The Passion Between Us
ARIANA'S POV
By the time the car pulled up to Hardin’s penthouse, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged.
His hand was still on mine, our fingers tangled together, the weight of the night crackling beneath our skin. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows like melting gold, but all I could think about was him. The way his jaw had clenched when Andrew insulted him. The way he’d looked at me like I was his lifeline.
We didn’t speak as the elevator carried us up.
We didn’t need to.
The tension that had started hours ago at the top of the staircase, when he first saw me in this dress, had reached its peak. And we were both balancing at the edge.
The moment the elevator doors slid open, he reached for me.
His hand wrapped around my wrist, gentle but firm, and the click of the front door unlocking felt like a countdown.
I stepped inside.
And then—
Hardin slammed the door shut behind us and spun me around. My back hit the wood, and then his mouth was on mine.
Hot. Demanding. Desperate.
His hands roamed like he didn’t know where to start—my waist, my hips, my neck. He groaned against my lips like he’d been starving, like the taste of me was all he’d been craving since the second I walked down those stairs.
“You’ve been driving me insane all night,” he rasped, his voice rough and breathless.
I smiled against his mouth. “Good.”
He growled—an honest-to-God growl—and then kissed me harder. His tongue slipped between my lips, claiming me. There was no hesitation. No restraint. Just heat and hunger and something deeper—something primal and possessive that set my blood on fire.
He hoisted me up like I weighed nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. My heels slipped off somewhere between the front door and the hallway, but I didn’t care. His hands were under my thighs, fingers digging in, anchoring me to him.
When we made it to the bedroom, he lowered me gently onto the bed. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard, eyes raking over me like he was memorizing every inch.
“You look like sin in that dress,” he muttered. “And I plan to repent all night.”
My lips curled. “Who says I want you to repent?”
Hardin dropped to his knees in front of me, eyes locked on mine.
“I’m not here to ask permission,” he whispered. “I’m here to worship.”
His hands slid up my thighs slowly, bunching the silk as he went. The slit gave him full access, and when he leaned in to press a kiss against the inside of my knee, I shivered.
He kissed higher.
And higher.
Until his breath ghosted over the damp heat between my legs, and my fingers tangled in his hair.
“I want to taste how much you want me,” he whispered, voice molten. “Let me hear how this night’s been killing you.”
My back arched when his mouth finally found me, and my moan echoed through the room. He moved slowly at first—soft licks, teasing flicks of his tongue that made my thighs tremble. He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew how to unravel me.
When he sucked gently, my breath caught.
When he added pressure, I cried out.
But just as the tension built to an unbearable height—he stopped.
I blinked down at him, dazed. “Hardin—”
He stood, eyes burning with need and satisfaction, his lips glistening.
“You promised me something, remember?” he asked.
Oh. Oh.
I sat up slowly, sliding off the edge of the bed, my knees sinking into the soft rug.
His breath hitched.
My hands moved to his belt, undoing it with slow precision. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves. I dragged the zipper down, freeing him.
When I took him into my mouth, his head fell back with a low groan that made my core throb.
“You feel so good,” he rasped, his hand threading through my hair. “So damn good…”
I took my time—exploring, learning every reaction, every shudder, every broken whisper of my name. His hips bucked once, and I placed my hands on his thighs to steady him. It wasn’t about power. It was about us. Intimacy. Trust.
When I finally pulled back, he looked wrecked.
Beautifully, deliciously wrecked.
His eyes met mine, dark and undone. “Get on the bed. Now.”
I didn’t hesitate.
As soon as I was on my back, Hardin crawled over me. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine—it was reverent. Like I was a storm he was grateful to drown in.
He kissed me again, slower this time. Tender. Deep. Like he was trying to pour every unspoken promise into me through his lips.
Then, without a word, he pushed inside me.
We gasped together.
It wasn’t just the physical stretch, the perfect way we fit together—it was the emotion behind it. The way his hands cupped my face, the way his eyes never left mine.
He moved slowly at first, rocking into me with long, deliberate strokes that made the world tilt.
“You feel like home,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulled him deeper. “Don’t stop.”
His pace quickened, but it wasn’t rough—it was passionate. Controlled. He kissed my throat, my collarbone, the top of my breast, each touch sending sparks through me.
When I tightened around him, his rhythm stuttered. He groaned, forehead pressed to my chest.
“I’m close,” I whispered, nails digging into his back. “Hardin—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He kissed me hard, desperate, then slipped a hand between us, circling that bundle of nerves with practiced precision.
I shattered.
My body trembled as waves of pleasure tore through me. I cried out his name, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering me to reality.
He followed with a strangled moan, burying himself deep as he found his own release.
We lay there tangled, skin to skin, heartbeats echoing in sync.
Time slowed.
His hand found mine, our fingers lacing together again.
He kissed my temple, then my cheek, then my lips.
“I love you,” he whispered against my mouth. “And not just like a man in love with a beautiful woman. I love you like you’re my future. My peace.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I smiled through them. “And I love you like you’re the home I never thought I’d have.”
We stayed like that for a long time—wrapped around each other, legs tangled beneath soft sheets, the scent of us thick in the air.
Eventually, Hardin pulled me closer, spooning me against his chest, one arm tight around my waist.
“You know,” he said quietly, voice raspy with exhaustion and bliss, “I don’t care what Andrew tries. I’m not afraid of him. He's a bastard.”
I laced my fingers through his. “Because you have me now.”
He pressed a kiss behind my ear. “Exactly.”
The city outside moved on—cars, lights, chaos.
But in our room, there was only stillness.
Love.
And the fire between us, still burning slow and steady.
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