Chapter 25
(Aria POV)
My party was perfect. Too perfect.
When Dad hugged me at the end of the night and whispered, “proud of you, kiddo,” Marcus was already waiting by the door with his keys in his hand, ready to drive me back to his place.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Marcus told my father, calm, certain. Like there’d been no other option.
And no one argued. But I saw the hurt in my father’s eyes along with quiet acceptance.
Marcus’s house was dark when we pulled up, the vineyard stretching quiet under the silver wash of moonlight.
Inside, he didn’t turn on the bright lights. Just the low ones. Just enough to make shadows.
“Stay here,” he murmured, brushing past me.
The pop of a cork startled me, followed by the rush of fizz into crystal. He came back with a bottle of champagne in one hand, two flutes in the other.
“To finally drinking legally.” He poured. The bubbles caught the light, tiny gold stars in the glass.
We clinked. I sipped. Cold, sharp, fizzy. I laughed when it tickled the back of my throat.
He didn’t laugh. He watched my mouth. I licked a drop from my lip.
“What happens now?” I asked, my voice shaky but bold. “No boss rules? Just… us?”
His eyes burned into mine. “Exactly. Tonight, you’re not my intern. You’re the woman I’ve wanted for longer than I should admit.”
My breath stuttered. “Then kiss me.”
The champagne glass was gone, forgotten, as soon as his mouth hit mine.
Slow at first, like he wanted to savor the first sip. But then hungry.
Clothes peeled away, one piece at a time. My dress hit the floor. His shirt opened under my trembling fingers.
He lifted the glass again, tipped it to my mouth. “Sip,” he ordered softly. I obeyed. Then he kissed me again, bubbles spilling between us, and I gasped into his mouth.
A trickle slid down my throat. He poured more along my collarbone. Cold, shocking—until his tongue followed, warm and wet and sinful.
I laughed, breathlessly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” he growled against my skin.
And I did. God, I did.
The bed was waiting. Sheets turned down, more champagne still bubbling on the nightstand.
He laid me back, stripped the rest of my clothes with slow patience that felt like worship. His mouth found every inch, my throat, my breasts, the soft line of my stomach until I was gasping, writhing, begging for more.
When he finally moved lower, his hands pressing my thighs apart, I was already shaking.
“Marcus…”
“Shh. Let me.”
And he did. His mouth was hot, skilled, relentless. He kissed and tasted until I came, arching off the bed, my voice breaking on his name.
I was still trembling when he slid over me, kissing me hard, positioning himself at my entrance. And I was more than eager and willing.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” he rasped. “You. Like this.”
When he pushed inside, I cried out, clutching at him, overwhelmed.
“Mine,” he whispered against my ear. “Finally, mine.”
We moved together slowly, then harder, the champagne fizzing forgotten by the bed, my body unraveling again and again under his.
After, I lay sprawled against him, cheek to his chest, my skin was damp and flushed. His hand stroked lazily down my back, over the curve of my hip.
He kissed my hair. “Happy birthday, Aria.”
I smiled. “Best birthday ever.”
He reached past me, grabbed the flute off the nightstand, pressed it to my lips. “Drink, birthday girl. You’re going to need it.”
“Why?” I teased, though I tipped the glass and let the bubbles slide down.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolled me gently onto my stomach, his palms broad and warm as they began kneading across my shoulders, down my spine. A low, rumbling sound escaped me, half laugh, half moan.
“That feels good.” I sighed.
“Good, then just relax,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet. “Let me take care of you.”
His hands worked lower, slow and steady, making my muscles melt. The weight of his body shifted over me, his mouth brushing the back of my neck, his breath warm against my ear. By the time his touch skimmed over the curve of my ass and settled at my thighs, I was pliant, humming, ready.
Then, he spread me gently, and his finger brushed somewhere he hadn’t touched before.
I stiffened, breath catching. “Marcus…”
“Shh.” His lips grazed my ear, calm, coaxing. “Trust me.”
My heart thudded. “I’ve never…”
“Then let me be your first,” he breathed, pressing firmer, steady. “I want all of you, Aria. Every way, tonight. Mine.
I melted completely. I pushed back against his hand without even thinking, surrendering.
He groaned, dark and wrecked, kissing the back of my neck. “Good girl.”
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(Marcus POV)
She was twenty-one. Finally.
I’d told myself I could wait, that restraint was strength, that my control was what kept us safe. But when she stood in that living room, bright-eyed, legal drink in her hand, laughter around her like she belonged to everyone, something in me broke.
I couldn’t toast her in front of her father. Couldn’t even cross the room. My hands itched too badly. My hunger was too loud. So, I waited. And when she stepped into the night, I followed. Like I always did.
Now she was in my bed, skin flushed from champagne and me. Her hair spilled across my pillow. Her breath came in little tremors, lips swollen from my mouth.
I’d had women before, God, too many. But nothing like this. Nothing like her. Every touch with Aria felt dangerous, sacred, inevitable.
And when I pressed lower, when I told her I wanted all of her, she looked at me with wide, trusting eyes. And said yes.
That yes ruined me. She was so trusting. I was as gentle as I could be until I wasn’t.
Hours later, with her curled into me, asleep and soft and mine, I stared at the ceiling and knew there was no going back.
Tom would hate me for it. The business could suffer. My name, my reputation, everything I’d built could collapse.
But none of it mattered.
I wanted this girl, this woman, more than I wanted clean ledgers, smooth harvests, or easy partnerships.
Aria was the risk I was willing to take. The one gamble I couldn’t walk away from.
I brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and pressed a kiss there. She stirred, murmured something, and tucked herself closer into me like she belonged.
And maybe that was the real toast of the night. Not the clinking glasses or the candles on her cake.
But this, her body tangled in mine, her future tied to my hands, her twenty-first year starting with a vow I whispered into her hair: I’m yours.
Aria didn’t even notice the present next to the champagne bucket downstairs. A ring box.
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(Aria POV)
Sunlight woke me first. Not the harsh kind that made you want to bury your head, but soft, golden stripes filtering through the curtains. Warm against my bare shoulder.
For a moment I didn’t move. I just lay there, tangled in Marcus’s sheets, his arm heavy around my waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing behind me.
Safe. Wanted. Home.
The words slipped into my mind before I could stop them. My chest ached with it, this bone-deep certainty that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I rolled carefully, not wanting to wake him. His face in sleep was different, guarded, less stern. Younger, almost. Like the weight he always carried had finally eased for a few hours.
I smiled and brushed a kiss over his jaw. He didn’t stir, just tightened his hold on me instinctively, like even asleep he knew I belonged there.
Slipping out of bed, I padded barefoot into the living room. Last night’s champagne bottle still rested on the table, the flutes tipped sideways. My dress was still crumpled on the floor, one heel on its side like it had given up halfway through the night.
I bent to scoop it all up, cheeks heating at the memories, when something else caught my eye. A small black velvet box, half-hidden behind the champagne bucket.
Curiosity flared. I reached for it, fingers brushing the edge, but stopped.
It wasn’t mine. It was Marcus’s. And for once in my life, I didn’t need to pry.
Because whatever it was, whenever it was meant for me, I knew I could wait.
I left it untouched, straightened the room a little, then slipped back into bed with him.
Marcus stirred, eyes opening, dark and soft all at once. “Where’d you go?” he rasped, voice heavy with sleep.
“Nowhere,” I whispered, curling into him again. “Right here.”
And as his arm wrapped around me, pulling me close, I believed it. I believed in us.