Chapter 58
Aria's POV
"You're shaking," Devon observed quietly, his voice a low rumble I could feel against my back.
I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "It's been a long night."
He guided me deeper into his suite, his hand barely touching the small of my back. The room was similar to Ethan's but arranged differently—darker furnishings, minimalist decor, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Manhattan's glittering skyline.
"Ethan might still be looking for me," I said, moving toward the door.
Devon stepped aside, gesturing to the peephole. "See for yourself."
I approached cautiously and peered through. The hallway appeared empty at first, but then the elevator doors opened. My breath caught as Scarlett emerged, wearing a white sundress that made her look impossibly innocent. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves around her shoulders.
"Ethan?" she called softly, glancing around. "What's happening? Did my sister make you unhappy again?"
Ethan appeared from around the corner, his tie loosened and hair disheveled. He quickly pulled Scarlett into a hushed conversation, their heads bent together conspiratorially. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the intimacy was unmistakable. When he finally kissed her, it wasn't a hasty, guilty peck—it was deep and familiar, the kind of kiss that spoke of established patterns and comfortable habits.
My stomach turned as I watched him usher her into his suite, his hand possessively pressed against her lower back.
I stepped away from the door, finding Devon leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, observing my reaction.
"Want to go out there and catch them in the act?" he asked, his tone casual as if suggesting we order room service.
I twisted the diamond ring on my finger—Ethan's gaudy proposal gift that now felt like a joke. "The timing isn't right," I replied calmly. "My performance isn't over yet."
Devon's eyes dropped to the ring, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "That thing is hideous."
"It's not about aesthetics. It's about what it represents."
"And what's that? A chain?" He pushed himself off the wall and approached me slowly. "Or maybe just another prop in your little revenge play?"
The intensity in his eyes made my breath catch. There was anger there, certainly, but something else too—something darker and more primal that made my pulse quicken.
"It doesn't matter what you think," I said, aiming for dismissive but landing somewhere closer to breathless.
"Take it off."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
Devon was suddenly right in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—cedarwood and sandalwood, expensive and subtle. "Seeing you wear his ring makes me angry." His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"That sounds like a personal problem."
His eyes darkened. "He should be thanking whatever god he believes in that he didn't touch you tonight. I'm not entirely sure what I would have done."
Before I could process the possessiveness in that statement, Devon's hand shot out, capturing my wrist. His grip was firm, expertly calibrated to the edge of discomfort without crossing into pain.
"Take off the ring, Aria." It wasn't a request this time.
I met his gaze defiantly. "Our agreement doesn't include you telling me what jewelry I can wear."
His grip tightened slightly. "This isn't a request."
The tension between us crackled like electricity. I knew I should be offended, should pull away and remind him of boundaries. Instead, I found myself slowly sliding the ring from my finger, my eyes never leaving his.
Devon snatched it from my palm the moment it was free and tossed it onto a nearby table. In one fluid motion, he pushed me against the wall, his body caging mine.
"Our agreement hasn't expired yet," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Tonight, you listen to my commands. Only mine."
A shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from a treacherous, growing desire. Why did I find his dominance so appealing when Ethan's had repulsed me?
"Take off your dress," Devon commanded, his finger tracing the line of my spine through the fabric.
I hesitated, my breath coming faster as his fingers deftly found my zipper.
"I said," his voice dropped lower, "take off your dress."
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the zipper, slowly sliding it down. Devon stepped back, his eyes burning a path across every inch of skin I revealed. I let the dress pool at my feet, standing before him in nothing but my lace underwear.
The vulnerability should have been uncomfortable, but there was something in Devon's gaze—a heat, yes, but also an appreciation that went beyond mere lust—that made me feel more powerful than exposed.
"Turn around," he instructed, his voice gentle despite its commanding tone. "Hands on the wall."
I complied, feeling the cool surface beneath my palms. I heard the soft rustle of fabric as Devon removed his tie, then felt the silk against my wrists as he bound them together.
"Too tight?" he asked, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I shook my head, unable to form words.
He guided me to the bed, securing my bound wrists to the headboard. "I don't like sharing what's mine," he said, trailing kisses down my neck. "Tonight, I need you to remember that."
His lips traveled lower, leaving a path of fire across my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach. Each kiss felt like a brand, marking me as his. When his teeth grazed my skin, leaving small, possessive marks, I gasped.
"Devon," I whispered, my body arching toward him.
"Say it again," he commanded, his fingers dancing along the waistband of my underwear.
"Devon, please."
He looked up, his gray eyes dark with desire. "Please what, Aria? Tell me exactly what you want."
The words caught in my throat. I'd never been asked to vocalize my desires so explicitly before.
Devon's hand stilled. "If you want something, you have to ask for it."
"Touch me," I finally managed. "Please, touch me."
A smile curved his lips—not the cold, business smile I was used to, but something warmer, more genuine. "Good girl."
His fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding me already wet and aching. I moaned as he explored me slowly, deliberately, building a rhythm that had me straining against my bonds.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "I want you to remember who's making you feel this way tonight."
I forced my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. There was possession there, yes, but also something that looked almost like reverence.
When he finally replaced his fingers with his mouth, I nearly came undone. His tongue worked against me with expert precision, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. Just as I was about to fall, he pulled back.
"Not yet," he said, his voice strained with his own need. "I want to be inside you when you come."
He quickly shed his remaining clothes, revealing the powerful body I'd glimpsed that night in his apartment. I watched, mesmerized, as he rolled on protection, then positioned himself between my legs.
"Are you ready for me?" he asked, his control slipping just enough to show his desperation.
"Yes," I breathed. "Please, Devon."