Chapter 150
Aria's POV
Devon drove with one hand on the steering wheel, his eyes frequently darting to the rearview mirror. I slumped against the leather seat, fighting the fog that threatened to swallow my consciousness. The drug Ethan had forced down my throat was working quickly, making the city lights blur into streaks of neon.
"Stay with me, Aria." Devon's voice cut through the haze. "We're almost there."
I wanted to respond, but my tongue felt like lead. My skin burned with unnatural heat, and my limbs had the disturbing weightlessness of a marionette with cut strings. The memory of Ethan's hands on me, the chair, the champagne laced with GHB – it all swirled together in a nauseating kaleidoscope.
When we finally reached Devon's building, he carried me from the car with surprising ease for someone with a recent gunshot wound. The elevator ride was a blur. I was vaguely aware of the doors opening directly into his penthouse, then being rushed through the sleek modern space.
Cold. That was my first coherent thought as Devon placed me in his massive walk-in shower, fully clothed, and turned on the water. The icy spray hit my skin like needles, shocking my system.
"What—" I gasped, trying to escape the frigid deluge.
"It'll help clear your head," he said, holding me firmly under the spray. "GHB metabolizes quickly. Cold helps slow absorption."
I sputtered and shivered, my soaked clothes clinging to my body. Gradually, the fog lifted slightly. My thoughts became less disjointed, though the drug still pulsed through my system, making everything feel surreal and hypersensitive.
Devon turned off the water and stepped closer, his gray eyes scanning my face. "Where did he touch you?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
His fingers traced my cheek where Ethan had struck me, then moved to my lips, swollen from fighting against the champagne glass. When his fingertips brushed my neck where Ethan's hands had squeezed, I flinched.
"Here?" he asked, and I nodded.
Something dark flashed in his eyes. The touch that had begun as clinical assessment shifted, becoming something else entirely. My body responded with a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the drug. I leaned into his touch, drawn by something beyond rational thought.
"Devon..." My voice was barely a whisper.
He abruptly stepped back, as if catching himself. "You need to get out of these wet clothes."
Before I could respond, he lifted me again and carried me to his bedroom. He placed me on the edge of his bed, towering over me, his expression unreadable.
"If you want my help," he said, "you'll have to ask for it."
The combination of the drug and his proximity was overwhelming. Pride warred with need inside me. I knew what he wanted – total surrender.
"Please," I finally whispered, the word catching in my throat.
"Please what, Aria?" He remained unmoved.
"Please, Devon." I looked up at him, no longer certain if it was the drug or my own desire speaking. "I need you."
That was all it took. Despite his wound, despite everything, we came together with an intensity that bordered on desperation. My wet clothes vanished, his followed, and we lost ourselves in each other. The drug heightened every sensation to an almost unbearable degree.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, I found myself taking control, straddling him, mindful of his bandaged abdomen. His eyes widened in surprise before darkening with pleasure.
"Look at you," he murmured, his hands gripping my hips. "Taking what you want."
Later, as we lay tangled in his sheets, he brushed damp hair from my face. "I should let you take charge more often," he said, wincing slightly. "I've exerted myself too much. The wound hurts like hell."
I drifted to sleep with his arms around me, the drug finally releasing its hold.
When I woke, Devon was gone. Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My head pounded dully, but my thoughts were clear again. On the nightstand, I found a glass of water, two pain relievers, and a set of new clothes in exactly my size.
As I sat up, I heard voices outside the bedroom door.
"Where is Ethan now?" Devon's voice, cold and precise.
"He's been taken to Eden, sir." Marcus replied. "As instructed."
"Good. I'll deal with him personally."
I heard Marcus' concerned tone. "Sir, your wound—the stitches have torn. You need medical attention before—"
"Later," Devon cut him off. "This can't wait."
Their footsteps receded, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The memories of last night flooded back – not just Ethan's attack, but what had happened afterward with Devon. Heat crept up my neck as I recalled the intimacy we'd shared, how I'd taken control at the end. Had that really been me?
After showering and changing into the clothes Devon had left – a simple cashmere sweater and designer jeans that fit perfectly – I wandered into his kitchen. If he was going to help me after being injured, the least I could do was prepare breakfast.
I instructed his housekeeper on what to buy: organic eggs, avocados, sprouted grain bread, and a specific herbal tea.
"This tea helps him sleep," the older woman commented, eyeing the package I'd requested.
"He has trouble sleeping?" I asked, surprised.
"Always has," she nodded. "These foods calm him. You know him well."
I didn't correct her assumption. Instead, I focused on preparing a meal worthy of my gratitude.
By the time I finished, Marcus had returned. He seemed startled to find me in the kitchen.
"Mr. Kane asked me to take you to Eden when you're ready, Ms. Harper," he said formally.
"Eden? Eden is his property?" I asked.
"Yes... it belongs to Mr. Kane."
I gathered the food into containers, determined to bring them along. In the car, I wondered what I would say to Devon. How do you thank someone for saving you from assault, then taking care of you afterward?
The last time I visited Eden, Richard harassed me. I still felt uncomfortable about this place. Marcus led me through security and down a corridor to an elegant office. When the door opened, I saw Devon standing by the window, his white shirt cuff stained with what looked unmistakably like blood.
"Devon?" I called softly, trying for a playful tone. "I missed you this morning."
He turned, his expression briefly softening before returning to its usual mask.
"Checking up on me, Aria?" he asked, his voice light but his eyes intense.
I held up the containers. "I brought breakfast. To say thank you."
"For what? Last night not satisfying enough?" His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile.
I set the food down, noticing more blood on his knuckles. A chill ran through me.
"Is that blood?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Devon lifted his hand, examining it casually. "Guess whose," he said, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
My heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked with mine, cold and unreadable.