Chapter 176: Chapter 176:
Aria pov
"Exactly like that," he said through gritted teeth.
I sped up. Harder. Faster. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the ocean outside. Sweat started on my back, between my breasts. He leaned forward and licked up the center of my chest, tasting the salt, then closed his mouth over one nipple and sucked—firm, steady pulls that made my rhythm falter.
I braced my hands on his shoulders, nails digging in, and rode him harder. Up and down, grinding on every downstroke. His hands gripped my ass now, helping lift me, then pulling me down so he bottomed out with a little jolt each time.
"Damien—" My voice cracked. I was close, the heat building fast and tight low in my belly.
He slid one hand between us, thumb finding my clit, rubbing firm circles exactly how I liked. "Come on me," he said, low and rough. "Let me feel it."
That did it. My thighs shook, my rhythm turned messy, and then I came—hard, clenching around him in waves, a sharp cry slipping out before I could stop it. He groaned loud, hips snapping up once, twice, burying himself deep as he followed me over the edge. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick, filling me while his arms locked around my back, holding me down on him until we both stopped shaking.
I stayed there, forehead against his, both of us breathing hard. His hands moved gently now—one stroking my spine, the other resting protectively over my stomach.
"Six days," I whispered against his mouth. "Don’t waste them."
He kissed me slow this time. "Not wasting a single second."
We didn’t move for a long time—just stayed like that, connected, the night air cooling the sweat on our skin while the ocean kept rolling outside.
Later, the villa was dark and quiet except for the water, and I lay against Damien’s chest with his hand moving slowly and absent through my hair, both of us loose and warm in the way that only came after.
"Tell me something you’ve never told anyone," I said.
He was quiet for a moment but his hand kept moving.
"When I was eleven," he said eventually, "there was a dog that came to the Blackwood property. A stray — some kind of terrier mix, very small, very loud. It kept getting through the fence." His voice was low and even, the voice he used when he was being careful with something. "My father would have had the groundskeepers chase it off, so I used to feed it in secret. Behind the east garden wall. Scraps from dinner."
I didn’t say anything. I listened.
"It came back every day for almost four months," he continued. "I named it. I’d been told never to name anything because names made you attached and attachment made you weak, so I named it in my head only, didn’t say it out loud." A pause. "Porter. Its name was Porter."
"What happened to Porter?" I asked, even though I could already guess the answer.
"My father found out." His hand stilled briefly in my hair, then resumed. "He didn’t punish me. He just looked at me and said, ’You understand why I can’t let this continue,’ and had it removed. And then he explained, very calmly, that everything you let yourself want is a lever someone can use against you." Another pause. "I was eleven and I believed him for years."
I pressed closer against him, my hand flat on his chest over his heartbeat. "Porter," I said softly.
"Porter," he confirmed.
"I’m going to tell Noah about Porter," I said. "When he’s old enough."
Damien’s chest moved under my cheek. "Why?"
"Because I want him to know that his father loved things, even when he was being taught not to. That it was always in there." I tilted my head up to look at him in the dark. "That the capacity was always there."
He looked at me for a long moment, his face soft in the way it only ever was in private, in the dark, with no audience and no performance required. "You’re going to make me cry on my own honeymoon," he said.
"You cried at your own wedding."
"That was entirely different."
"It really wasn’t."
He kissed me then—slow, deep, tongue sliding against mine like he was trying to taste every part of the memory. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"I want you again," he said.
I reached between us, wrapped my hand around his cock. He was already half-hard, thickening fast under my fingers. I stroked him firmly, root to tip, and he let out a rough moan, hips jerking forward into my grip.
"Fuck, Aria—"
I laughed softly against his mouth. "Insatiable."
He groaned louder, thrusting into my hand once, twice. "You’re the one who won’t let go."
I squeezed harder, thumb circling the head where he was leaking again. "Then fuck me."
