Chapter 243
Aria's POV
I noticed Noah emerge from behind Devon, flashing me a "perfect" sign with his fingers before disappearing into the crowd. His lips silently mouthed something that looked like praise for my boldness. Before I could process this strange interaction, Devon closed the distance between us, his expression cold and controlled.
"Enjoying your new friends?" he asked, his eyes flicking to where the blond model had just retreated.
"It's not what it looks like," I said, gathering my purse. "This was all Sophia's idea—some kind of business development thing."
Watching Devon's jaw clench, I suddenly realized what Sophia might have been orchestrating. She'd arranged these models around me, perhaps hoping Devon would see. The thought made me feel simultaneously manipulated and amused.
"I'm taking you home," Devon announced, not a question but a command.
"Those guys were Sophia's doing," I tried to explain as we stepped outside into the cool night air. "She thought they might become clients."
"Get in the car," he replied, opening the passenger door of his sleek black Bentley.
As we drove through Brooklyn's glittering streets, the silence between us grew thick. I could smell his expensive cologne mixing with the leather interior, creating an intoxicating combination that made it hard to think straight.
"You don't need to explain," Devon finally said, his fingers tight around the steering wheel. "But you smell like a combination of cologne counter and alcohol right now."
I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "Why would I be interested in any of them when I have you?"
His eyes darted to me, expression darkening. "So you're comparing me to them?"
"That's not what I—" I started, then stopped when I realized we weren't heading toward my apartment. "Where are we going?"
"My place," he said simply, as if it were the most natural conclusion.
Twenty minutes later, we walked into Devon's Manhattan penthouse. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the city like a carpet of stars beneath us, but Devon wasn't looking at the view.
"Go shower," he commanded, loosening his tie. "Wash off those mixed colognes."
I hesitated for a moment, then headed to his master bathroom, where I'd been often enough to know where everything was. Under the hot spray, I reflected on Devon's jealousy—how possessive he'd seemed in the bar, how his eyes had narrowed when he saw those models surrounding me. It was both thrilling and unsettling.
After my shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and realized I had nothing to change into. Opening Devon's closet, I found a champagne-colored silk nightshirt that I suspected he'd purchased for me, as it still had tags attached. I slipped it on, the cool fabric sliding against my skin.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Devon was standing by the window, tumbler of whiskey in hand. His eyes raked over me, darkening as they traced the silk clinging to my curves.
"Better," he murmured, setting down his glass and moving toward me.
His fingers traced my collarbone, slowly moving along my skin, sending shivers down my spine. His proximity made my breathing quicken, but his expression remained tense, his eyes revealing barely concealed possessiveness.
"Do you still think about him?" he asked suddenly, his voice tight.
"Who?" I asked, genuinely confused for a moment.
"Ethan," he said, the name sounding like something bitter on his tongue.
"No," I answered truthfully, meeting his gaze. "Not anymore."
My answer seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders slightly, but his eyes remained vigilant. I rose on my tiptoes, pulling his face down to mine, pressing my lips against his. At first, he didn't respond, as if testing my sincerity.
"You still don't know how to kiss properly," he murmured against my lips, but there was no sting in his words, just a heated promise.
His arms encircled my waist, drawing me closer. His kiss became more demanding, carrying a hint of punishment, as if trying to erase any marks those models might have left on me tonight. His hands slid beneath the silk, fingers roaming over my skin with movements both practiced and assertive.
"Those men," he whispered in my ear, his breath hot, "did they touch you?"
"No," I gasped in response, feeling his fingers tighten around my waist.
"Good," his voice was low and dangerous, "because you're mine."
His other hand grasped my hair, gently pulling, forcing me to look up at him. I could see the possessiveness and jealousy burning in his eyes, making me both nervous and excited. His lips claimed mine again, this kiss more forceful, almost punishing.
My hands clutched at his shirt, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath. His hand moved from my waist to my thigh, movements carrying clear intent, making my breathing ragged. Each touch seemed to declare ownership, reminding me of our relationship, and my body's response to him only reinforced this.
"This nightshirt," he tugged at the silk garment, his voice husky with desire, "take it off."
I obediently raised my arms, letting him pull the garment over my head. His gaze swept over my exposed body with burning intensity, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"This is what I wanted to see," he said softly, his finger tracing the beauty mark at my collarbone, "Aria belonging only to me."
He pushed me toward the bed, forceful but not rough. I felt that each of his movements carried a clear message—he was marking his territory, dispelling threats he perceived, whether from Ethan in the past or tonight's stranger models.
Just as things were intensifying, his phone rang loudly from the nightstand. Devon ignored it at first, but when it rang again, I saw him glance at the screen. It displayed simply: "Hospital."
Devon's expression changed almost imperceptibly—a flicker of something like worry crossed his features. He reached over and powered off the phone, tossing it onto a nearby chair.
"It's nothing," he said, returning his attention to me, but I could feel a new tension in his body, a distraction that hadn't been there before.
Despite his efforts to recapture the moment, something had shifted. Eventually, we fell asleep with his arm draped possessively around my waist, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something important had just happened—something I didn't understand.
Hours later, I awoke to the sound of quiet footsteps. Through half-closed eyes, I saw Devon fully dressed in a dark suit, moving with purpose around the room. I kept my breathing steady, feigning sleep.
"I have an emergency to deal with," he said softly, apparently noticing I was awake. "Go back to sleep."
I nodded drowsily, watching as he moved toward the door. His expression was serious yet somehow gentle—so different from the cold businessman I'd seen earlier at the bar. Just before leaving, he pulled open a drawer and removed a small pill bottle, his hand trembling slightly as he slipped it into his pocket.
The door closed quietly behind him, and I was left alone in his massive bed, surrounded by the lingering scent of his cologne and more questions than I'd had before. Despite my curiosity, exhaustion pulled me back toward sleep, and I surrendered to it, knowing tomorrow would bring its own complications.