Chapter 103
Aria’s POV
I’d just tucked Noah into bed when Damien appeared in the doorway.
“Can we talk?” He looked nervous. “About the party p>
“Sure.” I followed him to the living room. “What about it p>
He pulled out a notebook—actual paper, covered in his neat handwriting. “I made a list of everything we need to do. And I wanted to run it by you p>
I took the notebook, scanning his notes. Party favors. Games. Safety considerations. Backup plans for rain, dietary restrictions for guests.
“You made a spreadsheet p>
“I made several spreadsheets.” He pulled out his tablet. “Color-coded with timelines p>
“Damien.” I looked up at him. “It’s a four-year-old’s birthday party p>
“It’s our son’s first birthday and I get to attend.” His voice cracked. “I want it to be perfect p>
My chest tightened. “It will be perfect because we’ll be there. Both of us, Thats what matters p>
“But what if”
“No what-ifs.” I set down the notebook on the coffee table. The leather cover was expensive, embossed with his initials. “We’ll plan, we’ll prepare, but we’ll also let it be messy and chaotic and fun. Because that’s what kids need p>
“Messy and chaotic.” He said it like it was a foreign language.
“And fun.” I smiled. “You remember fun, right? That thing you used to have before you became CEO of everything p>
“Vaguely.” His mouth twitched. “Maybe you could remind me p>
“Maybe I could.” I stood, moving closer. The carpet was soft under my bare feet. I’d kicked off my shoes after dinner and hadn’t put them back on. “Starting with relaxing about this party. Noah will love it no matter what because you’ll be there p>
“You really think so p>
“I know so.” I touched his face, his jaw was rough with stubble, scratchy against my palm. He must not have shaved this morning. “You’re his hero, Damien. Twelve-foot dinosaurs can’t compete with that p>
He caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. His lips were warm. I could feel his breath against my skin. “You’re going to make me cry p>
“Don’t.” I laughed softly. “I’ve seen enough Blackwood tears for one night p>
“Too late.” He pulled me into his arms. His cologne surrounded me—that expensive woodsy smell mixed with something else, maybe his laundry detergent or just him.”You’re stuck with my emotions now p>
“I’m not stuck with anything”
“Liar.” He held me closer, i could feel his heart beating against my cheek. Steady and strong. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not p>
“What if I don’t like it p>
“Then I’ll work harder.” His breath was warm against my ear as it made goosebumps rise on my arms. “Until you do p>
“You’re impossible p>
“I’m determined.” He pulled back to look at me, his blue eyes were darker in the low light. “There’s a difference p>
We stood there, wrapped in each other. The apartment was quiet. I could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
“Aria?” His voice was soft. “Can I ask you something p>
“Depends on the question p>
“At Noah’s party” He paused as his hands flexed on my waist. “Can we take a family photo? The three of us p>
“Damien”
“Please.” His eyes were earnest, one hand came up to cup my face. His palm was warm and slightly rough. “I know we’re not… whatever we are. But for Noah? Can we give him that? A picture of all of us together, happy p>
I thought about it, the optics, the implications. What it would mean to have that photo.
“Okay,” I said finally. “For Noah p>
“For Noah.” But his smile suggested it was for more than that.
“Don’t get any ideas”
“Too late.” He was grinning now, both hands on my waist again, thumbs rubbing small circles through my shirt. “I have all the ideas. Family photos, matching outfits, coordinated color schemes”
“Absolutely not p>
“Birthday traditions, annual celebrations, decades of memories”
“Damien”
“Growing old together, telling Noah’s kids about how we almost ruined everything but love saved us”
I kissed him to shut him up. His surprise lasted maybe half a second. Then he responded immediately, pulling me closer, his mouth moving against mine with an urgency that stole my breath. His hands slid up my back, one tangling in my hair. The gentle tug made me gasp.
He took advantage, deepening the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding. My fingers clutched his shirt, wrinkling the expensive fabric. When we broke apart, both breathless, he was smiling. His lips were slightly swollen, wet from my mouth.
“I like that method of making me stop talking p>
“It was effective.” I tried to step back but he held firm. His grip on my waist was possessive. “Do it again p>
“Damien”
“Please?” His eyes sparkled, one hand slid down to my hip, squeezing. “I have so many more ideas to share p>
“You’re ridiculous p>
“I’m in love.” He kissed me this time. Soft and sweet at first, his lips gentle against mine. Then harder, more insistent. His teeth caught my bottom lip and tugged as the sharp pleasure made me moan.
He groaned at the sound, walking me backwards until my legs hit the couch. We tumbled onto it, him half on top of me. The leather was cool against my back. His weight pressed me down, solid and real.
“Is this okay?” His voice was rough. His hand was on my ribs, just under my breast. Not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat of his palm through my thin shirt.
“Yes.” I pulled him back down.
His mouth found mine again. Hungrier now, his hand slid up, cupping my breast over my shirt. I arched into his touch. His thumb brushed across my nipple and I gasped into his mouth.
“God, Aria.” He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “I’ve missed you, missed this p>
“We never had this.” But my hands were in his hair, holding him close.
“We should have.” His lips traced down my throat. Open-mouthed kisses that left wet trails on my skin. He found the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder and sucked hard.
The sensation shot straight through me. I could feel the pull of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth. It would leave a mark and the thought made me clench.
His hands were everywhere. One sliding under my shirt, fingers spread across my stomach. The other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I could feel the calluses on his palm, rough against my soft skin.
“Can I?” His fingers played with the hem of my shirt.