[POV Ariel]
Sloane’s hand was still on my jaw, thumb resting just beneath my cheekbone. His touch was careful, reverent almost—so out of place on the same hands that had once torn apart boardrooms with sheer will.
He was looking at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor. And I couldn’t breathe.
Because I had spent six months building walls, forging boundaries, pretending the fire between us was manageable. Professional. Controlled.
It wasn’t. It never had been.
Not when he stepped too close. Not when his voice dropped low, dangerous and soft at the same time. Not when he looked at me like I was both the challenge and the reward.
And now… I was shaking, and I didn’t know if it was from anger or desire or fear that once I let myself fall, there’d be no climbing back.
His fingers shifted, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Tell me to stop.”
God, I wanted to. I meant to. I opened my mouth—but nothing came out. Because I didn’t want him to stop.
Not anymore. So instead, I surged forward.
The kiss collided between us—rough, breathless, too fast. My hands clutched the front of his shirt, dragging him down, and he met me halfway, like we’d been pulled into each other by something older than logic.
There was no pretense, no hesitation. Just heat.
Months of suppressed glances and biting arguments and quiet mornings passed between us like fuel igniting. He kissed me like I was oxygen and he’d been suffocating.
My back hit the wall and he didn’t stop—his hands bracing beside my head, his body pressed flush to mine, every line of him familiar now but completely different under this intensity.
“Sloane—” I gasped against his mouth.
His lips found my jaw, then my throat, then the hollow just beneath my ear that made me tremble. “Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“My name.” His voice was gravel and silk. “Say it like that again.”
God help me—I did.
And the sound that left him was nearly a growl.
His mouth found mine again, slower this time, deeper. Like he’d let the fire burn hot, then realized he wanted to savor it. His hand slid beneath my blouse—warm fingers splayed against my skin, grounding me even as I felt like I was coming undone.
I arched into him, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more everything. And he gave it to me—lifting me without warning, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried me through the penthouse like he didn’t care about direction or destination, just movement.
We didn’t make it to a bed.
The couch caught us.
He dropped me gently, his weight settling over me like gravity, and I dragged him down by his collar, kissing him again, again, again. My hands slid beneath his shirt, craving the heat of him, the taut muscle, the contradiction of softness and strength he wore so well.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against my neck, teeth grazing skin. “You walk around this place like you don’t know what you do to me.”
“I do,” I whispered, tugging at his belt. “I just didn’t think you’d ever admit it.”
He kissed me hard at that. The kind of kiss that warned me this was the point of no return.
I didn’t care.
Clothes vanished, piece by piece—torn buttons, kicked-off heels, a hiss of breath when cool air hit bare skin. I traced every line of him with hungry fingers, memorizing the dips of his back, the curve of his jaw, the way he shuddered when I bit his shoulder just enough to leave a mark.
And then he was inside me.
And it wasn’t slow.
It wasn’t careful.
It was need.
A desperate, gasping rhythm, our bodies moving like they’d always known how. The sound of his breath against my throat, my nails dragging down his back, his hand gripping my thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.
I cried out—once, twice—his name the only thing I could form.
He held me tighter.
And somehow, that made everything harder. More overwhelming. Because this wasn’t release—it was surrender. Not just to want, but to feeling. To each other.
His thrusts slowed, deepened. He kissed me like it hurt. Like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. And I matched him—kiss for kiss, movement for movement, until I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I shattered first.
My body tensed, heart slamming into ribs as everything fractured at once—pleasure and pain and all the fear I’d kept bottled tight behind walls he hadn’t even known he’d been tearing down.
He followed with a groan, burying himself deep, fingers clutching me like he never wanted to let go.
And for a long moment, the world went still.