Chapter Five

Aria Pov 

I am already getting wet.

The words stayed locked behind my teeth, but my body had already confessed. His hand slid higher under my shirt, palm warm and sure, thumb brushing the underside of my breast until my back arched off the bed. He kissed me again, slower this time, tasting the residual bourbon on my tongue, and I opened for him without hesitation.

He pulled back just far enough to look at me.

“What’s your name?”

The question was quiet, almost conversational, as if we were not already tangled together, as if his towel was not the only thing left between us.

I shook my head. “Does it matter?”

“It matters.” His fingers traced the edge of my bra, then slipped beneath it, finding the tight peak of my nipple and rolling it once. A soft, broken sound left my throat. “Tell me.”

“Aria,” I whispered.

He repeated it once, low, like he was testing the shape of it in his mouth. Then his hand left my breast, traveled down my stomach, and stopped at the button of my pants.

“Who hurt your face, Aria?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I do.” He popped the button open anyway, slid the zipper down, and slipped his hand inside. The first brush of his fingers against the damp fabric of my underwear made my hips lift. He pressed harder, rubbing slow circles exactly where I needed them. “Tell me.”

“Someone who doesn’t matter anymore,” I managed. “Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He pushed the underwear aside and sank one long finger into me without warning. The stretch pulled a gasp from my lungs. He watched my face the entire time, eyes dark, expression controlled even as his breathing deepened.

“You’re soaked,” he said. “Is this for me?”

I nodded, unable to form words.

He added a second finger and curled them, finding a spot that made my thighs shake. “Answer me properly.”

“Yes. It’s for you.”

He rewarded me with a deeper stroke, thumb settling over my clit at the same time. The dual pressure stole the rest of my thoughts. I reached for the knot of his towel with clumsy hands. He let me. The white fabric fell away, and then he was completely bare, thick and hard, the head already glistening. I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked once, from base to tip. A low sound rumbled in his chest.

“Careful,” he said, voice rougher now. “I’ve been hard since I walked out of that bathroom and saw you on this bed.”

The confession sent another rush of heat between my legs. He pulled his fingers free, leaving me empty and aching, then hooked both hands into my pants and underwear and dragged them down my legs in one motion. My shirt and bra followed. In seconds I was as naked as he was.

He settled between my thighs, the heavy heat of his cock resting against my wetness, but he didn’t push inside. Instead he braced himself over me and asked another question.

“Why are you in this hotel alone?”

“I needed somewhere to go.” My voice cracked when he rolled his hips, sliding the length of himself along my clit. “Please— I want you inside me.”

“Even though you don’t know me?”

“Even if this is a dream,” I said, the words tumbling out. “Please. I want you inside me. Even if it’s a dream.”

Something shifted in his expression. He reached down, lined himself up, and pushed forward in one slow, relentless thrust. The stretch burned in the best way. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, hips flush against mine.

He stayed still for a moment, giving me time to adjust, then began to move. Deep, measured strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside me. Each time he bottomed out he ground against my clit, and the dual sensation built so fast I could barely breathe.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I forced my eyes open.

“Still want this?” he asked, thrusting harder. “Still want me inside you?”

“Yes— please— don’t stop—”

He kissed me again, swallowing the rest of my broken pleas, and fucked me deeper. The bed creaked beneath us. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, trying to pull him even closer. He gave me what I asked for, snapping his hips faster, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet suite.

One of his hands slid between us, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The orgasm crashed over me without warning. I clenched around him, crying out against his mouth, body shaking as the pleasure ripped through me in waves.

He rode me through it, never slowing, until the last tremor left my limbs. Then he pulled out, chest heaving, cock slick and flushed and still painfully hard.

He looked down at me, eyes nearly black, and asked the next question in a voice gone gravel-rough.

“Do you want to suck my dick.”