Warning: This chapter contains mature content. Written with emotional intensity, sensual tension, and an intimate pace, as expected for a steamy contract-winning romance novel.
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It began with rain.
Heavy, thunderous, drumming against the windows like it was trying to get in.
Aria stood in the living room, wrapped in nothing but his robe. It still smelled like him—smoke and spice and something distinctly Leon.
The city lights blinked below, but her reflection in the glass stole her focus: flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes that looked more like a dare than a woman waiting.
Behind her, footsteps.
She didn't have to turn. She knew it was him.
She heard the way he exhaled. Like he'd been holding his breath for days.
"Aria," Leon said from behind her.
One word.
That was all it took.
She turned slowly. His eyes locked on her bare legs as the robe shifted higher on her thighs.
"I can't sleep," she said.
"You think I can?"
She stepped closer.
Lightning flashed. For a moment, their shadows danced like lovers across the walls.
"I'm tired of pretending this tension doesn't exist," she whispered. "Aren't you?"
Leon's jaw clenched. "It's not about pretending. It's about control."
"You're losing it."
He moved like a storm. One step. Two. Then his hand was in her hair, his mouth crashing into hers.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
She gasped as he backed her into the glass wall, the cold seeping into her spine while his heat devoured the rest of her.
The kiss was rough, needy—punctuated with low groans as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her against the hard length of him.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he growled against her throat.
"I know exactly what I'm asking for."
She reached down, tugged the belt of the robe loose.
It fell open.
He froze.
His breath shuddered out, gaze raking down the exposed curve of her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
"God, Aria…"
Then he was on her again, mouth hot and desperate against her chest, her collarbone, lower.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as he sank to his knees before her, kissing up the inside of her thigh with reverence and raw hunger.
She let her head fall back against the window, eyes fluttering shut, moaning his name like a confession.
Later, tangled in silk sheets, her body still thrumming from the aftermath, Aria turned toward him.
He lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was already regretting something.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.
"That I shouldn't have touched you."
She flinched. "Because you don't want me?"
He looked at her then. Dark. Dangerous. Devoted.
"No. Because now I don't think I can stop."
He rolled over, braced a hand beside her head.
"You've gotten under my skin, Aria Hale."
"You think I haven't noticed?"
He kissed her again. Slower this time. A promise and a warning.
"I don't do love," he murmured. "I ruin things."
"Then ruin me," she whispered.
And he did.
All night long.