Chapter 9 – On the Edge
Aria didn't remember how they ended up in Damien's private loft that evening. One moment they were leaving class together, the next she was standing in his apartment — sleek glass, shadows, the faint scent of cedar and something distinctly him — and suddenly, the silence between them was unbearable.
Damien didn't speak. He just looked at her with that dark, hungry gaze that made her breath catch. And then he moved.
His lips crashed onto hers, rougher this time, urgent, as though restraint had finally snapped. Aria gasped, her back hitting the wall as his body pressed against hers, pinning her there. His mouth devoured hers, every kiss deeper, hotter, pulling a moan from her throat she couldn't suppress.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging, needing him closer. He groaned low, primal, sliding his tongue against hers, claiming every inch of her mouth until her knees trembled.
Then his hands were on her — at her waist, sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through her thin blouse. She gasped into his mouth, heat surging through her.
"Damien…" she whispered, half a plea, half a surrender.
He growled softly against her lips, his hand slipping beneath her blouse now, skin on skin. His fingers splayed across her bare waist, tracing the dip of her back. She arched into him instinctively, desperate for more.
His mouth left hers to blaze a trail down her throat, biting softly at the tender skin, sucking at her pulse point until she whimpered. His teeth grazed her collarbone, and her body bucked against his.
Her hands slid under his shirt, exploring the hard muscles of his chest, the heat of his skin. He groaned, deep and guttural, pressing himself tighter against her, and she felt him — hard, undeniable — straining against his control.
Her blouse was tugged halfway open now, her bra strap slipping down her shoulder as his mouth followed, nipping, kissing, tasting. She clung to him, lost in the fire, her moans filling the quiet loft.
For a heartbeat, nothing existed but the wild rhythm of their bodies grinding together, desperate, needy, on the brink of surrender.
And then—he stopped.
Damien pressed his forehead to hers, his chest heaving, his grip on her waist tight as if holding himself back by sheer force of will.
"Aria," he rasped, voice rough with desire, "if I take you now… I won't be gentle."
Her lips parted, her body trembling, every part of her aching for him. "Then don't be," she whispered, raw and reckless.
He cursed under his breath, dragging his mouth over hers one last time — a kiss so fierce it stole her breath — before tearing himself away. He stepped back, fists clenched, eyes burning.
Aria slid down the wall, her blouse hanging open, lips swollen, chest rising and falling rapidly. She had never felt so undone, so alive, so desperate.
He turned away, his voice strained. "Next time… I won't stop."
And she knew he meant it.