The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Chapter 41: Physical Attraction

Aria pov

We stared at each other across the expanse of his bedroom, both of us breathing too fast, both of us wanting something we knew we shouldn’t take.

The air between us felt charged, electric. I should leave. I knew I should leave. But my feet remained rooted to the spot, as if my body had declared mutiny against my common sense. The dim lighting from his bedside lamp cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes.

"If you don’t leave right now," Damien said, his voice dropping to something dark and dangerous, "I’m going to walk over there and kiss you. And if I kiss you, Aria, I won’t stop. I’ll carry you to that bed and spend the rest of the night reminding your body exactly who it belongs to."

The words sent heat spiraling through me, pooling between my thighs with an intensity that made my knees weak.

"You can’t say things like that," I whispered, but there was no force behind the words.

"Why not?" He took a step toward me, and I watched a water droplet slide down his chest with fascination. "When it’s the truth? When I’ve spent every night for three years imagining exactly this scenario? When I can see in your eyes that you want the same thing?"

My breath caught in my throat. Three years. Had it really been that long since anyone had looked at me like this? Since I’d felt wanted instead of just needed? Since I’d been anything other than Noah’s mother, the CEO, the woman who had to be strong every single moment of every single day?

"Because" I struggled to find a reason that didn’t sound hollow. "Because Noah is down the hall. Because we’re not really married. Because you hurt me and I can’t just forget that because I’m"

"Frustrated?" He took another step closer. "Touch-starved? Desperate to remember what it feels like to be wanted?"

"Stop it." But I didn’t move away. Didn’t run like I should have.

"Make me." Another step. He was close enough now that I could smell the soap on his skin, could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t lie awake at night aching for touch and I’ll walk away right now."

I opened my mouth to say exactly that, to lie convincingly enough that he’d believe me.

But no words came out.

We stood there, inches apart, both of us breathing hard. His hand lifted slowly, giving me time to pull away, time to run, time to do anything except stand there and let him cup my cheek with his large, warm palm.

The touch sent electricity through my entire body. My eyes fluttered closed involuntarily, and a sound escaped my throat—something between a gasp and a moan that I immediately wanted to take back.

"When was the last time someone touched you?" Damien asked quietly, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "The last time someone made you feel good?"

"That’s none of your business," I managed, but my voice was weak.

"You haven’t," he said with certainty, his eyes searching mine. "Not since before Noah. Three years of nothing, of no one, of pretending you don’t need this."

"I don’t—"

"Liar." His other hand came up to frame my face, tilting my head back so I had to meet his eyes. "I can see it in the way you’re trembling. In the way your pupils are dilated. In the way you looked at me when I walked out of that bathroom. You need this. You need to be touched, to be wanted, to feel something other than fear and anger and exhaustion."

He was right. God, he was right. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be seen as a woman instead of just a role. To be desired instead of depended upon. The realization made me feel vulnerable and exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the thin t-shirt I was wearing.

"And you think you’re the one who should do it?" I asked, even as my body swayed toward him. "After everything?"

"No," he admitted, and the honesty in his voice was devastating. "I think I’m the last person who deserves to touch you. But I’m also the only person you want touching you right now. Aren’t I?"

I wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I could want Lucas or any other man who wasn’t the one who’d destroyed me.

But we both knew the truth.

"This doesn’t change anything," I whispered, my hands coming up to rest against his bare chest. His skin was warm and damp under my palms, his heartbeat racing against my fingertips. "This doesn’t fix what you did. It doesn’t make us okay."

"I know." His forehead dropped to rest against mine. "But maybe for tonight, we can both stop pretending we don’t need this. Stop pretending that three years of distance has killed what was always between us."

"Damien—"

"Tell me no," he interrupted, his lips hovering just above mine. "Tell me you don’t want this and I swear I’ll let you walk away. But if you can’t say it, if you can’t lie to me convincingly enough..."

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