Page 77 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

Aria walked into the room and placed the divorce papers on the desk beside a stack of disconnected cables.

“No.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “Why?”

“Because I am not finished deciding what I want.”

“And tonight?” he asked, watching her every move.

She crossed the space between them until she stood directly in front of him. “Tonight, I want something the contract never purchased.”

Damien’s hands remained rigid at his sides, refusing to reach for her. “Say it.”

“You.”

His carefully constructed composure fractured. “Aria, if you are here because you think desire proves forgiveness—”

“It doesn’t.”

“If you think giving me your body restores balance between us—”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why?”

She reached out and rested her palm flat against his jaw, feeling the tension locked in his muscle. “Because you took choices from me for years, and I refuse to let that anger poison every choice I make now. I want you.” She paused, ”I am still furious with you. Both are true.”

Damien turned his head slightly, pressing his mouth into the warm center of her palm. “Tell me your rules.”

“You ask before anything new,” Aria said, her eyes locked onto his. “You stop the second I say stop. No restraints. No marks where anyone can see.”

“And afterward?”

“You let me leave if I choose to go.”

“Agreed.”

She kissed him first.

Damien remained entirely still—offering no force, taking no lead—until her fingers unbuttoned his shirt, pushing the heavy fabric down his arms. Only then did he lift her onto the edge of the empty control console, his hands anchoring at her waist, his mouth crashing against hers with the raw, starving desperation of many agonizing days without each other.

Every touch was heavy, deliberate, and electric with restraint.

“Here?” He growled against her throat, his hands sliding up the silk of her dress, gathering the fabric around her hips.

“Yes.”

“More?”

“Yes.”

He undressed her slowly, intentionally allowing her to strip away every layer of his clothing in return. His bare chest pressed against hers, skin hot, heart hammering against her palm. Nothing was demanded; every shift of weight was offered and claimed.

When his mouth dragged down her neck, over her collarbone, and lower, Aria gripped his hair, guiding his head without hesitation. Damien obeyed with ruthless, intoxicating precision. His tongue and hands moved with a dark, devouring focus, driving her up the edge of breathlessness until she arched off the desk, her fingers tangled in his hair, crying out as a wave of intense pleasure shattered her lingering defenses.

Before the tremor in her limbs could settle, he swept her into his arms and carried her down to the master bedroom.

At the edge of the wide mattress, he paused, her chest heaving against his, his dark eyes ablaze with a wild, feral heat he was struggling to contain.