Page 27

CHAPTER 27

ARIELLA

"G et. On. Your. Knees."

My eyes flashed open, heart hammering against my ribs, each pulse point throbbing beneath sweat-slicked skin. I kicked off the blanket, its weight suffocating. My gaze darted to each shadow in the corners, to the barely open closet door, to the closed bedroom door, searching, expecting Zaiden to be somewhere lurking in the dimly lit room.

Silence. Empty space. Nothing but my own ragged breathing.

It was just a dream.

The phantom sensation of his command still vibrated in my ears, my skin still electric with goosebumps. It should have felt like a nightmare—my rational mind insisted it should—but the flush spreading across my chest, the dryness in my throat, and the damp fabric between my thighs portrayed it as something else entirely: a fantasy.

I breathed a heavy sigh of irritation as my eyes shifted to the bedroom window. Moonlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting zebra-stripe shadows across my rumpled sheets.

The digital clock's red numbers—3:42 AM—mocked my unsuccessful attempts at sleep after everything that had happened earlier that night.

I'd been so humiliated when I ran out of the party, all eyes following my hasty retreat. But what twisted my stomach even more was realizing that beneath the shame burned something so much deeper, something so unexpected—arousal. The same man who had publicly humiliated me had awakened something I hadn't even known existed.

My eyes closed, and the image of the dark ink above Zaiden's cock that was standing at attention flashed through my memories.

"Fuck," I groaned, rolling to my back as my eyes flicked open. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Zaiden blackmailed me into doing something I never would have done on my own, or at least I don't think I would have, but the way my body was reacting to the entire thing made me realize I didn't know much about myself when it came to sex, fantasies, and desire.

Sighing heavily, I closed my eyes, realizing there was only one way I was going to ease this sexual frustration building within me. Unfortunately, Zaiden still had my vibrator, but truthfully, that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to feel skin-to-skin, even if it was mine and not his.

I stroked my fingertips across my collarbone slowly, sensually. I shouldn't be doing this. Not while thinking of him. Not after what he did.

And yet.

My fingers continued their path downward, each touch a silent rebellion against my better judgment. I tried summoning outrage, disgust, anything to drown out the want. But with each passing second, my resistance weakened.

My hand lowered, trailing between my breasts. My nipples tightened as cool air hit them, mixing with the erotic thoughts I couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. My hand continued down my stomach and dipped below the elastic band of my panties.

I sucked in a slow breath letting my body relax as I let my new fantasy play without interruption. The one where Zaiden pinned me down, taking whatever he wanted from me. My fingers slid through my already soaking wet flesh, finding my clit.

This was a whole new experience. I'd masturbated before, but only with a vibrator, and it was always a quick release. I'd never used my fingers or savored the moment, the feeling of what I remembered his touch felt like.

My fingers moved in tight little circles over my clit, first slow, teasing. I pulled back each time the sensation intensified, prolonging the moment and torturing myself with restraint.

Would he be patient or demanding? Would he savor or devour?

I was pretty sure I knew the answers to those questions.

I increased pressure gradually, my body begging for more even as my mind tried to maintain control. The last remnant of power I had was choosing when to surrender.

I imagined Zaiden's breath on my neck, hot then cool as he exhaled against dampened skin. His tongue traced lazy patterns across my nipples before suddenly taking one between his teeth. His fingers—God, his fingers—pushing inside me, curling forward in a beckoning motion while his palm pressed firmly against my pubic bone. All while I remembered the perfect weight of his hand around my throat, how instinctively he'd known exactly how much pressure to apply.

My back arched off the bed, spine curving, my lips parting with a gasp that seemed to echo in the darkness. Every nerve ending sparked and tingled as the feeling brought me to the edge of ecstasy, my toes curling against the cool cotton sheets.

I pictured his weight pressing me firmly into the mattress. The pressure against my chest. The heat of his skin. His breath against my neck. And then—his cock slipping inside, filling me completely.

That was all it took.

A bolt of pleasure ripped through me as my entire body tensed, and I let the orgasm take hold of me, holding my breathing hostage until I cried out his name in a violent exhale of air.

My body went limp against the mattress, the momentary bliss already giving way to a complicated knot of emotions. My cheeks burned not just from what I'd done but from the realization that I'd surrendered completely to the fantasy of him and how loud I'd been doing it. The pleasure had been undeniable, but now shame crept in. Since he wasn't busting down my door, I assumed he wasn't home or hadn't heard me anyway.

I rolled to my side as exhaustion washed over me, my limbs heavy, my mind finally quieting. Sleep approached like a merciful friend, and I surrendered to it gratefully.