The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 176

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.

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