Page 135 of Aria

Anger bubbled. Disbelief seized me.

“Fuck,” I bit out, storming through the living room toward the kitchen, kicking my wheelchair as I passed. I grabbed the dinner plates off the kitchen table and tossed them both into the garbage can, dishware and all. Pouring the rest of the champagne into the sink, I threw it into the trash, wincing as the glass bottle clashed against the plates.

I still felt her presence. I still tasted her fruity lip balm.

Drinking in a calming breath, I walked back out into the living room, feeling hopeless and defeated.

I was about to make my way up the stairs when the front door burst open.

Chelsie stepped inside soaking wet, her hair matted against her cheeks and forehead. I froze, my attention pinned on her as she advanced on me. With our gazes locked tight, her eyes reckless and wild, she pulled off her coat and let it fall to the floor.

“What are you—” My question was silenced by her mouth when she closed the gap between us. She was radiating furious passion, her movements desperate as I parted my lips to let her in. We both groaned, our tongues colliding, her hands everywhere—tugging at my hair, cupping my face, sneaking their way up my t-shirt. My body buzzed and hummed as her fingertips grazed over the planks of my stomach.

I walked backward, our feet awkwardly stepping on each other’s as she followed my lead, our lips still fused. When the back of my legs found the edge of the couch, I collapsed onto the cushions while Chelsie climbed into my lap, straddling me and reaching for the edging of my shirt.

I grabbed one of her hands and we locked eyes, both of us panting and wanting. As I held her heated gaze, I was transported back in time to that night in Manhattan—a night in which I’d fully intended on sabotaging Chelsie and Devon’s budding relationship. My goal had been to cast her out of our lives forever.

Instead, she had wormed her way into my heart after baring her soul to me in a hotel room. She’d burrowed deep and never left.

I would never forget the tortured look in her eyes as she’d confessed her darkest secrets. I would never forget the way her body felt when she’d crawled into my lap and forced me to look at her; to trulyseeher.

And I had.

I’d seen all of her broken bits and unparalleled beauty.

In that moment, she had made her mark me on, destined to leave a permanent scar.

We were in that same position again, right now, with Chelsie in my lap and an identical look in her sea-spun eyes. There was no metaphor more perfect than that: Chelsie’s eyes were the ocean. Tranquil, yet turbulent. Vast and full of life. Mysterious.

Dangerous in the most beautiful way.

Chelsie leaned into me until our noses were touching. Her fingers disappeared underneath my shirt as she closed her eyes, her hot breath tickling my face. I ran my hand up the length of her arm, pulling her cardigan down over her shoulders. Raindrops dripped down her collarbone and onto her chest, then disappeared between her breasts as icy, wet hair tried to cool the heat between us.

“Noah…”

My name fell out of her like a small whisper. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her closer, until my erection was grinding right between her thighs. She let out a breathy moan as I inhaled sharply, her body moving, seeking more friction.

“Noah,” she repeated. “Did… did you mean it?”

I knew what she was referring to.

Of course, I knew.

Leaning forward, I moved her hair over her shoulder, kissing along her collarbone, up the expanse of her neck, and nibbling the lobe of her ear. She squirmed in my lap as her back arched, her hands squeezing the fabric of my shirt for dear life. Grazing my palm up her spine and holding her to me, I whispered huskily against the shell of her ear, “Yes.”

Chelsie froze, her body going still and limp, her breaths quick and frayed. A few silent beats passed before she pulled back to look at me with a dazed expression. I cupped her face with my good hand, my thumb grazing over her cheek. She relaxed with a sigh, then leaned in to breathe her reply against my mouth. “I love you, too.”

It was my turn to go still.

My eyes flared, my grip on her cheek tightening as my insides swirled with disbelief. “Chelsie…” I said, my hand moving to palm the back of her head, my fingers fisting in her hair. Words were elusive, so my only response was to kiss her senseless.

She whimpered, our bodies becoming a mess of tangled limbs and tongues. When she pulled her arms out of her cardigan, I yanked her tank top up over her head, one-handed. Her hair sent a shower of raindrops over me as it fell back down, and she bent to yank at my belt buckle. Her hands trembled as she unlatched it.

When the belt came loose, Chelsie unbuttoned her own jeans, sliding the denim and lace panties down her legs and wriggling free. She lifted my t-shirt, pressing a delicate hand against my bandaged wounds. “I don’t want to hurt you, Noah,” she said, trailing her fingertips over the gauze.

I sensed her double meaning.

Chelsie was perched in my lap, only wearing a bra, and I’d be lying if I said I’d never imagined this moment before. But in my own fantasies, I didn’t have multiple gunshot wounds and a defective arm. “You won’t,” I assured her, my palm splaying against her chest and trailing downward, memorizing the silk of her skin. “But I have to say, I had every intention of going crazy on you if we ever made it to this point. I’ll make it up to you when I’m healed.”

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