Page 49 of The Alpha's Forbidden Heir

Get a grip, Aria.

I press the rim of the glass to my lips, hoping the fizz will distract me. But then, I feel it—his presence, electric and overwhelming, even before I see him.

"Enjoying yourself?" His voice is low, smooth, but it vibrates through me, making my stomach twist.

I glance over, and there he is, standing just close enough to set me on edge. His eyes bore into mine, and the faint scent of leather and cedarwood wraps around me, dragging me back to that night.

"Fine," I reply curtly, stepping away as subtly as I can manage.

He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Fine? That doesn't sound very convincing."

"Maybe because I didn't come here to enjoy myself," I snap, taking another deliberate step back.

His expression shifts, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something darker. Something that makes my pulse quicken.

"Why are you running from me, Aria?" he asks, his tone soft but unrelenting.

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," he cuts in, his voice a quiet challenge. "You avoid looking at me, you flinch when I get too close. Admit it—you're running."

"You're imagining things," I say, turning away before he can see the lie in my eyes.

"You're lying."

My breath catches as his hand wraps around my wrist, firm yet careful, pulling me back toward him. His touch burns, and I hate how my body reacts—how my heart races, how my knees weaken.

"Let go," I demand, my voice trembling despite my best effort to sound strong.

"No."

He takes a step closer, his towering frame making it impossible to look anywhere but at him. "You're lying to yourself, Aria."

I shake my head, refusing to let him see the truth written all over my face. "I'm not."

"Then why are you shaking?"

The challenge in his voice is unbearable, and I hate how much I want to prove him wrong.

"Go to hell, Bane," I mutter, brushing past him.

But I don't make it far.

"Aria." His voice stops me.

When I turn back, the raw hunger in his gaze steals the breath from my lungs.

When his fingers brush mine, I know I already lost.

The rest of the room fades as he pulls me into him, his lips crashing against mine with a desperation that leaves me breathless. My glass slips from my hand, shattering against the floor, but I don't care.

His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. My protests dissolve into moans, my body betraying every ounce of resistance I've tried so hard to maintain.

I don't even realize we've stumbled into my room until I hear the door slam shut behind us. His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers racing through me.

"Tell me you don't want this," he murmurs, his voice rough and filled with challenge.

I can't.

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