His Addiction
ARIANA’S POV
The moment the party ended, Hardin didn’t wait for pleasantries.
His hand found mine, fingers lacing tight like he needed an anchor. He whispered something to his mother—something about handling the rest of the guests—and then we were gone. Through the glittering halls of his family’s estate, past the portraits and chandeliers, the polished floors and pressed smiles.
We didn’t speak.
We didn’t need to.
His grip on my hand said everything. Urgent. Possessive. Starving.
We reached his room. He kicked the door shut behind us, and then—
His mouth was on mine.
There was no pause. No hesitation. Just fire. His lips claimed me like he’d waited a century—hot, breathless, messy—and I gave in like I’d been holding my breath for just as long.
His hands found my waist, yanking me flush against his body. I gasped into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound greedily, like it fed him. Like I fed him.
“You have no idea,” he rasped against my lips, “how long I’ve been holding back. That dress…”
He stepped back just enough to look at me. His eyes were molten, stormy, and wild.
“That fucking dress,” he said again, voice rough with restraint. “I almost lost it the second I saw you in it.”
He kissed me again—hotter this time, teeth grazing my bottom lip—and then backed me up until I hit the door. Cold wood met my spine. His hands were everywhere—up my sides, over the smooth curve of my waist, tracing the line of my hip like he was memorizing every inch.
“I’ve been imagining this all night,” he muttered. “You. Against this door. Mine.”
My breath hitched. “Then stop imagining.”
A growl rumbled low in his throat—pure male satisfaction—and then his lips were at my neck. Hot and hungry. I tilted my head back, hands scrambling for his shoulders, nails digging in as his mouth moved lower.
He dragged the straps of my dress down slowly, reverently. They slipped over my shoulders, falling to my elbows as the fabric loosened. My breasts spilled free, the cool air brushing over my flushed skin just as his mouth closed over one nipple.
“God,” I gasped, arching into him.
He sucked, slow and firm, his tongue flicking over the tight peak before giving the same attention to the other. My fingers buried in his hair, tugging gently, anchoring me to the moment.
“You taste like sin,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
“Then don’t stop.”
His hands slid down, cupping my ass, lifting me just enough for my legs to wrap around his waist. The press of his hardness against the soaked fabric of my thong made me moan—and that was all the invitation he needed.
His mouth returned to mine, devouring. Then he slid a hand between us, fingers slipping under the thin lace.
“Already wet,” he growled, finding my center. “Fuck, baby… you were dripping for me the second we walked in, weren’t you?”
“Maybe,” I whispered.
He kissed me harder.
Then, with one sharp tug, he ripped the thong clean off.
I gasped, half in shock, half in pleasure, as he dropped the ruined fabric to the floor.
“No more barriers,” he said, voice low and wicked.
He pushed a thick finger inside me, curling just right. My head thumped against the door, eyes fluttering closed.
“Hardin—”
“You’re so fucking tight.” His voice was pure sex. “So ready. I could come just from this.”
“Then don’t,” I whispered, breath ragged. “Not yet.”
He smirked, pulling his finger out and dragging it through my slick folds again, teasing my clit with featherlight circles that made my hips jerk.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded.
I did.
His gaze locked on mine as he licked his finger—slow and filthy.
“You taste like heaven, Ariana.”
Then he unbuckled his belt with one hand, the metallic clink loud in the silence of the room. I watched, breath caught in my throat, as he freed himself—thick, hard, glistening at the tip.
He looked down at me, ravenous. “You ready?”
I nodded, heart racing.
“Say it.”
“I’m ready,” I whispered. “I want you. Now.”
He lifted me again, one arm beneath my ass, the other guiding himself to my entrance. And then—
He slammed into me, deep and hard.
My back hit the door with a thud, stars bursting behind my eyes. A moan tore from my throat, but he kissed me before it could echo too loud.
“You feel—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”
His hips snapped forward again, and again, his rhythm unforgiving. I clung to his shoulders, legs tightening around him as he drove into me, relentless and deep.
I bit down on his neck to muffle a scream, and he growled in response.
“No,” he grunted. “Don’t hold back.”
I moaned as he thrust harder, the door rattling behind me. “Hardin—your family—they’ll hear—”
His lips brushed my ear, hot and smug. “The walls are soundproof.”
He snapped his hips again.
“And even if they weren’t?” He grinned against my neck. “Let them hear. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”
I let out a strangled moan, nails raking down his back.
“You’re insane.”
He laughed. “You bring out the worst in me.”
He angled his hips, hitting a spot that made my body jerk.
“Oh my god—”
“That’s it,” he hissed. “Say my name.”
“Hardin—”
“Louder.”
“Hardin!”
“That’s my girl.”
His thrusts became savage, deep and punishing, slamming me against the door over and over until it shook with every motion.
I was unraveling—fast. Each drag of him inside me brought me closer, pushed me higher. I was drowning in him—in his heat, his hands, his words.
And he knew it.
“You’re close,” he whispered. “I can feel it. Let go, baby. Come for me.”
I shattered.
It hit like lightning, pleasure exploding through me in waves. My cry was loud and desperate, echoing off the walls as he drove me through it, never stopping.
My nails dug into his shoulders. My thighs shook around his waist. I was liquid and fire and everything in between.
“Good girl,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect.”
He wasn’t done.
He fucked me through the aftershocks, holding me up like I weighed nothing. My body trembled with every thrust, overly sensitive, drunk on bliss.
“I need—fuck—I need to be inside you when I come,” he growled. “Deeper.”
He carried me from the door, still inside me, and slammed me against it again.
“I want it all,” I panted. “Give me everything.”
He did.
With a final growl, he buried himself to the hilt, his release hitting hard and hot. His forehead dropped to mine, breath harsh and uneven.
We stayed there, bodies pressed tight, his heartbeat a drum against my chest.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he whispered, voice raw.
I kissed him softly, fingers brushing through his hair.
“I know,” I whispered back.
He finally pulled out slowly, setting me down with care. My legs were wobbly, but he held me up, pressing kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, my jaw.
“You okay?”
“I’m perfect,” I said, lips curling.
He looked down at the ruined thong on the floor and smirked. “You’re going to miss that, huh?”
“Not even a little.”
He scooped me up again, carrying me toward the bed.
“You’re not done, are you?” I asked, raising a brow.
His grin turned wicked.
“Oh no, baby. That was just the appetizer.”
And the way he looked at me?
I knew I wouldn’t be walking straight tomorrow.
But right now?
I didn’t care.
I just wanted him.
And tonight, he wanted all of me.
Against the door.
In the bed.
Everywhere.
Because tonight, I wasn’t just his girlfriend.
I was his addiction.
And he was mine.
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