The Wrong Penthouse

Chapter Five: Forbidden Flames

Ariana Cole POV

His kiss ignited something primal inside me. What began as a tentative brush of lips quickly blazed into hunger. Damian’s mouth claimed mine with a depth that left me breathless, his tongue sliding against my own in a slow, devastating rhythm. I moaned into him, my fingers twisting in the crisp fabric of his shirt as I pulled him closer. Every warning in my mind—Chloe, loyalty, the engagement photo—dissolved beneath the scorching heat of his body.

He pushed me back onto the bed with firm, insistent hands. My head sank into the soft mattress as his weight settled over me, solid and commanding. The city lights spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing us in a silvery glow that made the moment feel both intimate and impossibly exposed. His hand slid down my side, gripping my thigh and hooking my leg around his hip. The possessive press of his fingers into my flesh sent a rush of heat pooling between my legs.

“God, Ariana,” he rasped against my lips, his voice low and rough with desire. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I arched beneath him, craving more contact. His mouth trailed from my lips to my jaw, then lower, blazing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck. My breath hitched as his fingers worked open the buttons of my blouse with practiced ease. Cool air kissed my skin as he pushed the fabric aside and tugged my bra down, freeing my breasts.

Damian’s eyes darkened, heavy-lidded with want. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost reverently. Then his head lowered, and his mouth closed over one n****e. He sucked deeply, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak in lazy, tormenting circles. Pleasure shot through me like lightning. I cried out, my back bowing off the bed as I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, holding him there.

He groaned against my skin, the vibration sending fresh waves of sensation rippling through me. His hand kneaded my other breast, thumb teasing the stiff n****e while his mouth continued its exquisite torture—sucking harder, grazing with his teeth just enough to make me whimper. I felt myself growing wetter, the ache between my thighs intensifying with every pull of his lips.

“Damian…” His name escaped me like a prayer and a plea all at once.

He switched sides, lavishing the same attention on my other breast. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of stubble against tender skin—it was overwhelming. His free hand maintained its firm grip on my thigh, squeezing, stroking higher beneath the hem of my skirt. His fingers brushed the edge of my panties, and I trembled.

When he finally slipped beneath the lace, feeling the slick evidence of my arousal, a low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest. “You’re so wet for me already,” he whispered, his breath hot against my breast. His fingers stroked me slowly, exploring, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves until my hips bucked against his hand.

I reached for him desperately, tugging at his shirt until the buttons gave way. My palms met the hard planes of his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my touch. He was rock-hard against my thigh, the thick length of him pressing insistently through his trousers. The friction of his hips rocking against mine drove me wild.

We moved together in a haze of need—kissing, touching, grinding. His fingers continued their maddening rhythm between my legs, circling and dipping until I was panting, teetering on the edge. Guilt flickered at the edges of my mind, sharp and unwelcome, but the pull of him was stronger. This connection, raw and electric, felt more real than anything I had known.

Damian lifted his head, eyes locking with mine. The conflict was there, mirroring my own—dark and turbulent—but so was the undeniable want. “Tell me to stop,” he said hoarsely, even as his fingers kept moving, coaxing another soft moan from my lips. “Tell me this is a mistake.”

I couldn’t. Instead, I pulled him down for another searing kiss. “Don’t stop,” I whispered against his mouth. “Not tonight.”

That was all the permission he needed. In one fluid motion, he stripped away the rest of my clothes, his hands reverent yet urgent. I helped him shed his own, revealing the powerful lines of his body. He was magnificent—broad shoulders, defined abs, and an impressive erection that made my mouth water.

He settled between my thighs again, his weight deliciously heavy. The head of his c**k nudged my entrance, sliding against my wetness. He paused, eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

Damian thrust forward slowly, burying himself inside me inch by inch. The stretch was exquisite, filling me completely. We both groaned at the sensation—tight, perfect, overwhelming. He held still for a moment, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine as our breaths mingled.

Then he began to move. Deep, measured strokes that built in intensity. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure radiating through me. His mouth found my breasts again, sucking and licking as he drove into me harder. My nails raked down his back, urging him on. The sound of skin against skin, our shared gasps and moans, filled the penthouse.

He gripped my thigh again, lifting it higher to change the angle. The new depth made me cry out, stars bursting behind my eyelids. “Right there,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

His pace quickened, powerful and relentless, yet somehow still controlled. Sweat slicked our bodies as we moved together, chasing the same release. The tension coiled tighter inside me, building, building—

“Damian,” I whimpered, clinging to him.

“Come for me, Ariana.” His voice was a dark command, his thumb finding my c**t and circling with perfect pressure.

The orgasm crashed over me like a wave, shattering me. I clenched around him, crying out his name as pleasure tore through every nerve. He followed moments later, thrusting deep one final time with a guttural groan, spilling inside me as his body tensed above mine.

We collapsed together, tangled and breathless. His weight pinned me to the mattress in the most comforting way, his face buried in the crook of my neck. For several long minutes, neither of us spoke. Our hearts thundered in sync, slowly easing back to normal.

Reality crept in gradually—the weight of what we had just done, the betrayal of my best friend, the impossible tangle of our lives. But wrapped in Damian’s arms, with his fingers gently stroking my hair, the guilt felt distant. Muted.

He pressed a soft kiss to my temple. “This changes everything,” he murmured.

I closed my eyes, tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I know.”

And yet, as sleep began to pull me under, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. Not yet. Some connections, it seemed, were worth every forbidden risk.