12. Aria
TWELVE
Aria
Aria breathes like she trusts me. Slow, steady. One hand curled against my chest, her bare leg tangled with mine, her skin still carrying the heat of the night we didn’t stop touching.
I haven’t moved in twenty minutes. Not because I’m asleep. Because I don’t want to break this moment.
Don’t want to wake her.
Don’t want to lose the feel of her against me.
She’s different like this. Unmasked. Vulnerable in a way she never lets the world see. The sharp edges smoothed, the steel in her spine softened. She’s not the cool, calculating heiress. She’s mine. And fuck if that doesn’t hit somewhere I didn’t know was empty.
A soft strand of hair clings to her cheek, and I brush it back. She murmurs something against my chest, too soft to catch, and shifts closer. Her body fits against mine like it was always meant to be here.
Last night wasn’t just sex. It was something deeper. The way she let go, gave in—gave herself—it wrecked me. The way she listened, obeyed, surrendered. I didn’t expect that. But now that I’ve seen it… Now that I’ve felt it…
My hand traces the curve of her waist, over the slope of her hip, and up the length of her back. She shivers. Still mostly asleep, but her body reacts like it remembers me.
Like it wants more.
“Mmm.” She makes that soft, satisfied sound, barely lifting her head. “What time is it?”
“Early.” I press a kiss to the place where her neck meets her shoulder, tasting sleep and skin and something unmistakably hers. “Go back to sleep.”
She stretches with that feline elegance that drives me crazy. And then her ass nestles against my cock, already half hard from just existing next to her. She pauses. Smiles. That small, knowing sound escapes her throat—a low hum of discovery—and the tension in my body coils tight.
“Doesn’t feel that early to me.” Her voice—rough with sleep, rich with promise—slides through me like warm whiskey.
“Smartass.” I nip her shoulder, just enough pressure to make her gasp, to remind her who she gave herself to last night.
She rolls toward me, lashes fluttering open, sleepy mischief dancing in those impossibly blue eyes. “Good morning to you too.”
I don’t bother answering. Just catch her mouth with mine, not caring about morning breath or anything else that isn’t the taste of her, the feel of her melting into me like she’s already forgotten where she ends and I begin.
Her hand finds its way up my chest, fingers curling at my neck like she needs the contact as much as I do.
When we pull apart, she’s smiling. That soft, sleepy kind of smile that punches straight through every defense I’ve built.
“I could get used to waking up like this.” Her lashes flutter, voice husky.
Something shifts. Sharp and unexpected. Dangerous. Like my chest can’t decide if it’s aching or expanding.
“Like, what?” I let my fingers drift down her side, slow enough to draw goosebumps, controlled enough to keep from losing myself in how perfect she feels under my touch. “Tired? Sore?”
“Happy.” One word. Soft. Uncomplicated. But it lands with the weight of a goddamn bomb.
I kiss her again—because I need to. Because I can’t look at her and not want to claim her all over again. This kiss is different. Hungrier. Deeper. Her leg hooks over my hip, grinding her slick heat against my cock, and I don’t need a single word to know she wants more.
“Hands above your head.” My voice is low. Measured. I watch her closely, reading every flicker of emotion on her face.
No hesitation. No nerves. Just a slow, sensual stretch as she obeys, wrists crossing above her like she was made to be restrained. Like she trusts me with the power she never gives away.
Fuck.
“Good girl.” The praise slips out on instinct, and the flush that blooms across her cheeks is better than anything I’ve ever seen.
I wrap one hand around both wrists, pressing them into the pillow. Not rough, but firm. A reminder. A promise. My other hand trails from the base of her throat, over the rise of her breasts, down to her navel, watching every twitch, every tremble as sensation unfurls across her skin.
“Keep these here,” I murmur, releasing her wrists with a final press. “Don’t move them unless I say so.”
She draws in a sharp breath. Eyes wide. Chest rising in anticipation.
And she nods. Slow. Certain.
Trusting me to lead.
Trusting me to own her pleasure.
I take my time.
Not to tease her, but to learn her. Every gasp. Every catch of breath. Every place my mouth grazes that makes her body arch off the mattress like she’s offering herself up to me.
Her nipple tightens against my tongue, and she shudders. Hands still pinned obediently above her head, knuckles white from the effort not to move.
Her hips roll, searching for friction, heat, me.
“Jon…” A low sound. Need wrapped in surrender.
“Patience.” I move lower, mouth trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses down her stomach. “We’ve got all morning.”
She spreads her thighs without hesitation. No shame. No modesty. Just an open invitation. One I’d die before refusing.
My mouth finds her.
She cries out, body jerking. Slick heat and her taste hit me like a punch to the chest, like I’ve been starving for this without realizing it.
I drag my tongue through her folds, slow at first, savoring. Then I focus—learn the rhythm that makes her tremble, the pressure that makes her curse, the soft suck against her clit that makes her breath stutter.
She’s falling apart. Voice going high, hips chasing every movement. She’s right there.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling forward until I feel the exact spot that?—
“Fuck!” She bucks violently, hands flying down, clutching at my shoulders like she needs an anchor.
I stop. Immediately.
Lift my head. Lock eyes.
“What did I say about your hands?”
Her eyes are huge. Lips parted, cheeks flushed. Still drunk on the edge of pleasure but desperate to obey.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice is barely a whisper. She lifts her arms, returning them to the pillow. Exposed again. Vulnerable. Trusting.
“Better.”
I reward her with my mouth. Slower now. Drawing it out. Building her higher. Higher.
Her hips rock in time with my fingers, greedy for every stroke. She’s so close. Teetering.
