Page 78 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“Last chance,” he rasped, his voice raw.

“Not yours,” she whispered, her thighs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling his weight directly over her. “Mine.”

She pulled him down into the sheets.

When he drove into her, the impact was deep and unyielding, a searing friction that made them both gasp. It was intense, visceral, and emotionally raw—a collision of months of anger, possession, and buried longing. Damien took his time with every thrust, buried to the hilt, pausing only when her breath hitched, his jaw tight as he fought his own desire to lose control completely.

Aria met every heavy stroke, her hands gripping his shoulders, her hips rising to meet him. She refused to yield or disappear beneath him. She held his burning gaze through every hard, agonizingly slow roll of his hips, forcing him to witness her actively choosing him, taking him, matching his intensity stride for stride.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice strained, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he drove deeper, faster.

“Ask me.”

His forehead slammed against hers, his chest slick with sweat, his breath ragged against her lips. “Please, Aria. Please.”

The word, spoken with raw, undone reverence by a man who had only ever commanded, shattered the last barrier between them.

“Damien.”

He lost all restraint. His pace turned frantic, hard, and desperate, burying himself inside her until a final, shattering crest overtook them both. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddering violently as he spilled inside her, her name breaking from his lips like a prayer.

Afterward, he held her in the quiet dark, his heavy body weight resting beside hers without trapping her. His hand rested palm-up on the tangled sheets between them, waiting patiently until she voluntarily slid her fingers into his.

At dawn, before the household awoke, Aria dressed and left.

Damien watched her go from the bed, but he did not try to stop her.

He asked her on their first date the next day. She said no, mostly to test him, but when he asked her out for coffee, she agreed. It was nice to just talk to him, to learn who he was outside of their contract. They started having dinner together nightly, but she didn’t move back in.

Three weeks after their tryst, standing in the bright fluorescent light of a pharmacy bathroom three blocks from her hotel room, Aria stared down at the counter.

Two bold pink lines appeared on the plastic test.

Chapter Nineteen: Bloodline

The second test was positive. So was the third.

Aria sat on the edge of the closed toilet lid and stared at the three plastic sticks lined across the granite sink like evidence.

She had taken precautions. But nothing in medicine—or in life—was absolute. Neither was timing.

Bloodline was the Blackthorne religion. Names opened doors, buried scandals, and dictated who was considered worthy of an inheritance. Aria had never cared about a surname. Watching Augustus speak about blood as destiny had made her realize how thoroughly the family had confused legacy with ownership.

She picked up the tests, wrapped them tightly in tissue, and slid them into the bottom zip of her handbag. Her child would never become another bargaining chip on a Blackthorne ledger.

When she checked her phone, two missed calls flashed on the screen—both from her mother’s private medical coordinator.

Fear instantly replaced shock.

Aria arrived at the clinic twenty minutes later. Dr. Patel met her outside Evelyn’s glass-fronted room in the intensive care unit.

“Your mother developed sudden, severe kidney and liver abnormalities overnight,” Dr. Patel said, her expression grave.

“Why?” Aria demanded, her heart hammering against her ribs. “She was stable yesterday.”

“We’re running panels for acute infection, adverse drug reaction, and toxic exposure.”

Aria looked through the double-paned glass. Evelyn was conscious but visibly failing, her skin pale and grey beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.