I lean down, my mouth hovering just above hers, so close I can feel the heat of her breath mingling with mine, sweet and trembling. God, she smells like vanilla and innocence, a lethal combination that's haunted my dreams.
"But now?" I murmur, my lips brushing hers feather-light, teasing. "Now, you'll be my wife. And once that ring is on your finger, Aria, I’m done staying away."
"I haven't said yes," she breathes, her voice a shaky whisper, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine. “And I’m not sure I want you like that.”
"Liar," I growl, the word a dark promise. I could argue, tear down every flimsy wall she's built, but words are pointless when her body already betrays her. Not when showing her is so much sweeter. So, I crash my mouth down on hers.
It’s not gentle. It’s not a request. It’s a goddamn conquest. I kiss her like a man possessed, starving after months of denial, devouring the soft gasp of surprise that escapes her lips and slides straight into my soul. Her hands fly up to my chest, palms flat against the hard planes of muscle beneath my shirt, pushing—or trying to. But the second her fingers splay over me, feeling the thunder of my heartbeat, the resistance fractures. Her nails dig in, curling into the fabric, yanking me closer with a desperation that mirrors my own.
Fuck, she tastes like forbidden sin—warm honey and sleep-warmed skin, with a hint of the mint from her morning tea. It's intoxicating, flooding my veins with fire. I groan deep in my throat; the sound rumbling between us as I angle my head, my tongue sweeping past her parted lips to claim every inch of her mouth. She whimpers a high, needy sound that shootsstraight to my cock, hardening me painfully against the zipper of my pants. Her body arches into mine, her soft breasts pressing against my chest, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric of her shirt, begging for attention. It takes every ounce of my fraying control not to rip the damn thing off her right here.
My hands roam, one tangling in her silky hair to tilt her head just right, exposing the delicate column of her throat when I break for air only to nip at her jaw. The other slides down her side, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise, pulling her flush against me so she can feel exactly what she's doing to me. Feel the thick, insistent ridge of my erection grinding against her belly. She moans into my mouth, a broken, throaty sound that vibrates through me, her tongue tentatively tangling with mine now, sucking lightly in a way that makes my vision blur with lust.Shit, she's fire.My mind hazes with need.So responsive, so fucking perfect. Months of restraint, and she's unraveling me with one kiss.
I deepen it further, messy and unrelenting, teeth grazing her lower lip as I suck it between mine, tasting the faint copper of where I bite just hard enough to mark her as mine. Her legs part slightly, instinctively, her thigh brushing my leg, and she rocks against me with a shudder that I feel all the way to my bones. Her hands are everywhere now—clutching my shoulders, sliding up to fist my hair, pulling me impossibly closer. She's panting into the kiss, little mewls escaping with every sweep of my tongue, her body trembling, flushed and fever-hot under my touch. It's scorching, primal, the kind of kiss that obliterates reason and ignites empires.
But then, her whimpers shift—edged with overwhelm. Her pushes return, weaker but insistent against my chest. "Igor... stop," she gasps when I drag my mouth to her neck, sucking a mark into the pulse point that's hammering wildly. "Please... I can't... it's too much. Stop!"
The plea is ice water against my blazing skin. Every muscle locks as I lift my head, searching her wide, glassy eyes—pupils blown with arousal, cheeks streaked with tears of intensity, lips bruised and glistening. My chest heaves, cock throbbing in agony, but I release her instantly, stepping back a full pace, hands dropping to my sides. The restraint costs me, a savage growl trapped in my throat, but I do it. For her.
We're both panting, the air sucked out of our lungs by our shared desire. Her knees buckle slightly, and she presses a hand to her swollen mouth, looking utterly wrecked—terrified, aroused, alive.
"That," I say, my voice scraped raw, "is what you’re agreeing to."
She stares at me, chest rising and falling in jagged bursts, unable to form words.
"I want you, Aria. Not just for the arrangement. Not just for my grandmother." I reach into my pocket, pulling out the velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the ring glinting like a vow. "I want you in my bed. In my life. And I’m tired of pretending I don't." The diamond glitters, sharp and cold against the heat we just generated.
"You have until tomorrow," I say, though I know the timeline is unfair. I take her hand—her trembling, small hand—and press the ring into her palm. I don't put it on her finger. I won't force this part. "Think about it."
I step back, putting distance between us before I lose control again. Before I lift her onto that counter and finish what that kiss started.
"Tomorrow, Aria."
I turn and walk out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there with swollen lips and a diamond in her hand.
I make it to the hallway before I have to stop and lean against the wall, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. My blood is roaring in my ears.
What the hell am I doing?
This was supposed to be a simple gift for my grandmother. Nothing more. But the taste of her is still on my tongue, and I fucking know that there is nothing simple about Aria Lane. And if she says yes, I’m never letting her go.
Aria
Theplatinumbandiscold. Heavy. It catches the lamplight, throwing a single, sharp spark of white against the wall. A star in my room. A brand.
My fingers curl into a fist, burying the diamond against my palm. If I can’t see it, maybe the oxygen will return to the room. It doesn’t. The metal bites into my skin—a perfect, unyielding circle.
I push off the bed. Three steps to the window. Three steps back to the door. The carpet is already matted down from where I’ve paced a trench over the last eight months. This room used to be the only place I could breathe. Now, the walls are closing in.
The sound of an engine cuts through the silence outside—low, powerful, crunching over the gravel of the drive.
He’s back.
I glance at the digital clock. Nine-fifteen. He’s been gone all day, leaving me to spiral from his proposal and the ring burning a hole in my hand.
Igor is offering everything. Stability. My own grandmother—the one whose memory is a warm, faded quilt on the worst nights—would tell me to be smart. To protect myself. But she would also see the emptiness I hide behind scrubs and sweaters. She would see the way I cling to Galina, soaking up affection like it’s the only water in my desert.
I stop pacing. My reflection in the dark windowpane stops with me. Navy blue scrubs. Hair slipping out of a messy bun. Eyes too wide, too dark.