“Jon, please…” My name wrecked on her tongue. Guttural. Gorgeous.
“Let go,” I murmur against her skin, voice low and firm. “I want to hear you fall apart.”
She shatters.
Body arching. Mouth open in a scream. Inner muscles clenching so tightly around my fingers, it’s as if her body never wants to let me go. Wave after wave rolls through her, and I keep going—drawing it out, giving her everything, owning her pleasure until she’s trembling and wrecked.
When I finally crawl up her body, she’s still panting, her hands still above her head, shaking now.
“You can touch me,” I say softly.
Her arms wrap around me instantly, nails digging into my back, pulling me down like she needs me inside her more than air.
I slide in with one slow, deep thrust. Her gasp is muffled by my mouth as I swallow her cry.
She’s hot. Slick. Still pulsing around me.
And fuck, I’m already so close.
But this moment—this woman—deserves more than fast and desperate. She deserves everything.
I grit my teeth and slow down, setting a rhythm that will take us both apart, piece by aching piece.
“Open your eyes,” I demand softly when I notice they’ve fluttered closed. “I want to see you.”
She complies, her gaze locking with mine, vulnerable and trusting. The intimacy of it nearly undoes me.
I slide a hand beneath her, angling her hips to take me deeper, and she moans, a sound so purely feminine it sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine. Her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into my lower back, urging me on.
“Harder,” she whispers, and I comply, driving into her with enough force to make the headboard knock against the wall.
The sounds she makes—breathy gasps and broken moans—push me closer to the edge. When I feel her begin to tighten around me again, I slip a hand between us, circling her clit with my thumb.
“Come for me again,” I growl against her neck. “I want to feel you.”
Her second orgasm crashes through her with even more intensity than the first, her body clenching around me so tightly that I follow her over the edge, my own release hitting me like a physical blow.
For long moments afterward, we lie tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. I roll to the side to avoid crushing her, but keep her close, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist.
“Holy shit,” she finally manages, her voice hoarse. “Now, that’s a nice way to wake up.”
“Nice?”
“Decadently wonderful.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads across my face.
“That was… I didn’t know it could be like that.” She turns to look at me, her expression a mixture of wonder and satisfaction.
The simple admission makes my chest swell with something between pride and tenderness. I press a kiss to her forehead, unable to find words for what I’m feeling.
After a while, she stretches, wincing slightly. “I think I need a shower.”
“Mmm.” I trace patterns on her hip. “Good idea.”
“Join me?” She sits up, looking over her shoulder at me with a mischievous smile.
“You’re insatiable.” But I’m already following her out of bed, enjoying the view as she pads naked toward the bathroom.
The shower is barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but we manage to make it work, our bodies sliding against each other under the spray.
I wash her hair, massaging her scalp until she practically purrs with contentment.
She returns the favor, her soapy hands exploring my body with newfound confidence.
I’m just rinsing the last of the shampoo from my hair when I notice her expression. She’s biting her lower lip, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as her thinking face, her eyes fixed somewhere around my chest but clearly not seeing it.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I tilt her chin up with one finger.
“Nothing.” She blushes, avoiding my eyes.
“Bullshit,” I say it gently, no heat in the word. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
She takes a deep breath, as if gathering courage. “I was just—wondering about something.”
“Something?”
“Something I’ve never done before.” Her blush deepens. “With anyone.”
I still. Heart slowing even as blood rushes south.
“And what might that be?”
She lifts her eyes to mine—open, searching. There’s heat there, yes. But also a kind of fragile courage.
“I’ve never—gone down on someone before.” Her voice barely carries over the sound of the water, but the words hit like a detonator. “But with you, I want to. I’m curious… Eager, even.”
Christ.
It’s not the sex. Not the mental image of Aria on her knees—though fuck, that alone nearly unravels me. It’s the offering. The trust laced into every word. The quiet way she’s giving this to me—not just her mouth, but her vulnerability. Her first time. And she wants it to be with me.
A bolt of heat sears through me, dark and possessive.
I step forward, close the space between us, and back her against the cold tile. My palm curves around her cheek, anchoring us both.
“And you want to try it? With me?”
She nods, breath quickening. “But I don’t know what I’m doing.” Her voice is unsteady, but her eyes are steady. “I want to make it good for you.”
Jesus.
Most women I’ve known have performed. Polished. Practiced. But this? This is raw. Honest. She doesn’t want to impress me—she wants to please me. Not because she has to. Not because she thinks she owes me something. But because she wants to.
That difference does something to me I don’t have a name for.
“You couldn’t be bad at it if you tried.” My voice comes out rough, unfiltered. The need to protect what she’s giving me runs parallel to the hunger clawing at my control.
I kiss her. Not with heat—yet—but with reverence. Letting her feel how much this moment matters.
She leans into me.
“Will you—show me? Tell me what to do?”
A groan slips out before I can stop it. I press my forehead to hers, trying to ground myself, trying not to lose it completely just from the fantasy of her asking to be taught by me.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
No teasing. No coaxing. I need her answer to be clear.
Certain.
“Yes.” No hesitation. No fear. Just quiet, blazing intent. “I want to learn what you like.”
My restraint frays another inch.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
And I’m going to make damn sure her first time doing this becomes something she never forgets.
I reach behind her to shut off the water. “Not here. Too cramped, too slippery.”
My voice is hoarse with restraint. I step out of the shower, grab a towel, and wrap it around her still-shivering body. The scent of her—steamed skin, warm shampoo, sex—clings to me as I take a second towel and sling it low around my hips.
“Bedroom. Now.”