?Chapter 16: The Morning After

                                        

                                              

Aria POV
The light that poured through the tall glass windows was soft and gold, the kind that made the world look softer than it was. Aria blinked awake on the couch, wrapped in one of Dominic's shirts, his cologne clinging to the cotton like memory.
She'd fallen asleep curled beside him. Somewhere between tears and silence, she'd let herself collapse.
But he was gone now.
The blanket had been tucked carefully around her. His doing. Always quiet, always deliberate.
The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
She stood, her bare feet cold against the hardwood. Her body was sore in all the ways that came from carrying more than one weight emotional, physical, and something heavier still.
Then she heard it.
Clinking From the kitchen.
⸻
Dominic was at the stove, sleeves rolled, barefoot, flipping something in a pan like he actually knew what he was doing. His hair was damp, like he'd just stepped out of the shower, and there was a single crease in the corner of his otherwise perfect shirt.
Aria watched him from the hallway.
For a man who ruled empires, who made the most powerful people in the city bend or break, he looked so human in that moment it hurt.
He turned, sensing her.
And when their eyes met, everything that had happened the pain, the tension, the crushing fear of losing each other hummed like static between them.
"Morning," he said softly.
She nodded. "You cook now?"
His mouth curved. "I make four things. Two of them are edible. You're getting one of the safe ones."
She smiled despite herself, padding into the kitchen, perching at the island stool. "You look different."
He raised an eyebrow. "Less terrifying?"
She tilted her head. "More real."
He didn't reply.
Instead, he slid a plate across the marble, eggs, toast, and something that might've been avocado.
She picked up a fork but didn't eat.
"Why didn't you let me explain?" he asked quietly, leaning against the counter opposite her.
"I was scared," she admitted. "And maybe I didn't want to hear something that would break what little I had left."
He was quiet for a beat, Then he said, "I'd never hurt you like that, Aria. Not ever." 
"I want to believe you," she whispered. "But people have lied to me so easily, for so long. Even Ezra made me feel like I was safe until he wasn't."
"I'm not Ezra." 
She looked up. "I know that's what terrifies me."
The air changed then. Thickened.
Dominic walked around the island, slow, careful, like approaching something sacred.
When he reached her, he gently pulled the fork from her hand, set it down, and cupped her jaw.
She leaned into his touch without thinking.
"I'd never take what you give me for granted," he said softly. "Not your trust, not your time not the fact that you're still here."
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "Not unless you tell me to."
"I wouldn't," he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Even if I should." He leaned forward his lips pressing against her own, she was in shock for a second and then she opened her lips to grant him full access. 
When he kissed her, it wasn't rushed. It was deliberate,  Measured.
Like he'd been holding it back for too long.
Her hands curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. Her body pressed into his as their lips parted and found each other again this time with more heat, more hunger.
He lifted her, setting her on the cool marble of the island as if she weighed nothing.
She gasped softly against his mouth, fingers tangled in his hair. His hands slid up her thighs, reverent but firm, as if rediscovering the shape of her memorizing it.
Their kiss deepened, messier now, breathless.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her neck.
"I won't, I don't want to, please "
"Baby" He said looking into her eyes 
"I want this,I want you." She was sure. She wanted him, All of him. 
⸻
They didn't make it to the bedroom.
The kitchen became their sanctuary, their battlefield  mouths meeting in hot, open kisses, fingers pulling, gripping, clothing hitting the floor in uneven bursts of urgency.
He explored her like he was starving.
She let him.
And when she touched him back traced the lines of muscle under his shirt, bit gently at the curve of his jaw he let out a sound that was nothing short of primal.
They crashed into each other again, pressed against the counter, her legs around his waist, his hands everywhere, desperate and controlled all at once.
This wasn't soft.
This was claiming.
Every thrust, every kiss, every whispered name was an undoing.
She gasped his name as he sank into her, and he whispered hers like a prayer. This was nothing like she imagined. 
They moved in sync urgent, beautiful chaos  until everything around them blurred.
She shattered first, with a cry against his mouth.
He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck, holding her as if she'd disappear if he let go.
⸻
After, he stayed wrapped around her, their breathing slowing together.
Neither spoke.
No words would be enough.
And none were needed.
Because in that moment surrounded by the quiet hum of a city that didn't know or care they had become something that mattered.
Not defined by pasts or fears or power.
But by this.
Raw. Real. Irrevocably theirs.