I bite her lower lip, claiming it, claiming her, then release her enough to see the war in her eyes. Aria pulls back, leaning against the headboard, dragging the sheet up over herself. She turns her head toward the dark stretch of ocean beyond the glass.
“It’s not that simple, Cyan.” Her voice is unsteady. She rubs her arms. “You can’t just decide that. You don’t get to claim me like some prize.”
The words land between us like a weight. I want to lay her back down and fuck the argument right out of her. Instead, I turn away and head into the bathroom. When I come back, she’s curled under the sheets, body marked in ways only the two of us will recognize. My mark, my fingerprints, and my seed are still inside her. I sit on the edge of the bed with a warm, damp towel and slowly drag the sheet back. “Open your legs.” My tone is softer now. Coaxing, not commanding.
She hesitates, then obeys. I clean her with slow, careful strokes. She says nothing, but her eyes tell the story—the war between wanting and resistance. She knows she’s slipping. I slide my fingers along the inside of her thigh, watching the little twitch she can’t hide. “Look at me.” She doesn’t. Stares past my shoulder instead. “Aria.” My fingers brush over her clit, light and teasing. Just enough to make her breath hitch, to remind her that for all her protests, her body already answers to me.
“Cyan… please let me go.” Her voice cracks. “I’ve given you what you wanted.” She swallows. “I’m not the right person for you. I bring chaos to the people I care about.”
My jaw tightens. I drop the towel and lean in, closing the distance between us. “You think I don’t know how broken you feel?” My thumb finds her again, circling with agonizing laziness. Her hips jerk. “That you don’t deserve happiness? That you ruin everything you love?”
Her eyes squeeze shut. She believes it. Every poisonous word. “That’s a lie.” I tell her, before brushing my mouth over hers with caressing kisses. My thumb presses more firmly against her sensitive nub, drawing a whimper from her lips. “You are the right person for me,” I breathe out, my promise. “I see you.” My fingers rub slow, torturous circles.
She moans, the sound raw. “What is it about you? Why can’t I make myself run?”
I slide lower, my shoulders nudging her knees apart. “Because in my shadow, you shine brighter than anyone else,” I say into the inside of her thigh. Then I drag my tongue slowly through her folds.
She comes apart with a broken sound, fingers fisting in my hair, pulling me closer. I chuckle into her, the vibration making her gasp. Her taste is addictive; sweet, earthy, entirely hers.
I lick, suck, tease, my tongue circling her clit, my beard abrading her in a way that makes her whimper and grind against my face. My cock throbs, heavy and aching; I wrap my free hand around it, stroking in time with my tongue.
She’s babbling now—words I don’t catch, only feel. Her thighs shake around my head. She’s close.
One sharp nip at her clit and she breaks moaning my name as she grinds against my mouth, soaking my tongue, my chin, like she can’t get close enough. I savor it, every second, every drop.
When I pull back, my cock is at the razor’s edge. She’s watching me, eyes glazed, chest heaving.
I stroke my length once, twice, and with a violent grunt, I spill across her mound, heat striping her skin. Another mark and warning that this goddess belongs to me.
I smear it over her, coating her pussy with me. A primal instinct, older than language. Wanting her covered in my scent so anyone with eyes, anyone with sense, knows she’s taken.
Forcing myself to step away, I head back to the bathroom for another warm towel. I want to take care of her. When I return, the bed is empty. The door stands open.
Before I can follow, she walks back in, still naked, holding two bottles of water. She stops in front of me and holds one out.
“Here.”
I take it. “Thanks.” I trail my fingers along her jaw, tilting her face up. “I’m nothing like other men, Aria. My obsession with you isn’t going to end.”
My thumb grazes her lower lip before I crouch and wipe her clean, slowly and thoroughly. Her eyes flicker with acceptance, maybe fear. It doesn’t matter. She’s mine.
She swallows. “What happens now?”
Instead of answering, I move to the bedside table, blocking her view as I open the drawer. When I turn back, the ring glints in my hand for barely a second before I slide it onto her finger.
“Next,” I say, leaving no room for argument. “We’re getting married.”
Forty
“Pleasure is never free. It marks you, claims you, and when it’s wrapped in power, it demands a price your soul may not be ready to pay.”—Aria Boschett.
Waking up with sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Cyan is gone—of course he is with everything going on. I stretch my deliciously sore body as memories of last night with Cyan flood back. The way we came together was raw and primal, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.Now I understand Tasha’s addiction. Remembering his mouth on me sends heat licking across my skin, desire pulsing like a slow-burning flame. If anyone asked, I’d swear I glimpsed the pearly gates.
The fear I expect to wake up with never comes. No panic. No regret. Just a steady awareness humming under my skin, like something in me has finally stopped fighting itself. I tell myself that if I give in–if I let him have me–I’ll lose. But lying here now, I realize the truth is simpler and more terrifying. The line wasn’t holding me back. It was holding the lies I told myself together. And now that I’ve crossed it, I can’t pretend this is just attraction anymore. I lift my left hand. The diamond catches the morning light.Would it have killed him to actually ask me?Yet a darker part of me thrills at his possessive choice, and that terrifies me more than anything. The ring is just him making it legal. Cyan, being who he is, decided our fate long before he slid it onto my finger.
How long has it been waiting, tucked inside the drawer of the bedside table? I searched every crevice of this room when he left me alone during those first days here. Last night, after he slid the ring on my finger, I let him lead me to the bed, bend me over, and fuck me again, without a condom, while I screamed his name, and begged him not to stop. He’d mentioned so casually that he knew I was on birth control. While that’s technically true, sometimes I forget to take the pill on time. I need to remember now more than ever. I slide the ring off, turning it to inspect the inner band. An inscription catches my eye:Mo Ghrá thú.My fingers trace the delicate engraving, wondering what it means, but guilt quickly overshadows my curiosity.
Memories of Ethan and the FBI agents replay vividly in my mind. Trust means everything in Cyan’s world, and I’m hiding something significant. Right now, my life feels like a reality show I can’t look away from. Engagement ring, mob fiancé, secret FBI meetings. Ethan is just a memory now. I didn’t tell the agents anything. I refused their request outright. Keeping this secret isn’t betrayal...right?I slide the ring back onto my finger and make a mental note to look up the phrase later. With a sigh, I rise from the bed and walk to the window. The ocean stretches beyond the cliffs, and the brightness of the sky puts a smile on my face.
