Billionaire’s Last Bargain

🔥 Midnight Interlude – Still Yours

Blackwood Penthouse, Aria’s Room

Time: 12:23 AM

The city outside buzzed with distant noise and flashing lights, but inside the penthouse, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Aria stood at her window, wrapped in a thin silk robe, the edges of it clinging to her thighs like a whispered secret. The events of the day echoed in her skull—Gemma’s lies, the media storm, Leo’s innocence hanging in the crosshairs.

Leo was fast asleep down the hall.

But Aria wasn’t asleep.

Not with the weight of Gemma’s betrayal thrumming through her blood.

Not with Dominic’s voice still echoing in her ears: "I’ll burn the world down before I let her take either of you."

She hadn’t cried. Not yet.

But her chest ached in that dangerous, hollow way that always came before the fall.

Then—

She heard the knock—barely there, a hesitation wrapped in desire.

A knock.

Soft. Hesitant. Familiar.

She opened the door slowly.

Dominic stood there in the hallway. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar, barefoot, his hair mussed from running his fingers through it too many times. His expression was unreadable—except for the eyes. Eyes dark with something that had nothing to do with headlines.

Those eyes burned.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

Her breath hitched. “Me either.”

She stepped aside, wordless.

He took a step inside. The door clicked shut behind him.

They didn’t speak again for a long moment.

They just stood there. The tension between them was quiet—but electric. Like a storm that had forgotten how to thunder but remembered how to burn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“But you are.”

He stepped closer. “Tell me to leave, Aria. Say the word, and I’ll go.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Her fingers reached for the buttons of his shirt before he could say another word. One by one, she undid them—slow, deliberate, as if peeling away all the parts of him the world thought it could control.

“You think you’re the only one haunted by what she did?” she whispered. “You think I don’t feel it—right here?” She pressed her palm to his chest. “Like a bruise under my ribs?”

Dominic’s breath hitched.

“I can’t protect you from all of it,” he said, his voice raw. “But I can give you this. Us. Now.”

Then all she knew was that his mouth crashed into hers like thunder.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was survival.

It was hot.

It was hungry.

Years of restraint cracked like glass beneath their touch.

His hands cupped her face, tilting it as he kissed her like a starving man. She opened for him instantly, a soft moan slipping past her lips as his tongue found hers.

She was drowning in him.

His hands slipped down, found the sash at her waist, tugged it loose. The silk robe fluttered open, revealing skin and nothing else.

He inhaled sharply. “You wore this on purpose.”

“No,” she whispered, breathless. “I just didn’t expect you.”

His lips curved against hers. “You always expect me.”

She didn’t deny it.

He lifted her—effortlessly—and carried her to the bed like something precious and wild all at once.

The robe slipped from her shoulders as he laid her down, the cool air brushing against heated skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, hovering over her. “And you’re mine.”

Her eyes blazed. “Then stop looking. Touch me.”

He growled—actually growled—and obliged.

Her back hit the mattress, his body covering hers with desperate reverence. They weren’t making love—they were reclaiming it. Reclaiming them.

His mouth trailed down her neck, her collarbone, lower, over every inch he’d missed. His tongue flicked over the soft curve of her breast, and she gasped, arching into him.

“God,” she breathed. “You always knew how to—”

He sucked, hard, and her sentence shattered into a moan.

One hand slid down her stomach, slow, teasing, until it found her center.

Wet.

Ready.

Desperate.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, fingers stroking her with maddening precision. “Did I do this to you?”

“Always,” she whimpered.

She gasped as he settled between her thighs, his hands anchoring her like the world was tilting beneath them.

“Still yours?” he asked, breathless.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her hips arched to meet him.

“Always.”

He slipped a finger inside her, then two, curling just right. Her hips bucked.

“Dominic—”

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice rough and dark. “You don’t have to be strong with me tonight. You don’t have to carry any of it. Just feel.”

She cried out when his thumb found the spot that unraveled her.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

He worshipped her—mouth, hands, whispers.

And when he finally pressed into her, slow and thick and deep—

She choked out a sob.

This wasn’t just s*x.

This was everything.

The pain. The betrayal. The longing. The love that refused to die.

His forehead pressed to hers. His thrusts were slow, deliberate, designed to make her feel every inch of him.

“I dreamed of this,” he murmured, voice raw. “Every night you were gone.”

“I broke,” she whispered. “When I left, I broke.”

“So did I.”

He kissed her like apology and absolution all at once.

They moved together like they’d been made for it—like no time had passed, no lies had touched them. Just skin. Just heat. Just them.

When her climax hit, it shattered her. She cried out his name like a plea and a prayer.

And he followed, hips grinding deeper, deeper—until he stilled with a gasp, spilling into her, forehead resting on her shoulder.

Their bodies trembled.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Of truth.

Of healing.

Of something beginning again.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t speak.

He just wrapped his arms around her and held her like he never planned to let go again.

And Aria, for the first time in days, didn’t feel like she was breaking.

She felt whole.

That this… would survive anything.

Even war.