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Dion grabs my left hand in his and runs his thumb over my engagement ring. It feels like a prison, confining me to a destiny I didn’t write, binding me by a chain.
“Now, answer me, Aria. When do you need me, if not just when you need saving?” he asks again, right into my ear.
“Always,” I whisper.
His lips are now touching my earlobe as he inhales sharply. “Say it again,” he demands.
“I always need you, Dion,” I mumble.
His hand travels up my thigh, fingers trailing over my skin, all the way up to my chest, before he puts his palm flat over my heart.
“This heart beats for me,” he states.
It isn’t a question, but I nod, letting out a breathless yes.
“In spite of everything, I’ve only ever had one want,” he continues. “My need for you goes beyond anything that can be put into words. It’s madness, Aria. To have the burning desire to be with a woman I can’t have. Take me out of my misery, I beg you.”
My heart skips two beats at his plea, his words striking me right in the depths of my soul. I can’t take this anymore.
I want to tell him I picture his face every time I look into my fiancé’s eyes. I want him to hear how much I yearn to be with him.
I want to end his suffering. And mine.
I open my mouth to say something, but Dion stops me by removing his hand from my chest and bringing his fingers to my lips, closing them gently.
He doesn’t want to hear my rejection.
I close my eyes and squeeze them shut, tears threatening to fall.
Dion brings his face down to my neck and buries it in the curve, inhaling long and hard, soaking up every ounce of my scent.
A pool of wetness gathers in between my legs at his feral gesture, and I suddenly want to open myself up to him, body, and soul. My body begs to be touched by him. Every ache is screaming his name.
He senses the shift in my body language and bites down on my neck, gently sucking and swirling his tongue along my skin.
I close my legs, but it does nothing to relieve the pressure now concentrated right at my throbbing clit.
He removes his mouth from my neck and puts his hand down my dress, cups my right breast in his hand and pinches my nipple, sending ripples down my body.
“We shouldn’t do this here, Dion,” I manage to say.
“No, we shouldn’t,” he confirms. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to.”
I try to find the courage to speak. To thank him for saving me and leave.
Instead, I do something I might come to regret tomorrow morning.
I slide over to Dion and lean in, heart almost beating out of my chest, and press my lips to his. His warmth sends a surge of electricity through my veins, as if every nerve in my body has suddenly awakened at his touch.
And it’s as if a floodgate has been opened.
His lips start to move against mine, matching my rhythm before he grabs me by the back of the head and deepens the kiss. I moan into his mouth.
A rush of need flows through me, and I want more.
Our kiss becomes frantic, as if we’re going to wake up from a beautiful dream and realize this was only our imagination.
Dion nips at my bottom lip. My exhales turn rugged, hard, desperate. I climb on top of him, my dress rising up my legs. He squeezes my thighs, not once letting go of my lips, and pulls me closer to his crotch, his dick hard through his trousers.
