The Surprise
HARDIN'S POV
The door clicked shut behind me, and I swear I forgot how to breathe.
There she stood—backlit by the soft amber glow from the bedroom lamps, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders like spun silk. Ariana. Holding a bottle of champagne in one hand, wearing nothing but a silk robe that clung to her curves like a second skin. Bare legs, perfect posture, wicked smile.
Sin wrapped in satin.
I swallowed hard.
My pulse spiked instantly, thundering in my ears as my eyes devoured her. Everything about her looked carefully crafted to destroy me. And it was working.
"Welcome home," she purred, stepping forward with a sway to her hips that made my mouth go dry. “I thought you deserved a reward for being a good boyfriend.”
I was frozen in place—entirely paralyzed and entirely aroused.
Her fingers curled around the neck of the champagne bottle as she walked toward the kitchen island like she had all the time in the world. She set it down, popped it with a practiced twist, and poured two glasses with a slow, deliberate grace.
She handed me one.
“Drink with me?” she asked, head tilting as her robe slipped down slightly, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder. That wasn’t an accident. Nothing about Ariana ever was.
I took the glass from her, but I didn’t drink.
I didn’t even glance at the champagne.
I stared straight into her eyes and said the first thing that burned its way out of my throat.
“I don’t want the drink.”
Her lips curved, amused. “Oh?”
“I want to drink you.”
Ariana let out a breathy laugh that might as well have been a moan. “God, you say things like that and I forget what I’m doing.”
My fingers brushed her wrist as I placed the glass back on the counter. Her skin was warm. Electric. I leaned in close, just enough to inhale the soft perfume clinging to her neck—something floral, something sinful.
“Then stop thinking,” I murmured. “Let me.”
She pulled back just a fraction, enough to tease, enough to deny. “Not yet,” she whispered, voice laced with wicked delight. “That was just the intro.”
I raised a brow. “Intro?”
Her grin widened as she stepped back, lifting her glass in a toast. “To surprises.”
We drank in silence, though nothing about the silence between us was quiet. Not with the way her eyes clung to mine, daring me to break, daring me to pounce. She was a storm wrapped in elegance. A wildfire in disguise.
And I was burning for her.
She set the glass down slowly and glided closer. “You liked the champagne?”
“I like you,” I said darkly.
Her eyes flared with heat. “Then you’ll love what’s next.”
She stepped in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Her robe still clung to her shoulders, but barely. She met my gaze, and without saying a word, she let the fabric slip.
The robe slid down her body like a sigh.
My entire body went still.
I didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Because what she wore underneath?
It wasn’t lingerie. It was a declaration of war.
Black lace, sheer in all the right places, clinging to her curves like temptation had been tailored to her body. Her nipples were barely concealed, high and tight under the delicate material. A sliver of satin wrapped around her waist, anchoring garters that ran down to thigh-highs that seemed made to be torn off.
I couldn’t help it. A curse slipped from my lips. “Fuck…”
Ariana smiled like the devil had whispered in her ear. “You like?”
“Sweetheart,” I said, voice rough, “I’m five seconds from losing every shred of control I have.”
She climbed into my lap like a cat claiming her throne, legs straddling me as she settled her weight against my cock. My hands immediately gripped her hips, pulling her closer, grinding her against the aching hardness between my legs.
She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Do you want to take it off slowly…”
Her hips rolled, slow and torturous.
“Or…”
She nipped my earlobe.
“Rip it off?”
I groaned, low and primal. My fingers tangled in her hair as I tilted her head back, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“You’re playing with fire.”
Her grin turned dangerous. “Good. Burn me.”
My lips crashed against hers with no hesitation, no pause. Just hunger. Need. Her mouth opened under mine, and she tasted like champagne and wicked promises. Our tongues tangled, her fingers gripping my shirt like she wanted to tear it off.
She moaned into my mouth as I lifted her, carrying her toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss. My body was a live wire, every nerve ending begging to feel more of her, every muscle straining with the desire to claim.
I laid her down on the bed, but before I could do anything else, she flipped us—straddling me again, this time with her full weight pressing against my erection.
“Not so fast,” she whispered, dragging her nails down my chest. “Tonight, I’m in control.”
My eyes darkened. “You sure you can handle that responsibility?”
She leaned in, tongue flicking over my bottom lip. “Try me.”
Her hands moved to my belt, undoing it with infuriating slowness. I growled, but she just smirked. Her confidence was intoxicating. She kissed her way down my chest, pulling off my shirt inch by inch, and I let her—watching her with a kind of reverent hunger that bordered on worship.
She slid my pants down, her eyes locked on mine the whole time. Then she sat back, straddling my thighs.
My eyes devoured her. My hands moved to touch—but she slapped them away with a playful glare.
“Uh uh,” she whispered. “I said I’m in charge.”
I let out a rough laugh, part frustration, part admiration. “You're evil.”
“Thank you,” she purred, then leaned down, taking my bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it.
She kissed down my chest, then lower.
And lower.
I hissed as she reached her goal.
I'm so ruined.
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