CHAPTER 6

ARIA

I walked down the dimly lit corridor, my heels clicking against the cold stone floor.

The air was thick with dampness and the scent of old stone, a far cry from the sterile environment of my usual workplace. I clutched a list of tasks in my hand, my eyes scanning the items as I approached the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay beyond.

As I pushed open the door, the hinges creaked loudly, echoing through the chamber.

The room was dark, the only light filtering through a small, barred window high above, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

My eyes strained to make out the shapes in the dim light until finally, I saw him—chained to the wall, his arms stretched high above his head, heavy iron manacles biting into his wrists.

The cold metal seemed almost cruel against his bare skin.

Naked and vulnerable, he pressed against the cold stone wall, his head bowed, dark hair falling in messy strands to shadow his face.

A thousand questions flooded my mind.

Why was he chained like that?

Was he dangerous?

Was he some kind of monster?

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away.

No, he wasn’t dangerous—not really.

There was something else beneath that intensity in his gaze, something raw and wild, yes, but not cruel.

Dangerous in a way that whispered power, not malice.

It wasn’t just his appearance, though even under the cuts and swelling, there was no denying he was beautiful in a way that stole my breath.

No… it was something else.

Something I couldn’t explain.

A pull.

Like a thread inside my chest had suddenly gone taut, connecting me to him—delicate but impossible to ignore.

My heart clenched, aching with a strange, protective sorrow. I wanted to reach out, to undo the cuffs that kept his arms suspended above him, to soothe the lines of pain etched across his face. I wanted to free him.

Not because of sympathy alone, but because something deep inside me whispered that he didn’t belong like this.

That I didn’t want him like this.

But I couldn’t.

My hands were tied too, in a different way. I wasn’t here to make choices—only to carry out orders.

And even if my instincts screamed otherwise, I had to pretend this was just another routine task.

My steps faltered the moment my eyes landed on him.

He looked broken—bruised, bloodied, bound—but something about him struck me harder than any wound ever could.

His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto mine, piercing through the dimness and stirring something deep inside me.

There was awareness in his gaze—sharp, focused, almost... familiar.

Like he knew me. Not just recognise my face but see something deeper. It unsettled me. It thrilled me.

It made me forget, for just a moment, that we were supposed to be strangers.

My fingers curled at my sides as I fought the heat crawling beneath my skin.

What was this?

Why did it feel like more than curiosity, more than biology?

It felt like fate.

"You’re probably thinking, ‘Oh great, it’s her again,’ right?" I said, forcing a small smile as I stepped closer to him.

He didn’t respond—just watched me, still and unreadable. I cleared my throat, hugging the clipboard to my chest like a shield.

"I mean, I get it. I'm the only one who ever shows up down here. Must be weird. Probably annoying."

Silence. My eyes darted to his face, hoping for some flicker of reaction, but he remained expressionless.

His gaze followed me, steady and quiet, making my skin prickle.

"I have to, um… run a few checks again," I mumbled, holding up the clipboard for no real reason.

"Just protocol, you know. Nothing major, just… tasks."

Still nothing.

I shuffled a little closer, glancing sideways at him.

"Did you… miss me?"

I said with a nervous laugh, then immediately winced at my own words.

"Not that you have to. I just meant—uh—it’s fine if you didn’t. I’m… here to work."

No change in his expression.

No amusement.

No irritation.

Just that same intense, watchful silence.

I groaned softly to myself, turning away and fumbling with my supplies.

"God, I sound ridiculous,"

I muttered under my breath.

My hands trembled slightly as I set the tray down, trying not to drop anything. Behind me, I could feel his eyes like a weight on my back.

Watching.

Listening.

Maybe even understanding.

But saying nothing.

“Alright,”

I murmured softly, barely audible, more to steady myself than to speak to him.

“Let’s just get this done.”

My eyes flicked down to the notes clutched in my hands, and a crease of confusion formed between my brows.

"Semen collection," it read, and I felt a wave of shock and apprehension wash over me.

I looked up at the man, his gaze never wavering, and I felt a flush spread across my cheeks.

"Seriously," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man grunted in response, a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver down my spine.

I took a deep breath, drawing on my biological knowledge to steel myself for the task ahead. I approached him cautiously, my eyes never leaving his.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, slow and measured.

I reached out a tentative hand, my fingers brushing against his skin.

He flinched slightly, his body tensing at my touch, but he didn't pull away.

My heart raced as I began to examine him, my gloved hands gentle despite the hammering of my pulse.

I could feel his resistance, his muscles coiled and ready to spring, but he held himself still, his eyes locked onto mine.

I removed my gloves, my bare hands now making contact with his skin.

He let out a low hiss, his eyes widening in surprise at the warmth of my touch. I began to stroke his skin gently, my touch deliberate and soothing, trying to coax a response from him.

"It's okay," I murmured, my voice low and calming.

"Just let go and trust the process."

The man grunted again, a sound that sent a wave of heat through me.

I could feel his body slowly unwinding, his muscles relaxing under my touch. I felt a surge of satisfaction and a growing sense of power as I continued to stroke him, my touch more confident now.

With a final, strategic touch, I felt a slight movement, a subtle emergence from its hidden sheath.

The man's eyes opened wider, a mix of surprise and something more primal flashing across his face. My heart raced, but I kept my voice steady.

"Shh, it's okay. This is a natural response,"

I whispered, my touch firm yet gentle as I wrapped my fingers around the now-exposed organ, beginning rhythmic strokes.

The man let out a low groan, his body arching slightly, the chains above him clanking with the movement.

"Oh, fuck..." he breathed, his voice a low, guttural sound that sent a wave of heat through me. I felt a fierce blush spread across my own cheeks, my heart pounding in my chest.

Guilt flooded my consciousness, a stark contrast to the professional detachment I usually maintained.

"This is strictly professional—just collecting a necessary sample,"

I repeated to myself, a mantra to keep me grounded.

Yet, my body betrayed my clinical intentions, a warming response spreading through me as I continued the intimate act. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my breath coming in short, quick gasps.

The man's responses grew more pronounced, his body moving in sync with my strokes, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. I increased the pace slightly, my touch more insistent, more purposeful.

I could feel his body tensing, the signs of imminent release clear. The room was filled with the sound of our combined breathing, the clanking of chains, and the soft, wet sounds of my strokes.

The man's eyes locked onto mine, a mix of raw desire and something more intense in his gaze. I held his stare, my own eyes wide with a mix of determination and something else—something I couldn't quite name.

I felt a connection, a shared intimacy that transcended the clinical setting, and it left me breathless.

With a final, desperate stroke, I coaxed his release, his body convulsing as he let out a low, guttural roar.

"Ahhh!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls, a primal sound that sent a shockwave through my system.

I quickly retrieved the sample, my movements efficient and practised, despite the turmoil of emotions raging within me. I offered him a small, reassuring smile as I stepped back, my professional demeanour once again in place.

"All done. You can relax now," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.

The man let out a shaky breath, his body still trembling with the aftermath of his release.

He didn't speak, but his eyes said it all—so intense that made my heart flutter. I turned to leave, my emotions a whirlwind of conflict and confusion.

As I reached the door, I paused, turning back to him.

"Thank you for your cooperation," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving mine until I stepped out of the chamber, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the echo of our shared intimacy.

I walked away, my heart still pounding, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.

I had performed the task with professionalism and efficiency, yet the intimacy of the act lingered, a ghostly presence that haunted my steps.

I repeated my mantra, a desperate attempt to regain my composure.

"This is strictly professional—just collecting a necessary sample."