Chapter Nine Her Choice
Aria dreamed of locked doors.
In the dream, every key belonged to Damien.
When she woke before dawn, the penthouse was silent.
The previous night’s anger still hummed in her veins, but fear had given way to something far more dangerous: clarity.
For too long, her life had been decided in rooms she entered after the decision was already made.
Damien used speed as a weapon—cars waiting downstairs, attorneys briefed, security routes changed before anyone else knew there was a problem.
Moving quickly was not the same as being in control.
She found him standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dark living room, an untouched glass of whiskey in his hand.
“Do you ever sleep?” she asked softly.
“When nothing I value is threatened.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
He wore black trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, the lines of the city casting pale grids across his chest. Aria approached until she stood just beyond his reach.
“My mother is stable,” she said.
“I know.”
“The guard is in police custody.”
“I know.”
“And I am standing here because I chose to leave my suite.”
Damien set the glass on the marble console, finally turning to look at her. His gaze was calculating. “What are you trying to prove, Aria?”
“That not everything between us happens because you arranged it.”
His gaze traveled slowly down her silk robe. “Go back to bed.”
“Why?”
“Because you are frightened, angry, and confusing adrenaline with desire.”
The rejection stung, sharp and cold, but Aria stepped closer. “You said I would eventually offer.” She wanted to know if holding him felt as good as kissing him. If it felt any more satisfying than when he gave her half answers.
“Not like this.”
“You don’t get to decide what my desire looks like.”
“I decide what I am willing to take from a woman who may hate herself afterward.”
Aria stared at him. Somewhere beneath his obsession lived a line he refused to cross. It didn’t make him good, but it gave her a foothold.
Slowly, she untied her robe and let it fall open, revealing the ivory silk set from her drawer.
Damien’s composure fractured in his eyes. “Aria.”
“I am twenty-seven years old,” she said, her voice steady. “I am sober. I know who you are.”
“You know almost nothing about me.”
“I know enough to despise your methods.”
“That is not consent.”
“No.” She took his bandaged hand and placed it against her waist. “This is.”
Damien didn’t pull away, but he didn’t advance either. “Tell me what you want.”
“Kiss me.”
“Where?”
Heat climbed her throat. “My mouth.”
“Only your mouth?”
“Until I say otherwise.”
Damien’s fingers tightened against her waist. “Good. You are learning.”
He kissed her. There was no pretense this time—no public audience, no legal pretense. His mouth took hers with controlled hunger, giving her time to stop him while making it almost impossible to want to. When his tongue traced her lips, Aria opened to him.
He drew her against his chest, his breath low and rough. Desire pressed between them, sharp and frightening in its intensity.
Aria broke the kiss to catch her breath.
Damien stopped instantly, his forehead resting against hers. “Continue?”
“Yes.”
“Say what you want.”
“Touch me.”
“Where?”
She guided his hand upward until his palm covered her breast through the silk. A gasp escaped her lips as his thumb moved slowly across the tightened peak.
“Here?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
He lowered his mouth to her neck, placing every kiss where her pulse betrayed her. His other hand slid beneath her silk top, tracing the curve of her spine.
“I still hate you,” she whispered into the dark.
“I know.”
He lifted her easily, setting her on the edge of the black marble table. “Tell me to stop.”
“I don’t want you to.” She panted.
“That is not what I asked.”
She looked into his gray eyes and realized what he needed to hear. “Stop.”
Damien stepped back immediately. His chest rose and fell in heavy rhythms, but his hands dropped to his sides.
The power of that silence vibrated through her—the knowledge that the most controlling man she had ever met would obey that single word.
Aria reached out, her fingers catching the front of his shirt. “Continue.”
Something fierce flared in his expression. This time, when his mouth found hers, she met him without hesitation. He removed the remaining silk with agonizing patience, waiting for every nod before moving forward. When his hand slid between her thighs, Aria tensed.
Damien froze. “Look at me.”
She met his gaze.
“Do you want my hand here?”
“Yes.”
He touched her slowly, reading every shift in her breathing. Pleasure built until she could no longer remain quiet, her voice breaking in the darkened room as he held her through it.
When the haze cleared, Aria reached for the buckle of his trousers.
Damien caught her wrist gently. “Not tonight.”
Confusion cut through the warmth. “Why?”
“Because I want your first time with me to happen when you are not trying to prove a point.”
“I have control, Damien.”
“You do.” He brought her knuckles to his mouth. “And that is why I am stopping.”
He wrapped her robe around her shoulders and carried her down the long hallway. At her suite, he set her down on her feet.
“You’re not coming in?” she asked.
“You did not invite me.”
Aria unlocked the heavy door, then paused, looking back at him in the low corridor light. “Damien.”
He waited.
“Thank you for stopping.”
His expression didn’t soften, but it opened enough for her to see the solitary violence underneath.
“Never thank a man for respecting the word no,” he said quietly. “Expect it.”
The next morning, Aria woke to the sound of work outside her door.
When she stepped into the hallway, the carpenter was packing his tools. The old electronic lock had been removed. In its place sat a sleek, reinforced deadbolt.
The inside panel required her gold key.
The outside had no keyhole at all.