Chapter 7
(Aria POV)
The courtyard buzzed with weekend visitors, the hum of conversation floating between the oak barrels turned into cocktail tables. Dad was in his element, laughing and shaking hands with the distributors who kept Bennett a growl pressed between his teeth.
I straightened, chin high. “Ryan? He’s nice. Harmless.”
“He’s not harmless.” Marcus stepped closer, the air tightening between us. “Guys like him want what’s easy. They’ll flatter you, take what they want, and move on. You deserve better.”
My laugh was sharp, brittle. “Oh, so now you’re my life coach?”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand…”
“No, Marcus, you don’t understand.” I poked his chest, the muscle rigid under my finger. “You keep pushing me away, telling me no, acting like I’m a child. Then you look at me like…”
“Don’t,” he snapped, but his voice broke on it.
“Like you want me.”
Silence. The night hummed with insects, the vines stretching into shadow, my heart beating so loud I thought he could hear it.
His eyes locked on mine, darker than I’d ever seen.
“You think I don’t know you, Aria? I’ve known you longer than you realize.
Your father kept pictures on his desk. You in braces.
Your prom dress. College graduation. I remember all of them.
I remember thinking you were just a kid.
And now…” He swore under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Now I can’t look at you without…”
The words hung between us like a live wire.
I stepped closer, every nerve sparking. “Without what?”
His hand shot up, cupping the back of my neck, pulling me into him. His breath was ragged, hot. “Without wanting what I can’t have,” he whispered.
My palm pressed to him first, stroking through the fabric of his slacks. He was already hard, hot, straining against the barrier. His groan was low, broken, one hand slamming against the wall behind me to steady himself.
“You hate that he touched me,” I whispered, letting my breath skim his jaw. “But I’m the one touching you. Do you like it?”
His eyes burned into mine, torn between fury and hunger. “Aria…”
Before he could stop me, I turned in his grip, my back against his chest now. I arched just enough to grind against him, slow, deliberate, my ass sliding over the thick line of him. His breath hissed out sharply against my ear, his body rigid as I moved against him again.
“Christ…” His voice cracked, raw. Both his hands clamped hard on my hips, holding me still. “Enough.”
But I pressed back once more, a wicked little roll of my hips. “You’re still hard,” I murmured.
He groaned into my hair, shaking with the effort not to take me right there against the wall. “Because of you. Always because of you.”
For a heartbeat, his grip trembled, like he was on the edge of snapping. Then he shoved me forward, tearing himself away, putting space between us like his life depended on it.
“Go home,” he growled, chest heaving. “Before I forget where we are.”
And then he was gone, leaving me against the farmhouse wall, my skin tingling, my whole body on fire with the knowledge that Marcus Hale wanted me enough to lose control and hated himself for it.