CHAPTER 7

ARIA

I froze by the door, my fingers trembling as I sealed the sample and shoved it into my bag. My task was done. Done. Complete. Nothing left to do.

I should have left.

I didn’t.

Something inside me refused to obey. Something weightless, invisible, a tether I couldn’t see but could feel stretching tight, pulling me back. Logic? Duty? They had no hold here. My pulse faltered, tripped, stumbled in my chest, refusing the rhythm I tried to force.

My hand curled around the doorknob, but my feet remained rooted, anchored in something primal I couldn’t name.

Slowly—agonizingly slow—I turned my head.

He was there. Still. Silent. Unblinking.

The air between us thickened, a physical thing pressing against my skin. My gaze wandered, drawn down before my mind even registered the decision.

His hardness was unmistakable, outlined against the fabric of his pants. Heat surged up my neck, curling hot and sharp, dragging my breath into jagged, uneven gasps. My chest rose too fast, like I’d inhaled the wrong kind of air and it wouldn’t reach the bottom of my lungs.

I should leave. My body knew it. My mind screamed at it. My muscles wanted it. And yet—I didn’t.

Every sinew in him was taut, wired tight like the strings of a violin ready to snap. His slow, deliberate breaths made me notice the expansion of his chest, the flexing of muscles beneath the skin, the tension that felt alive and hungry.

The chains above him shifted with a metallic groan, a warning or a promise—I couldn’t tell which. His fists clenched, knuckles pale, a silent symphony of restraint.

And still he didn’t look away. Not once.

I tightened my grip on the doorknob, telling myself now, go, now—but the words landed in a vacuum. My body didn’t move. My nerves were tuned to him, and every tiny instinct screamed to lean closer instead.

Then it came.

A sound. Low, rough, like gravel dragged across the back of my skull. A groan that slid under my skin and burrowed into my chest, making my heart stumble.

Against every ounce of logic, I looked again.

His eyes—dark, untamed, dangerous—locked on mine. Hungrier. They roamed over me slowly, deliberately, lingering, and every inch of me shivered in response.

My hand on the doorknob trembled, like it had a life of its own.

What are you waiting for? I whispered, barely audible. Saying it didn’t help. My body was already betraying me, rooted, taut, alive to him in ways I shouldn’t have let happen.

He was just a subject. Nothing more. That was the rule.

And yet here I was, trapped. Between rules and desire, between fear and something darker, sharper, a hunger I didn’t understand.

My exhale trembled, a puff of heat I barely controlled. I let go of the doorknob. His chest rose and fell, breath catching unevenly, and I noticed, suddenly, how every movement of his pulled at me.

The chains glinted, catching the dim light, but it wasn’t iron that held me—it was him.

His raw, untamed hunger.

Then he moved.

Suddenly.

His face pressed into my neck, hot and uneven, claiming me in a way that made my heart stutter.

Heat pooled low in my belly, a secret pressure I tried—and failed—to ignore. I told myself I was in control. My pulse laughed at me.

The brush of his tongue was deliberate, deliberate. My knees weakened, my fingers dug into the sides of my thighs, trying to anchor myself.

His tongue slid over my skin—slow, deliberate, claiming. Warm and wet, it traced up the length of my throat, lingering in places that made my knees weaken. I gasped, eyes fluttering shut, as a rush of heat swept through me.

He tasted me like he was marking me, each stroke branding my skin with possession.

His mouth was relentless, exploring every curve from the hollow of my neck to the spot just below my ear.

I couldn’t move.

Pleasure and fear tangled inside me, locking me in place.

Then his hips began to move—controlled, steady—his body pressing closer, searching for friction, for release.

My thoughts scattered.

My breathing turned shallow. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stand there, trapped in the storm of him, while my body betrayed me with every thundering heartbeat.

Slowly, his lips dragged away from my throat, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Then he looked at me.

His eyes—dark, wild, and burning with something I didn’t dare name—locked onto mine, holding me completely still.

I felt stripped bare under that gaze, seen in a way that was both terrifying and electric.

“Touch me,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel and smoke, curling around my spine and dragging shivers through every inch of me.

“I need to feel your hands on me. I need to know that this is real.”

The request was simple—just a few words—but it sliced clean through the fog of my hesitation, lighting something deep and dangerous inside me.

I shook my head, more to convince myself than him.

“No. I can only touch you when I’m doing tests,” I murmured, my voice strained and unsteady, barely louder than a breath.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

My body said otherwise—frozen in place, trembling with the war between reason and want.

“I need this. I need you.”

I licked my lips, a nervous habit, but this time it felt different—charged, deliberate.

Almost without realising it, my hand moved on its own, driven by something deeper than thought.

My fingers curled around him through the fabric of his pants, feeling the heat of him, the hardness that pulsed beneath my touch.

My breath caught.

It was reckless.

It was wrong.

But in that moment—it was the only thing I could do.

