Chapter 7 – The First Kiss
The storm had passed, but the memory of Damien's touch clung to Aria like the dampness of rain. She hadn't been able to focus on anything all day — not her classes, not the books in front of her, not even her own restless thoughts.
So when she found herself back in the quiet study hall that evening, she wasn't surprised to see him there. Some part of her had known he would be.
Damien was seated by the tall windows, moonlight spilling across his face as he turned the pages of a book. He didn't look up immediately, but she knew he felt her presence. He always did.
"Aria," he said softly, closing the book. Her name lingered on his lips like a secret.
She walked closer, her heart hammering, the silence between them charged. "You always seem to know when I'm around."
"Maybe I'm looking for you," he replied, his eyes locking with hers, dark and magnetic.
Her breath caught. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the distant ticking of the old clock on the wall, marking the seconds between them.
Then Damien stood, slow, deliberate, as though every motion was a test of her resolve. He came closer until he was just a breath away. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the pull that had been tormenting her for days.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice husky, edged with restraint.
Aria shook her head. She didn't trust her voice, but the fire in her eyes told him everything.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face upward. His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, and her body shivered in response. The world seemed to narrow until nothing existed but the space between them.
And then, finally, he closed it.
Their lips met in a kiss that was at once soft and desperate. Slow at first — a test, a taste — then deeper, hungrier, as if both had been starving for this moment. His hand slid into her hair, anchoring her as her fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss wasn't frantic, but it burned. Every brush of his lips, every teasing stroke of his tongue was deliberate, intoxicating, designed to unravel her piece by piece. Her body pressed against his instinctively, seeking more, needing more.
When he finally pulled back, their breaths mingled, ragged and uneven. His forehead rested against hers, his lips still hovering dangerously close.
"Aria," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "you don't know how long I've been holding back."
She swallowed, her lips tingling, her body trembling with need. "Then don't."
His soft chuckle vibrated through her. He kissed her again, slower this time, more controlled — as if reminding them both that this was just the beginning. A promise of what was to come.
When he finally let her go, she could barely stand. Her lips felt swollen, her body aflame, her mind dizzy with want.
And for the first time, she understood — this was no longer a game of glances and brushes of hands. The line had been crossed.
And there was no going back.