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

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was the longest thirty seconds of Aria’s life.

Damien stood behind her, his chest brushing her back, the heat radiating off his bare, oiled skin seeping through her white suit. He didn’t touch her. He just stood there, breathing against the shell of her ear, letting the anticipation build until the air in the small metal box felt thick enough to chew.

The doors slid open.

Aria stepped out, her heels clicking on the tiles. She didn’t stop in the living room. She walked straight to the Master Bedroom, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was nervous—terrified, actually—but the adrenaline of the night and the dark, hungry look in Damien’s eyes gave her a reckless kind of courage.

She walked to the velvet armchair in the corner of the room and sat down. She crossed her legs, resting her gold-tipped cane against her knee, trying to channel the ”Madam V” persona that had intimidated Marcus earlier.

”Close the door,” she commanded, her voice trembling just a fraction.

Damien walked in. He kicked the door shut with his heel, the lock clicking loudly.

He stood there in the center of the room, looking like a dark fantasy brought to life. The black leather pants molded to his powerful thighs. The harness dug into his pectorals, framing the hard, oiled expanse of his chest. He looked dangerous. He looked expensive.

”Present yourself,” Aria said, lifting her chin.

Damien’s lips quirked into a smirk. He walked toward her, his movements slow and predatory. He stopped two feet away, towering over her.

”Is the product to your liking, Madam?” he asked, his voice a low, rough purr.

Aria swallowed hard. Her face felt hot, but she refused to look away. ”I haven’t decided yet. I need to... inspect the merchandise. The packaging is promising, but I need to test the durability.”

She picked up the cane.

She reached out with the gold tip, pressing it against the center of his chest. The metal was cool against his hot skin. She traced the line of his sternum, down over the ridges of his abs, watching the way his muscles jumped and twitched under the light pressure. She circled his navel with the tip, hearing his breath hitch.

”You’re tense,” she noted, her eyes dark.

”I’m anticipating,” Damien corrected, his hands flexing at his sides.

”Good.”

She moved the cane lower, dragging it over the buckle of the harness, down to the waistband of the leather pants. She stopped right over the bulge that was straining against the zipper. She tapped it lightly with the cane, testing the hardness.

Damien sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back. ”Aria...”

”Madam,” she corrected him sharply. ”You don’t speak unless spoken to.”

”Madam,” he rasped, correcting himself, though his eyes burned with a challenge. ”Does the client have a return policy?”

”No refunds on used goods,” Aria whispered.

She stood up. She dropped the cane onto the chair. She walked over to the dresser and pulled out a black silk tie.

She turned back to him.

”Turn around.”

Damien hesitated for a split second, his eyes searching hers. He saw the flush on her cheeks, the shyness warring with the desire to take what she wanted.

He turned around. The muscles of his back rippled under the oil as he moved.

He clasped his hands behind his back without being asked.

Aria stepped closer. Her hands were shaking as she wrapped the silk tie around his wrists. She wasn’t an expert—her knots were clumsy—but she pulled them tight, securing his hands against the small of his back.

”You’re trapped,” she whispered against his shoulder blade, pressing a kiss to the skin right next to the leather strap.

”I’ve been trapped since the day I met you,” Damien murmured.

She walked back around to face him. He looked even more imposing with his arms restrained, his chest thrust forward, vulnerable and powerful all at once.

”Kneel.”

Damien sank to his knees. The movement was fluid, controlled submission. He looked up at her, his golden eyes blown wide, black pupils swallowing the iris. He looked like a devotee at an altar, waiting for judgment.

Aria stepped between his spread knees. She reached out, her hands tracing the leather straps of the harness, feeling the heat of his skin underneath. She ran her palms over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the corded muscle bunching under her touch. She felt incredibly powerful, standing over him while he waited for her touch.

”You’re mine,” she said, the realization hitting her hard. This man—this King who ruled the city—was on his knees for her.

”Yours,” he agreed, his voice wrecked. ”Only yours.”

She leaned down. She didn’t kiss his mouth. She kissed his chest, right over his heart. She licked a stripe of oil from his skin, tasting sandalwood and salt. She moved lower, kissing the line of his abs, hearing his breath shudder in his lungs.

Damien groaned, his head falling back, his restrained hands straining against the silk tie as he fought the urge to grab her.

”Aria...”

”Shh,” she soothed, brushing her thumb over his lips. ”I’m not done inspecting.”

She pulled back to look at him. God, he was beautiful. The harness straps dug into his oiled pectorals, highlighting the savage swell of his muscles with every ragged breath he took. A bead of sweat rolled down his throat, catching the light, and Aria felt a corresponding dampness blooming between her thighs. He was art. He was sin. And seeing him like this—bound, kneeling, and desperate—made her feel powerful in a way she had never experienced.

”You’re trembling,” she teased, her voice husky.

”Because I’m starving,” Damien ground out, his gaze burning through her white suit. ”And you look like a meal I can’t touch.”

”Good,” Aria hummed. ”Hunger increases the value.”

She reached for the zipper of his leather pants.

”Now,” she whispered, her eyes locking with his as she slowly, agonizingly lowered the metal tab, revealing him inch by inch. ”Let’s see what I bought.”