“Why am I not in control here? I shouldn’t be doing this,”

I whispered, my voice rough, barely more than a breath.

He tilted his head slightly, the chains creaking as his muscles flexed beneath them, eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that made my knees threaten to buckle.

“You will never be in control,” he said, voice low and dark, like a secret meant only for me.

“Not with me. I want you to touch me, to feel me, to know that I’m real. That this is real.”

A startling heat pooled low in my belly.

With mortifying awareness, I realised that my own body had responded to his touch.

A dampness spread between my thighs, soaking through my clothing, a traitorous betrayal of my inner turmoil.

I could feel the wetness, the heat, the ache, and it was almost too much to bear.

My hand moved tentatively at first, but as I felt his body respond, my strokes became more confident, more insistent.

I matched his rhythm, my hand moving in tandem with his hips, my body responding to his even as my mind reeled.

He let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly against my touch.

“So fucking good. Don’t stop. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

His hips began to move with a purpose, a rhythmic, deliberate thrusting that was restricted by the chains but no less powerful for it.

The metal links clanked and rattled with each forward motion, a harsh, erotic symphony that filled the room.

“You’re so hard,” I murmured, my voice filled with awe and desire.

He grunted in response, his body tensing as he neared his release.

“Your touch is incredible. I’ve never felt anything like it. You’re driving me wild. I can’t get enough of you.”

His hips rolled and thrust, each movement designed to maximise the friction, to heighten the pleasure.

The chains bit into his wrists, leaving red marks on his skin, but he seemed not to notice, his entire focus on the primal rhythm of his body, on the chase for release.

I could see the strain in his body, the way his muscles flexed and rippled with effort, the veins in his neck and arms standing out in stark relief.

The room was filled with the sound of our shared breaths, the clanking of chains, and the wet, obscene sounds of his body moving against the air.

“Ahhh,” he grunted, his body tensing as he neared his release.

“I’m so close. You feel so fucking good. So perfect.”

His tongue emerged, wet and warm, trailing long, possessive strokes up and down the vulnerable expanse of my throat.

My eyes fluttered closed, my head falling back to give him better access.

I was paralysed between fear and unexpected arousal, my body surrendering to his touch as he used my hand for his pleasure.

A startling heat pooled low in my belly, a dampness spreading between my thighs that soaked through my clothing.

My cheeks flushed with mortification as I realised my own body had responded, my traitorous flesh betraying my inner turmoil. I whimpered, a soft sound of need that was swallowed by his hungry mouth as he continued to devour my neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his body tensing as he neared his release.

“You feel so good. So fucking perfect. I can’t hold back any longer.”

My hand moved faster, my strokes more insistent as I chased his orgasm, desperate to feel him lose control.

His body shuddered against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he clung to me, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“I’m close,” he warned, his voice a low growl.

“So fucking close. Don’t stop. I’m right there. Just a little more.” I obeyed, my hand moving in a blur as I brought him to the edge.

With several final, powerful thrusts, his body convulsed, his warm seed spilling over my fingers as he cried out his release.

“Ahhh! Fuck!” he shouted, his body wracked with the force of his orgasm.

“That was... incredible.”

I watched in awe as he shuddered against me, his body wracked with the force of his orgasm.

As his breathing began to slow, he pulled back, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

The chains that bound him rattled softly as he shifted, the metal links glinting in the dim light.

I looked down at my hand, still glistening with his release, a mix of awe and embarrassment washing over me.

He followed my gaze, his eyes darkening with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through my veins.

“Show me,” he commanded, his voice a low, husky growl that left no room for argument.

I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat of anticipation.

Leaning forward as far as his chains allowed, he captured my hand in his mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick my fingers clean.

His eyes never left mine, the intensity of his gaze holding me captive, drowning me in a sea of desire.

My cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, my body trembling with the force of my own unspent need.

The wet, warm sensation of his tongue against my skin was exquisite, a torment that left me aching for more.

He took his time, his tongue swirling and tasting, ensuring that every last drop was licked from my fingers.

My breath hitched, my body responding to the intimate act, my nipples hardening, my core throbbing with a desperate, insistent ache.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, my hand felt empty, bereft of his touch.

I looked down at my hand, then back up at him, my eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal.

He smiled, a slow, sensual curve of his lips that promised dark, delicious things.

“That was just the beginning,” he replied, his voice a low, seductive purr.

“I want more. I want all of you. I want to explore every inch of your body, to taste you, to feel you come undone beneath me. I want to hear you scream my name as I make you mine.”

My body responded to his words, a fresh wave of heat flooding my veins, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

I knew I should leave, knew I should put some distance between us, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.

“What do you want from me?”

I asked, my voice a soft, breathless whisper. He leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

“Everything. I want everything you have to give. Your body, your soul. I want to possess you, to own you, to make you mine in every way possible. I want to hear you beg for me, to see you fall apart in my arms. I want to be your everything, just as you are becoming mine.”