After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law

The metal slider of the zipper hissed in the silence of the room, a long, tearing sound that seemed to echo off the walls.

Damien’s hands were rough against the liquid silver fabric, his knuckles grazing Aria’s spine as he peeled the dress down. It pooled at her waist, a shimmering puddle of mercury, leaving her upper body exposed to the cool, conditioned air of the penthouse.

She shivered.

”Cold?” Damien murmured, his breath warm against the sensitive cord of her neck.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned in, his mouth replacing the cool air with wet, searing heat. He kissed the hollow of her throat, his tongue tracing the erratic pulse jumping beneath her skin. His hands slid up her ribcage, calloused palms rasping against the soft curve of her breasts.

Aria’s head fell back against the leather cushions, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hands found purchase in his silver hair, gripping tight enough to pull.

”A very important medical necessity,” he breathed against her skin.

He shifted his weight, guiding her to lie back against the plush armrest. He stripped the rest of the silk from her body—the dress, the seamless scrap of underwear—until she lay completely bare, her pale skin glowing against the dark leather.

Damien slid off the edge of the sofa, sinking to his knees on the thick rug.

Instinct kicked in. Aria’s knees knocked together, her hands moving to cover herself. It was a reflex born of a lifetime of hiding, of saving herself for a man who had never looked at her.

”No,” Damien said, catching her wrists. He pulled her hands away from her body, pressing them briefly into the leather cushions at her sides. ”Don’t hide. I want to see my wife.”

He released her wrists and slid his hands down to her knees, nudging them apart gently but firmly until she was open to him.

Aria’s breath hitched. She was elevated on the sofa while he knelt before her like a supplicant. She had never been this vulnerable.

Damien lowered his head. When his mouth touched her, Aria didn’t breathe. She didn’t think. Her back arched off the leather with a sharp, choked cry as a jolt of electricity arced through her nervous system.

His tongue swirled against her, broad and hot and relentless. He tasted her with a slow, deliberate pressure that made her hips buck involuntarily. Aria’s vision blurred. She had read about this in books, but ink on paper couldn’t replicate the wet, heavy suction that seemed to be trying to draw the very soul out of her body.

”Damien...” Her voice was a broken whimper. She gripped the edge of the sofa cushions, her knuckles turning white, needing something to hold onto as the room started to spin.

His hands moved up to grip her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold her steady against his mouth.

He hummed against her, a low, guttural sound of approval that vibrated through her bones.

”Sweet,” he muttered against her damp skin, before diving back in.

The rhythm changed. The slow exploration vanished, replaced by a hard, fast flicker that targeted a single nerve ending with maddening precision.

Aria gasped for air that wasn’t there. Her head thrashed against the armrest. It was too much. It was sensory overload—the smell of his cologne, the heat of his breath, the relentless, driving pressure. She felt tight, coiled like a spring that was being wound past its breaking point.

”Damien, I can’t—”

He sucked harder.

Aria screamed. It was a raw, uninhibited sound that tore from her throat as the pleasure crashed over her. Her body convulsed, her inner muscles clamping down in a spasm so intense she saw white spots behind her eyelids. She clamped her legs around his head, trapping him there as the waves rolled through her, one after another, leaving her sobbing and gasping in the quiet room.

Damien didn’t stop until the last tremor faded from her legs. He kissed the inside of her thigh, a soft, lingering seal, before pulling himself up from the floor.

He climbed onto the sofa, hovering over her, bracing his weight on his forearms. His face was flushed, his eyes dark, and his mouth wet. He looked wrecked. He looked triumphant.

”Are you okay?” he asked.

Aria couldn’t form words. Her chest heaved. She felt boneless, melted into the leather like wax. She just nodded, her eyes heavy.

She reached for him, her hand falling limply onto his chest. Her eyelids fluttered.

”Stay,” she whispered, the word slurring into sleep.

”I’m here,” Damien murmured.

He shifted, pulling the cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and tucking it around her shoulders. He smoothed the damp hair from her forehead, watching as her breathing deepened, slowing into the rhythmic puff of deep sleep.

He sat there for a long time, listening to the silence, watching the rise and fall of her chest.

Then, the softness in his eyes hardened into something brittle and cold.

He reached down into the hidden compartment of the sofa where he had shoved the burner phone earlier.

His fingers brushed the cold casing.

He pulled it out.

The device felt heavy in his hand. He pressed the power button. The screen flared to life, casting a ghostly blue light over his sharp features.

He navigated the menu with his thumb until he found the file directory.

There it was. A single folder sitting in the digital void.

Folder: ORPHEUS.

Damien stared at the name.

”If you open the file named ’Orpheus’, you bring down the roof,” the message he deleted said.

”Orpheus,” he mumbled.

He looked at Aria. She was sleeping peacefully, her lips swollen, a faint flush still coloring her cheeks.

He knew what opening this file meant. It meant the end of this quiet peace. It meant the beginning of a war with monsters who didn’t care about headlines.

His finger hovered over the glass.

He pressed the screen.