Jealous
ARIANA'S POV
The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. I stirred gently, blinking my eyes open, the scent of him wrapping around me like a blanket—clean soap, spice, and something purely Hardin. My body ached in the most delicious way, my thighs sore, lips tender, and skin still humming with the aftershocks of the night before.
I turned my head slowly.
There he was—still asleep beside me, one arm thrown over his head, the other resting loosely on my hip, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep slumber. My breath caught in my throat. How did someone look that good even in sleep? Dark lashes fanned over his cheekbones, and his messy black hair spilled over his forehead. His jaw was rough with stubble, lips slightly parted.
God, he was beautiful.
And mine.
A smile played at my lips as I watched him, warmth flooding my chest. Last night… last night had been insane. Wild. Consuming. Every touch, every sound, every breath had branded me all over again.
But then I felt it.
Pressure.
Shit.
I pressed my thighs together, wiggling a little in place. Still asleep. Good.
Carefully, I tried to shift without waking him, but the moment I moved, he groaned low in his throat and pulled me tighter against him, his lips brushing my temple.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep.
“I’m… pressed,” I whispered, biting back a laugh.
His eyes stayed closed, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Pressed, huh?”
“Yes. Let me go.”
“Mmm.” His arms loosened reluctantly. “Fine. But come back.”
I rolled out of bed, the cool air making me shiver as I searched for something to wear. My eyes landed on one of his black shirt discarded on the floor. I grabbed it, slipped it on, and it fell mid-thigh, the scent of him engulfing me instantly. I padded barefoot to the bathroom, did my business, washed my hands, and splashed some cold water on my face.
Sunday.
No meetings. No alarms. Just peace and my boyfriend’s arms.
That’s all I wanted.
I dried my hands, yawning as I stepped back into the bedroom. Hardin was still sprawled out across the bed like a fallen god, the sheet just barely covering his lower half. My stomach fluttered. How did I ever get this lucky?
Just as I was about to climb back into bed and curl up against him, the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating across the nightstand broke the calm. I paused, frowning.
It buzzed again.
I glanced toward it.
The screen lit up with a preview message.
Unknown Number: Hey handsome, I’ve gone through the contract. We should meet to discuss more.
My heart dropped.
Hey handsome?
I picked up the phone slowly, staring at the words, fury bubbling in my chest. Who the hell had the audacity to message my man like that?
No greeting. No business tone. No signature.
This wasn’t professional. This was personal.
Too personal.
And somehow… I knew.
Beatrice.
Of course it was her.
I clenched my jaw and dropped the phone back onto the nightstand a little too hard. I didn’t get back in bed. I couldn’t. Instead, I sat at the edge of it, my back to Hardin, arms crossed tightly over my chest.
I wasn’t mad at him.
Not really.
But her? Oh, I was livid.
Hardin stirred behind me. “Ari?” His voice was soft, still thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I replied, maybe a little too quickly.
He shifted behind me, then I felt his lips on my shoulder, the heat of his chest pressed against my back. “Babe…”
“I said it’s nothing.”
There was a beat of silence. Then I felt him move again, sitting up behind me.
“Ariana,” he said gently. “Talk to me.”
I inhaled sharply and turned just enough to glare over my shoulder. “Beatrice messaged you.”
His brows drew together. “Beatrice?”
“Yeah,” I said, standing and grabbing his phone again. I held it out to him. “From an unknown number, might I add. She called you handsome and said you should meet to discuss the contract.”
He took the phone, scanned the message, and immediately groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Oh for f—dammit,” he muttered.
I crossed my arms again, pacing slowly. “Is she stalking you now? Messaging you like you’re friends or something?”
He looked up at me, his face serious. “You know I can’t stand her. I’ll tell my parents I won’t work with her.”
“She’s disrespectful,” I snapped. “And if she thinks she can just slither her way in and start calling you ‘handsome’ like you’re not mine, then she’s got another thing coming.”
He stood, walking toward me, completely unapologetic in all his naked, muscular glory. I was still fuming, but the sight of him nearly made me forget why I was mad in the first place.
“Hey,” he said, reaching for my waist, pulling me in close. “I’ll tell my parents—again—that if they want me to continue the project, I’ll work with Mr Davis, not Beatrice. End of discussion.”
“You better,” I muttered.
“Because if not,” I added, narrowing my eyes, “I was already planning how to kill her in my head.”
He laughed—loud, real, unfiltered—then leaned in to kiss the tip of my nose. “You’re terrifying, and I’m wildly turned on.”
I tried not to smile, but it crept in anyway. “Don’t test me, Hardin. I’m not above hiding a body.”
“Oh, I believe you,” he said, smirking. “But let’s not waste the rest of our Sunday talking about her.”
“I just wanted a peaceful morning,” I sighed. “Wake up, kiss you, maybe eat pancakes. Not wake up to her invading my phone-free zone.”
“I’ll handle it,” he promised, leading me back to bed. “Now come on. I owe you some snuggling.”
“You owe me breakfast in bed for emotional damage,” I corrected.
“Deal,” he said, pulling me onto the mattress and wrapping his arms around me from behind. “You’re mine, Ari Beatrice could be reincarnated as a billion-dollar deal and I still wouldn’t look twice.”
“That’s… oddly romantic.”
“I try.”
We laid in silence for a few moments, the tension bleeding out of my limbs as he kissed the back of my neck. I could feel his heart beating against my spine, steady and warm. His hand found mine and he laced our fingers together.
I turned in his arms, looking up at him. “You really mean it, don’t you? That you’d walk away from the deal if they force her on you?”
He nodded. “It’s not worth it if it makes you uncomfortable. And truthfully? I don’t trust her.”
Something in my chest relaxed then, the possessive fire dying down into something softer, steadier.
“I trust you,” I whispered. “It’s her I don’t trust.”
“I know.”
I leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, letting it speak what my heart couldn’t always say.
Eventually, he pulled away just enough to say, “Pancakes? With strawberries?”
“And whipped cream,” I added.
He groaned. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“You love it.”
He gave me a wink and climbed out of bed, stretching his long frame. I admired the view shamelessly before grabbing a pillow and tossing it at his head.
“What was that for?” he asked, catching it midair.
“Because Beatrice can't ever see you like this.”
He laughed again, walking toward the bathroom. “You know you’re the only one who gets the full experience.”
My cheeks flushed, and I rolled onto my stomach, watching him disappear behind the door.
The day had started rocky, but the storm had passed.
And now?
Now it was just me and him.
And pancakes.
And maybe another round later.
If the bed could survive it.
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