Chapter 13: Between Her Thighs

ARIA'S POV

The entire mansion shook when I slammed the door. I swear, the windows rattled in their frames like they were just as pissed as I was.

"Ugh!" I roared, pacing like a feral animal in a cage. "Fucking patriarchal, overbearing, controlling sons of bitches!"

I was a ticking time bomb. No—scratch that—I was a goddamn nuclear warhead with a broken countdown switch. I could still feel the heat in my blood, boiling just under my skin, ready to explode again. My chest rose and fell in rapid bursts as I clenched my fists, aching for something to hit.

I threw a punch at the wall.

"Ouch! Ouch! Motherf—" I cradled my hand, shaking it out. "Shit, that was dumb."

A fresh wave of rage tore through me.

None of them—none of them—were worth me bruising a single one of my perfectly manicured fingers. Not my father. Not his guards. And especially not that smug, overgrown icicle of a bodyguard named Alessandro.

"I hate him," I hissed under my breath, yanking off my dress in one violent motion and flinging it across the room. "I hate all of them."

My shoes followed next, one heel smacking loudly against the closet door. I didn’t care. I wanted destruction. I wanted a flamethrower.

I sat down hard on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, hair falling forward like a curtain as I tried to breathe through the storm. The silk sheets were cool against my thighs, a stark contrast to the fire raging in my chest.

It wasn’t just about today.

It was everything.

My whole life has been like a prison. A mansion full of rules and cameras and men with guns. A father who treated me like a porcelain doll ever since my mother died—as if grief made me breakable. As if I couldn’t take care of myself.

News flash: I could. Without his fucking guard following me around like a child.

I laid back naked on the bed, the sheets brushing over my skin like a whisper. I closed my eyes, letting the cool air kiss every inch of me, hoping it would calm the volcano inside me.

It didn’t.

But eventually, the exhaustion won. Somewhere between cursing Alessandro’s existence and plotting how I’d smuggle poison into his morning espresso, I drifted off to sleep.

And then—I felt it.

The soft brush of lips.

A kiss—slow and warm—pressed against my ankle. Then another. And another. Moving up. Trailing over the curve of my calf. Up my thigh.

I moaned softly, still half-asleep, my body responding before my brain could catch up. My legs parted instinctively, welcoming the attention.

More kisses.

Between my thighs now.

A low whimper escaped my lips as pleasure curled low in my belly. My hands gripped the sheets as I arched slightly, chasing more.

And then—I felt it.

A mouth.

On my pussy.

Hot, wet, consuming.

My eyes flew open.

Blue.

Fucking Alessandro.

His icy blue eyes stared up at me from between my thighs, his mouth buried in my wetness like it belonged there.

“What the fuck—” I tried to speak, to push him away, to scream bloody murder.

But then his tongue flattened against my clit.

And I forgot every word I’ve ever known.

A broken moan escaped my lips as my body betrayed me, hips grinding into his face like he was my personal drug and I was long overdue for a hit.

No. No. No. No.

This wasn’t happening.

This was the man I hated.

The man who followed me like a shadow. The one who stared at me like I was nothing more than a spoiled brat with too many opinions. The man I just told I’d kill with my bare hands.

And now his tongue was inside me.

He sucked my clit gently, then rough, alternating until I was trembling beneath him.

“Fucking bastard,” I gasped, one hand burying itself in his dark hair.

He growled into me, and the vibration shot straight through my core.

Every flick of his tongue was merciless. Devastating. Like he’d studied me, memorized me, and now he was using every weapon in his arsenal to tear me apart.

"I hate you," I moaned, even as I rocked against his face, chasing the edge.

He didn’t answer.

Just bit down gently on my clit.

I screamed.

My back arched off the bed as I shattered, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. Wave after wave, wracking my body, my thighs clenching around his head as he kept licking, kept sucking, kept owning me.

He didn’t stop until I was shaking—until I was so sensitive I could barely breathe.

He pulled back slowly, licking his lips like he’d just devoured dessert. My arousal shimmered on his chin.

And then—he smirked.

The bastard smirked.

It was the first expression I’d ever seen on his cold, perfect face that wasn’t blank professionalism.

It was cocky.

It was sinful.

And it made something flutter in my stomach that I wanted to stab.

He reached for his belt.

The metal clinked, echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.

I sat up slightly, heart pounding, legs still spread and trembling, body soaked in aftershocks.

"Don’t you fucking dare," I hissed, breathless, furious, still high from the orgasm I didn’t want to have.

He didn’t answer.

Just stared at me like I was prey.

And he was finally ready to feast.