slides out of me, takes me off the counter, and spins me around, bending me over. Without giving me a moment to catch up, he slides right back inside of me in one swift motion, leaving me breathless and gasping for air.
“Is this okay?” he asks breathlessly without moving an inch, ever the gentleman, always making sure I’m okay.
“ Yes ,” I moan. “More than okay.”
He starts to move slowly, and I desperately meet him halfway, thrust after thrust. He loves to taunt me, that much I’ve learned. His cock is filling me in ways I didn’t think possible, but the movement is not enough, so I start moving faster, desperate to feel more.
“I wish you could see right now how good your pussy is taking my cock from behind,” he says through a deep growl. “So wet.” Thrust. “Tight.” Thrust. “And fucking perfect.” Thrust.
I have no response to his dirty words, the only thing that comes out of my lips are moans after moans, but I can feel how the heat at the bottom of my belly is brewing, and how my pussy clenches around him every time he talks to me like that.
Damian fists my hair, and the feel of his strong hand and the tug makes me clench again. Who knew I liked being treated like this? I sure didn’t. He brings me closer to him, pressing my back against his muscled chest.
His mouth is pressed against the side of my neck, the warm breath making me prickle with goosebumps. “You’re such a good little slut, letting me fuck you like this in your kitchen.”
“That mouth of yours, Damian. I fucking swear it’s going to be the death of me,” I say in between moans.
A dark chuckle escapes his lips. “Yes, Darling. I know you love it when I talk to you like the slut you are. Your pussy clenches and tries to milk my cock every time I do.”
As if on cue, my pussy clenches, making me feel his cock even more.
“Oh, fuck ,” Damian says in between grunts as he starts to pick up the pace and finally gives me what I so desperately want.
He’s fucking me relentlessly. There’s nothing sweet or cute about this moment. I’m being thoroughly fucked right now, and I love every second of it. Because I know, when the heat of the moment passes, he’ll go back to being the sweet guy he’s always been.
I meet every punishing thrust of his, our groans and slapping skin filling up the room. His moans are so throaty and primal, I could come just by listening to them. His cock starts to hit that delicious spot, and my orgasm builds more rapidly than I anticipated.
“I’m coming,” I say through a whimper.
With his unoccupied hand, he reaches my clit and starts touching the sensitive flesh in circles. “That’s it,” he hisses in my ear. “Come for me, Darling. Milk my fucking cock and make a mess. And don’t stop moaning my name until you’re done coming.”
I nod and close my eyes, enjoying the tingling sensation that’s overtaking my body as I moan his name over, and over, and over again. As my body tenses, Damian pinches my clit softly and that just sends me over the edge. My orgasm erupts, and my legs shake as I let out a moaned cry, doing my best to ride the explosive orgasm. He lets go of my hair as he thrusts a few more times, his body tensing as he follows his own release. Once we both come down our high, our bodies start to relax and he kisses the side of my head as he slips out of me .
Damian discards the condom, then takes a hot towel, gets on his knees, and cleans me, the sight of him making my heart quiver. It’s the simple things that have made me fall in love with him. After he’s done cleaning me, he goes to my bedroom and comes back with his sweater, lifting my hands and putting it on me.
“There you go. You look so much better now.”
I tip-toe and give him a peck. “I sure do.”
He hums in agreement, giving me another kiss. “Okay, let’s eat.”
We both clean the kitchen after finishing our breakfast, laughing as we exchange embarrassing college stories.
I glance at the kitchen clock. “I can’t believe we lost track of time. We’re so late for work!”
“Well, thankfully you’re sleeping with the boss,” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I hit him on the shoulder. “Not funny.”
He laughs. “Too soon?”
“Way too soon,” I confirm with a laugh.
“I told Isabella we’re taking the day. I don’t know about you, but I could use the break.”
I slump my shoulders. “Me too, but I can’t. The gala is next week and we’re still missing a piece. ”
He walks to me and hugs me from behind, kissing my neck softly. “It’ll be fine. We will figure it out. Let’s just take the day, okay?”
Nodding, my phone pings with a calendar notification. My face drains of color, and my body tenses beneath Damian’s touch as I hover over the notification.
Reminder: Lunch with Mom @ Lorenzo’s.
Fuck.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, uhm, I forgot I had a lunch date with my mom today,” I say, plastering a fake smile.
I’ve been so busy I honestly forgot to cancel. What am I going to do?
“I can get out of your hair if you want.”
I bite my lip, feeling my anxiety crippling in. My chest tightens at the thought of seeing her after four years. My mother is good at acting like a martyr when I won’t give her attention, and it always makes me feel like complete shit. If I cancel, she’ll just make me feel guilty and I’ll end up feeling worse.
So, just go have lunch. It’ll only be like two hours. You can do two hours.
I don’t think I can, not alone. I close my eyes, counting backwards.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
He stands in front of me now, squeezing my shoulders softly. “Aria, look at me. ”
I open my eyes, a sense of calm washing over me as he pierces me with his deep green gaze, worry crossing his face.
“I have an idea. How about I go to lunch with you?” he asks softly.
That’s insane. Meeting my mother is a sure way for him to run the opposite way. I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“You’re clearly having issues with this. I want to be there.” He caresses my jaw with his knuckles softly with a faint smile.
“We’ve barely started dating. I’m not introducing you to my mother.”
“Why not?”
She’s insane —that’s what I really want to say. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but I come up empty.
He grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers. “It’ll be fine. I told you, I’m all in, Tesoro .”
I can’t lie that the offer is tempting. He can act as a buffer and maybe my mother will get her shit together and keep the condescending comments to herself.
“Okay, deal.”
What can possibly go wrong, anyway?