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It lands on my cheek, hot and wet. For a moment, I’m too stunned to react. “You’ll never be my husband,” she says, her voice sharp with venom. “I’d rather die.”

I let out a slow breath, swipe the spit from my face with my thumb, and deliberately press it into my mouth. Her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, and her lips part in shock.

I step closer, leaning down until we’re almost eye to eye. Then I smile. “Youwillbe my wife. In every way that matters.”

Her eyes widen slightly again, but she doesn’t back down. We hold the intense gaze, neither of us yielding. The footsteps echo faintly outside the door—a maid, perhaps, or someone passing by.

I realize then that I hadn’t properly closed the door.

Without thinking. I act.

I grab her chin, tilting her face upward, and press my lips to hers. Her hands fly up to my chest, pushing against me with all her strength, but I don’t move.

I hope whoever is passing by doesn’t see her struggling. I pull her closer, limiting her space to maneuver. For a moment, I expect her to bite me, to scream, anything.

But she doesn’t.

She softens and stops struggling.

Her lips part slightly, and I feel her hesitate before she kisses me back. Then something shifts. Her hands curl into my shirt, and she presses closer.

Fuck.

I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen, and she’s breathing unevenly. Her eyes are wide, her expression torn between anger and confusion.

I smirk, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. “So much for ‘I’d rather die.’”

Her hand flies up, but I catch her wrist before she can slap me. I push aside any thought of whoever might be outside the door. I lean in and kiss her again—just because I want to.

7

ARIA

I must be out of my goddamn mind.

No. That doesn’t quite cut it.

Right now, I must be possessed by the spirit of some horny virgin. Her backstory is simple—once upon a time, she lived in this house and pined after Nicolas, swearing her virginity to him. But she died before they could even touch, and now, her spirit has possessed me.

That is the most logical explanation for why my body is reacting like this to Nicolas’ unwanted kiss.

It ignites like a flame thrown onto dry wood. His lips are firm and demanding, but the heat of it shocks me. My body stiffens at first, and I try to fight back, but once I let myself feel how good the kiss is, I feel my resistance slipping.

That must have been when the ghost possessed me.

I want to hate myself for it, but it feels too good. Unfairly good.

His tongue brushes against my bottom lip, and when I gasp—he takes the opening. He immediately slides his tongue into my mouth, and the sensation sends a shiver down my spine. He is not hesitant. He’s not asking permission. He’s just taking. Every single thing he can take at this moment, he does.

My hands press against his chest again, but I’m not pushing him away. Instead, I grip his shirt tightly, clinging to the soft fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze meeting mine, and a smirk curls his lips. “So much for ‘I’d rather die’.”

The statement jolts me back into reality. My hand rises instinctively to slap him, but he seizes my wrists before I can make contact. With an expression that borders on cruel amusement, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me again.

If I thought the last kiss was rough, I wasn’t prepared for this. He kisses me with a hunger that feels insatiable, like he’s trying to consume every part of me.

The first kiss was impulsive. This one is deliberate.