3

The air in Aryan’s room was warmer than the rest of the house.

Dim lights cast a golden hue over the sleek black sheets, and the scent of him—amber, leather, and smoke—hung in the air like a secret.

Mia stood at the doorway, frozen. She’d never been here before. Not this deep inside his world.

Aryan sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, legs parted, forearms resting on his thighs. The kind of position that said everything without saying a word.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice commanding but calm.

Mia stepped forward, heart thudding in her chest.

“Take off your clothes.”

She blinked. “All of them?”

His eyes locked on hers. “I want to feel all of you, Mia. No barriers. Just skin and trust.”

Her breath caught. But she didn’t question him—not anymore.

One piece at a time, she peeled herself out of the nightwear he had chosen for her. The crop top fell to the floor. Then the shorts. She stood before him bare, trembling—but not from fear.

From surrender.

He didn’t move at first. He just stared. Soaking in every inch of her like she was a painting he’d been waiting years to see in full.

“Come to bed,” he said finally, voice thick with restraint. “Lay down beside me. On your back.”

Mia obeyed. The sheets were cool against her skin, but his gaze burned hotter than anything she’d ever known.

He laid beside her, his body only inches away, but he didn’t climb on top. Didn’t rush. Just watched her—naked, exposed, his.

His hand moved first, skimming her belly with reverent fingers. “This,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her navel, “drives me mad.”

She gasped as his lips brushed across the soft flesh, slow, wet kisses that left trails of fire.

Then he licked her.

A soft drag of his tongue up her stomach, pausing at the dip between her ribs. Her hands curled into the sheets, body arching.

He moved to her neck, kissing the side gently. “And this?” he whispered against her skin. “This is my favorite place to live.”

He kissed again. And again. Licked the column of her throat like she was dessert he planned to savor. His hand slipped under her back, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his.

He still hadn’t touched her in any sexual way. But she was unraveling anyway.

His lips moved up to her jaw, his voice gravelly and low.

“No one else will ever see you like this.”

A kiss to her collarbone.

“No one else will taste you like this.”

Another kiss, just beneath her breast.

“This body is mine, Mia. All of it. Every breath, every inch.”

She whimpered his name.

“Say it,” he whispered, lips brushing her neck again. “Say whose you are.”

“I’m yours, Master,” she breathed, her body shaking with restraint, need, and trust.

He kissed her softly, deeply, and pulled a blanket over their bare bodies.

“Good girl,” he whispered into her ear, his hand resting over her belly as he pressed her back into his chest. “Tonight, I’ll only kiss. Only taste. But soon… you’ll beg for more.”

And she would.

She already was.

The morning light slipped between the sheer curtains, golden and quiet.

Mia was still asleep—bare beneath the sheets, her soft body curled slightly on her side, facing away from him.

Aryan was already awake. He had been for a while.

But he hadn’t moved. Not because he couldn’t.

Because he was watching her. Admiring her.

The gentle rise and fall of her chest.

The soft curve of her back, her thighs, the exposed line of her neck—his favorite place. His obsession.

He reached out, slow and unhurried, and ran two fingers down the length of her spine.

Mia stirred but didn’t wake.

His hand moved lower, palm sliding to her bare hip, gripping it just enough to make her shift in her sleep. A soft moan escaped her lips, barely audible.

God, she was made for him.

His fingers brushed up over her belly—his sweet, warm little addiction—and he bent over, lips pressing into the softness there. A slow, lingering kiss. Then another. And then a lick—lazy, possessive, just the way he knew would make her squirm.

She moved again, sleep-blurred now, her body stretching.

“Aryan?” she murmured, half-asleep.

He didn’t answer with words.

His mouth trailed up her stomach, over her ribs, finally to her neck where he nuzzled, inhaling her scent. He kissed her skin like it calmed him. Like it drove him mad. And in truth—it did both.

“You’re so warm in the morning,” he murmured against her ear.

She sighed, still not fully conscious.

He pulled her body flush against him, one of his hands sliding between her thighs, grazing gently. Teasing.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, voice husky and low. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

His fingers slid over her folds—gentle, unhurried, exploring.

Mia gasped softly, finally waking—her hips instinctively tilting toward his hand.

“Master…” she breathed, eyes fluttering open.

Aryan’s lips found her shoulder. “Shh. Let me have you like this.”

He rubbed slow circles against her, his chest pressed to her back, his breath warm in her ear.

Her body melted into his touch.

“You don’t have to move,” he whispered, kissing her nape. “Just feel me. Let me use what’s mine.”

And she did.

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping the sheets as his fingers worked her slowly, deeply, until her body trembled under the weight of his touch. He didn’t rush. He didn’t stop. He devoured her with patience and control.

She came undone in his arms—whimpering his name, clinging to him, her body soft and spent.

And then he wrapped his arms around her again, one hand back on her belly, lips on her neck.

“Next time, Mia,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous and loving all at once. “Next time I won’t stop with my fingers.”

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