Page 50 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“I decide what I am willing to take from a woman who may hate herself afterward.”

Aria stared at him. Somewhere beneath his obsession lived a line he refused to cross. It didn’t make him good, but it gave her a foothold.

Slowly, she untied her robe and let it fall open, revealing the ivory silk set from her drawer.

Damien’s composure fractured in his eyes. “Aria.”

“I am twenty-seven years old,” she said, her voice steady. “I am sober. I know who you are.”

“You know almost nothing about me.”

“I know enough to despise your methods.”

“That is not consent.”

“No.” She took his bandaged hand and placed it against her waist. “This is.”

Damien didn’t pull away, but he didn’t advance either. “Tell me what you want.”

“Kiss me.”

“Where?”

Heat climbed her throat. “My mouth.”

“Only your mouth?”

“Until I say otherwise.”

Damien’s fingers tightened against her waist. “Good. You are learning.”

He kissed her. There was no pretense this time—no public audience, no legal pretense. His mouth took hers with controlled hunger, giving her time to stop him while making it almost impossible to want to. When his tongue traced her lips, Aria opened to him.

He drew her against his chest, his breath low and rough. Desire pressed between them, sharp and frightening in its intensity.

Aria broke the kiss to catch her breath.

Damien stopped instantly, his forehead resting against hers. “Continue?”

“Yes.”

“Say what you want.”

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

She guided his hand upward until his palm covered her breast through the silk. A gasp escaped her lips as his thumb moved slowly across the tightened peak.

“Here?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

He lowered his mouth to her neck, placing every kiss where her pulse betrayed her. His other hand slid beneath her silk top, tracing the curve of her spine.

“I still hate you,” she whispered into the dark.

“I know.”