My Fiancé Slapped Me and Lost Me To His Billionaire Nemesis

Aria's POV He began to move, and the world broke into pieces. Every thrust was a punishment and a gift. The hard wall scraped my back, but I did not care. His body slammed into mine, over and over, chasing the wild feeling building inside me. It was too fast, too hard, too much. I could not think. I could only feel. "You feel that?" he growled into my neck. "You feel how much I want you?" I could only nod, my nails digging into his shoulders. My breath came in short, sharp gasps that matched his rhythm.  He kissed me again, his tongue pushing into my mouth, claiming that too. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady for his deep, hard pushes. I felt myself stretching around him, burning and melting at the same time. Something was gathering low in my stomach, a tight, hot coil. I had felt it before, alone in the dark, but never like this. Never with someone else. It felt scary and huge. My hips jerked, trying to get closer, trying to make it happen. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes locked on mine, dark and knowing. "That's it," he urged, his voice rough. "Chase it, Let me see you fall." But it was like running toward a cliff in the dark. I got close, so close my whole body shook, and then... nothing. The feeling slipped away, leaving me empty and frustrated. A sob caught in my throat. He stopped moving, still deep inside me. He studied my face. "What?" "Nothing," I whispered, my cheeks burning with shame. "That wasn't nothing." He pulled out of me suddenly, and I felt cold and abandoned. He set me on my feet, my legs wobbly. He fixed his pants with quick, angry motions. "Come with me." "Where?" "Somewhere you can scream." He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall, past a shocked looking security guard, and out a private exit. A black car was waiting, its engine running. He pushed me into the back seat and slid in beside me. "The penthouse," he told the driver. The car moved silently through the night. I stared out the window. My body was still buzzing, still aching. I could smell him on my skin. "Talk," he said, not looking at me. "About what?" "About why you stopped. About why you look like you're about to cry after the best fuck of your life." I turned to him. The interior of the car was dark, but I could see the sharp line of his jaw. "It wasn't... I didn't..." "You didn't finish," he stated, his voice flat. The words hung in the air, humiliating and true. I looked down at my hands in my lap. "No." "With him? Your fiancé?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "With anyone." The silence that followed was so thick I could taste it. I felt his stare like a physical weight.  His expression had changed. The anger was gone, replaced by something hotter, something more intense. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Never?" I shook my head, my throat too tight to speak. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a hunter who found exactly what he was looking for. "Mine," he whispered, more to himself than to me. The car stopped. We were in front of a tall, glass building. He got out and pulled me with him, Then we went to a private elevator. The doors closed, and we were alone again. He pushed me against the mirror, his body pressing into mine. He kissed me, deeply, slowly this time. His hand cupped my breast, his thumb rubbing my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress. The feeling I had before rushed back, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. The elevator opened directly into his home. It was all dark floors and huge windows showing the whole sparkling city. The ceiling was high. The place felt powerful, like him. He did not turn on the lights. City glow lit the room. He walked me backward until my legs hit the edge of a huge, low sofa. "Take off your dress." His voice was quiet, but it was not a request. My fingers trembled as I found the zipper. I stood before him in only my torn lace panties. The night air from the open windows kissed my skin, raising goosebumps. He looked at me, his gaze traveling over every inch. "Beautiful," he said, and it sounded like a fact. He took off his jacket and then his shirt. His chest looked strong and wide. I could see scars on his skin, like shiny lines that glowed in the dim light. He closed the distance between us. His hands were hot on my waist. He kissed my shoulder, my collarbone, the space between my breasts. His mouth was soft, which surprised me. He laid me back on the soft cushions and knelt on the floor between my legs. He hooked his fingers in my panties and pulled them off, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he lowered his head. His mouth on me was a shock. Hot, wet, perfect. I cried out, my back bowing off the sofa. He licked a slow, firm stripe through my folds, and my hands flew to his hair, tangling in the dark strands. "Dante..." He did not answer with words. He answered with his tongue, circling that tight, desperate nerve, then sucking it gently between his lips. Pleasure, sharp and bright, shot through me. It was different than before. It was not a gathering storm. It was lightning, straight to my core. He held my hips down, keeping me still for his mouth. His tongue flicked and pressed and stroked. He slid one finger inside me, then two, curling them just right. I was panting, begging, words I did not recognize falling from my lips. The coil in my stomach wound tighter, tighter. I could feel it, the edge of that cliff, right there. He lifted his head, his chin looked shiny. "Look at me, Aria. Look at me when you let go." His fingers pushed deep, and his mouth found me again. His eyes, dark and commanding, locked onto mine. I stared back, falling into that storm. The pressure built, unbearable, wonderful. My thighs trembled. A sound, a raw, broken scream, tore from my throat as the world exploded into white hot light. Pleasure crashed over me, wave after wave, shaking me apart. I gripped him, sobbing, as it went on and on. Slowly, it faded. I went limp, boneless, gasping for air. He crawled up my body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked proud, with a wild look in his eyes. "Mine," he said again, and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips, salty and sweet. He was still hard, pressing against my thigh. He positioned himself at my entrance. I was soft and open and still trembling from the finish. He pushed inside, a slow, It felt like everything was being taken over, that made me moan. He started to move again, long, deep strokes. It felt different now. Softer, but somehow more intense. Every slide brushed a place inside me that made me see stars. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. "Again," he whispered against my lips. "I want to feel you come again. With me inside you." He reached between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. The touch, combined with his deep thrusts, was too much. A second, sharper climax ripped through me, stealing my breath. I clenched around him, my body milking his. With a rough groan, he drove into me one last, hard time. I felt him pulse, hot and deep, as his own finish took him. He collapsed on top of me, his weight heavy and perfect. For a long time, we just breathed.  Then, he rolled to the side, taking me with him, keeping me close. His fingers traced idle patterns on my arm. "That mug," he said suddenly, his voice calm in the dark. "The one your sister gave him." My body went stiff. "What about it?" "I want you to get it back." I propped myself up on an elbow to look at him. "What? Why?" He looked at me, his face serious. "Because it's yours. And I don't like other men holding what's yours." He paused. "Especially when they don't appreciate it." "It's just a mug," I said, repeating Catherine's words, but they felt like a lie. "No," he said, his hand sliding down to cup my backside possessively. "It's not. And tomorrow, you're going to walk into your parents' house, and you're going to take it. And then you're going to bring it to me." The idea was crazy. Terrifying. After what happened, facing Rhys again... "I can't," I whispered. His eyes glinted. "You can. Because if you don't..." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "I'll go with you. And I promise, I will make what happened in that hallway look like a polite hello." He pulled back, his gaze holding a dark promise.