Semua Bab Reclaiming Aria : Bab 61 - Bab 70

The library had been calm lately, a sleepy sort of quiet that let her catch up on cataloging and sip tea at her desk without interruption. With the slow trickle of readers and the town’s new obsession with outdoor fall festivals, her hours had shortened, giving her time to lean more into her side work. Which meant mornings at the print shop—where she could wear cozy flannels, sneakers, and pretend she wasn’t waiting for her phone to buzz and light up with his name. And afternoons on the couch, curled up with her laptop, combing through invoices and balancing books for her longtime client in the next county over. The work was light, manageable, and even satisfying in the way Aria loved—orderly, structured, hers. Mr. Moore at the hardware store had made her job too damn easy. The man kept his receipts like sacred scrolls—labeled, sorted, and dated in a plastic accordion file. She smiled just thinking about it. Bless that man. Bookkeeping had become a gentle rhythm. And every sin

The fall air had crisped into something softer, gentler, but Aria’s breath still clouded against the glass as she stood in her kitchen, flipping pancakes and watching the sun rise over the dew-dusted lawn. Sloane’s voice floated in from the dining room, laced with fatigue and something heavier—compromise. “I’m not thrilled about it, Ari. But I signed the paperwork last night.” Aria turned, spatula still in hand, brows pinched. “You’re really doing this? You, Sloane, are agreeing to co-parent with Mason fucking Dorsey?” Sloane stirred her coffee slowly, gaze fixed on the swirl of cream like it held answers. “Technically, I’m the third parent. Tanya made it a condition—she wanted someone on the paperwork who’d actually protect that baby. Someone who could step in if… anything happened.” Her voice dipped, a shadow crawling into her throat, but Aria didn’t miss it. “Anything like what, exactly?” Sloane shrugged, but it was too practiced. “You know Mason. He can be…” “Unhin

The next morning, the knock at the door is more command than request—sharp, relentless, and too damn early for anything innocent. Aria stumbles to the front, still wrapped in a fuzzy robe, one eye open, the other begging for five more minutes. She pulls the door open with a yawn mid-bloom—and is immediately greeted by Sloane standing there like the devil in Lululemon. One hand holds an iced chai, condensation dripping down the plastic like temptation. The other? A steaming black coffee and a single raised brow. “Rise and slut up, sweetheart,” Sloane purrs, pushing past her with zero shame. “We’ve got work to do—and by work, I mean making sure Calloway forgets how to f*cking breathe.” Aria blinks. “What—what time is it? Why are you like this?” “It’s slut o’clock and I’m like this because God gave me taste, audacity, and a best friend who needs a sexual revolution.” Aria groans, but she’s already sipping the coffee and dragging her feet toward the hallway. Sloane’s energy is buzzi

The hallway of the hotel smells like expensive soap and temptation. Inside Sloane’s room? Absolute chaos. “Sit down,” Sloane demands, spinning Aria toward the vanity like a general preparing her soldier for war. “Tonight? You’re not a librarian. You’re a goddamn weapon.” She yanks the flat iron through Aria’s thick dark hair, one slow pull after the other until it hangs like black silk down her back—sharp, gleaming, flawless. It falls around her shoulders like a blade in waiting. Bone straight. Ruthless. Sloane steps back, arms crossed, eyes gleaming. “Hair? Check. Face? Check. Confidence?” She raises a brow. Aria swallows, nerves twisting tight in her belly. “Pending.” Sloane tosses her a wicked smile. “Not for long.” They move to the bed where the trench coat lays—pressed and perfect. Aria shrugs it on, the satin lining cool against her bare skin. Underneath? The sheer black teddy they picked two days ago. High cut at the hips. Deep plunge at the chest. She’s not even wearing

His lips started at her throat, dragging down with maddening care—pressing kisses like vows into every inch of her skin. The hollow of her collarbone. The curve of her breast. The trembling rise of her stomach. He didn’t rush. No, baby, Kade was a man on a mission. And his mission was devotion. He looked up at her from between her thighs, voice low and ragged. “Look at me, Aria.” Her eyes met his—and she swore her soul caught fire. “I want you to remember this. Every time you close your eyes. Every fucking time someone says my name.” She whimpered his name like a prayer. He kissed just above the lace of her panties, teeth grazing her skin. Hands sliding up her thighs slow enough to drive her out of her mind. He untied those dainty little bows like he was unwrapping a secret made just for him. “Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered, eyes wild, reverent. And then he tasted her. One slow, deep lick—and she arched off the bed like she’d been struck by light