Page 51 of Rescuing Aria

“A little firmer.” I cover her hand with mine, adjusting her pressure. “That’s it. Good.”

Pleasure spears through me at the touch—imperfect and perfect all at once. The fact that she’s learning me this way, choosing to offer this piece of herself, makes it feel bigger than just lust.

It feels like trust.

And I want to earn every fucking inch of it.

She experiments slowly at first, but she’s watching me—really watching me—like she’s studying the cause and effect of every breath I take. Every twitch of my fingers in her hair. Everyrough exhale that escapes me when she does something just right.

And fuck, there’s a lot she’s doing right.

The longer she explores, the more her hesitation gives way to instinct. Her curiosity sharpens into boldness. Each stroke of her hand grows surer, more deliberate, and I can feel her confidence rising in the way her grip adjusts, the way her shoulders square. She wants this. Wants me undone beneath her.

“What about…” She glances up, lashes fanning as she leans in.

I barely hang on. That look? It could bring me to my knees.

“Start slow,” I manage, fingers threading gently into her damp hair, anchoring me. “Just the tip. Use your tongue.”

And then she does.

One tentative lick, one swirl—hot and wet and so fucking reverent—and my world narrows to the place where her mouth touches me.

“Holy shit.” My voice is ragged, head tipping back as pleasure spikes through me. “That’s…Fuuuuck.”

Words fail. Sanity splinters. My jaw clenches with the effort not to move, not to take over. But I won’t. This is hers—her exploration, her control. And it wrecks me more than anything I’ve ever felt.

She pulls back, breath cool against my wet skin. I groan, hips twitching despite myself.

Then she takes me deeper. Too deep. Perfectly deep.

My hands fist in the sheets. My vision goes white at the edges, like a fuse has been lit low in my spine and it’s burning fast toward detonation.

“Jesus, Aria—” Her name breaks from me like a prayer. Or a plea. Maybe both.

Every part of me is trembling, holding on by a frayed thread as she learns me with her mouth, her hands, her goddamn gorgeous eyes still locked on mine.

She wants to please me.

But I’m the one unraveling.

“Christ, you’re a natural.” The words scrape out of me, half prayer, half damnation, as I fist a hand in her damp hair. She moans softly around me, and the vibration punches straight through my spine, heat coiling deep in my gut.

“You sure you haven’t done this before?” My voice is shot, barely holding.

She pulls back just enough to smirk, lips slick and eyes gleaming. “Maybe I just have excellent instincts.”

Then she takes me again—deeper, slower, with intent that feels like worship—and I swear I nearly come right then.

The velvet slide of her tongue along the underside is pure sin, her suction so sharp and focused I groan out loud, head falling back as the edge rushes closer. My grip tightens, knuckles white, legs locked to keep from thrusting.

She finds a rhythm—perfect, practiced chaos—and flashes me a look that lands like a gut punch. Gone is the shy, uncertain heiress. In her place? A woman awakening to her power. Discovering how completely she can undo me.

“Use your hand too,” I rasp, reaching down to guide her fingers to the base of my cock. “Tight, but not too tight.”

She follows my lead, her touch curious, responsive. Intent.

“Twist slightly, like this…” I wrap my hand over hers, guiding her through the motion. “Yeah—fuck—that’s it.”