His eyes flashed. In one quick move he shifted down, hooked his hands under my knees, and spread my legs wide. He settled between them, cock thick and heavy against my entrance. He didn’t push in right away—just rubbed the head up and down my slit, coating himself in how wet I still was.
"Damien," I breathed, impatient.
He went slow—agonizingly slow. Pushed in inch by inch, stretching me open again, eyes locked on my face like he was watching every flicker of reaction. When he bottomed out, hips flush against mine, he held still for a second, letting me feel every thick inch of him buried deep.
Then he started moving. Not fast. Not hard. Just deep, rolling grinds of his hips—slow circles, then long, deliberate drags out and back in. Each stroke hit that spot inside me perfectly, building pressure without rushing it.
It drove me insane.
My hands flew to his back, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. I arched up, trying to make him go faster, deeper, anything more. "Damien—please—"
He kept the same torturous rhythm, hips winding in tight, slow circles that made my toes curl. His breath came in short, ragged pants against my neck. "You feel so fucking good," he muttered. "So tight around me."
I clawed at his shoulders, dragging my nails down his back. The stretch, the friction, the way he filled me completely—it was too much and not enough all at once. My legs shook around his waist.
"Harder," I gasped.
He didn’t speed up. Just kept that maddening grind, rolling his hips so the base of his cock pressed right against my clit with every slow thrust.
I broke.
"Damien!" I screamed his name, voice cracking, body bowing off the bed as the orgasm hit hard and sudden. My walls clamped down around him in sharp pulses, milking him. My nails raked deep lines down his back; I couldn’t stop.
He groaned loud, hips stuttering for the first time. "Fuck—yes—"
He finally let go—thrusting deep once, twice, burying himself as far as he could while he came. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick, filling me again while his whole body shook against mine.
We stayed locked together, breathing ragged, my legs still wrapped around him. His face was buried in my neck, lips brushing my skin.
After a minute he lifted his head, looking wrecked and soft at the same time.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, fingers still tracing the fresh scratches on his back. "More than okay."
He kissed me slowly, lazy now, then eased out carefully. We both winced a little at the loss.
He pulled me close, tucking me against his chest, one hand settling protectively over my stomach again.
"You will be the death of me," he murmured into my hair.
I smiled against his skin. "I’m just getting started."
I shifted closer, pressing my body flush against his, smirking as I trailed my fingers down from his shoulders, over his chest, heading straight for his cock again. He was still half-hard, slick from us, and I wrapped my hand around him lightly, giving one slow stroke.
His hand shot down fast, catching my wrist before I could do more.
"Naughty girl," he said, voice rough and low. Then his other hand came down—sharp, firm smack right on my ass.
The sting bloomed hot and quick. I gasped, then laughed softly, arching just enough to push my ass back against his palm like I was daring him for another.
He groaned, half-laugh, half-pain. "Aria—stop. If you keep that up, I might actually faint."
I raised an eyebrow, still smirking, fingers flexing in his grip. "Faint?"
"Yeah." He let out a tired, breathless laugh. "Imagine the headlines tomorrow: ’CEO Damien Blackwood rushed to hospital from exhaustion. Cause: too much sex with his insatiable wife.’ They’d have a field day. My sperm bank is officially running on fumes right now."
I could feel how spent he was—his breathing still heavy, body heavy against mine, cock softening in my hand even as he twitched at the touch.
I released him, sliding my hand up to rest on his chest instead. "Fine," I said, smirking wider. "Sleep, boo."
He exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath, and pulled me even closer, tucking my head under his chin. His hand stayed on my stomach, thumb brushing slow circles.
"You’re evil," he muttered, already sounding half-asleep.
"And you love it."
He hummed something that might’ve been agreement, lips pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. His breathing evened out fast after that—deep, steady, the kind of sleep that hits hard after everything we’d done.
I stayed awake a little longer, listening to the waves outside, feeling his heartbeat slow under my cheek, his hand warm and protective over our baby.
Six days.
Plenty of time to kill him again tomorrow. I closed my eyes, smiling into the dark.
