CHAPTER 7A

ARIA

I stood by the door, my fingers trembling slightly as I sealed the sample and tucked it into my bag.

My task was done—I should’ve left.

But my body refused to move.

Something held me in place—silent, powerful, and impossible to name.

My hand hovered on the door, but my body refused to move.

Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, I turned my head and looked back.

He was staring at me—unblinking, intense.

That same quiet hunger simmered in his gaze, raw and wordless.

My eyes dropped before I could stop them. He was still hard. The outline of him pressed visibly against the fabric of his pants, impossible to ignore.

The air between us pulsed with tension, thick and humming with everything unsaid. My breath caught, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

I didn’t understand what held me there—pity, curiosity, something deeper—but I couldn’t look away.

Not yet.

The air between us crackled.

Heat rolled off him in waves, his entire body drawn tight with a tension that felt barely contained.

His gaze was locked on mine—dark, unblinking, almost devouring—and it hit me like a current under my skin, pulling me toward him.

It was like being caught in a trance, rooted in place by the sheer force of him. My breaths came shallow and quick, my chest rising and falling as instinct screamed at me to turn and run.

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his muscles flexed as though he were holding something back—something raw and barely caged.

His wrists were shackled above his head, chains creaking under the strain as his fists clenched tightly—knuckles white, tendons taut.

His jaw was set, tension radiating from every line of his body.

He was fighting it-whatever this pull between us was—and yet, his eyes never wavered from me.

I shook my head, reminding myself my job was finished—I needed to leave.

But just as my fingers curled around the door handle, a low, guttural sound broke the silence behind me.

A groan—raw, primal—rolled through the room, freezing me in place. The sound sent a shiver down my spine.

Against my better judgment, I glanced back—only to find his eyes still locked on me, dark and hungry, trailing over every curve of my body with blatant, unspoken desire.

I swallowed hard, a tremor running through my hand as it gripped the cold metal of the door. I shook my head, as if trying to snap myself out of it.

“What are you waiting for?” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible, like saying them aloud might force my body to move. But it didn’t.

My hand stayed wrapped around the door handle, knuckles tight, the cool metal biting into my skin.

I was supposed to leave.

He was just a subject.

Nothing more.

That was the rule—the line I wasn’t supposed to cross.

And yet I stood there, unmoving.

My heartbeat pounded like a warning in my ears, quick and erratic.

Every second I hesitated made the room feel smaller, the air thicker.

Logic shouted at me to walk out, to finish the job and go. But something else—something reckless and hot and alive—kept me rooted in place.

A strange heat curled low in my belly, and my breath caught as that tension inside me coiled tighter, impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just fear.

It wasn’t just curiosity.

It was him.

With a trembling exhale, I finally let go.

The handle slipped from my fingers like a lifeline I no longer wanted.

My body turned before my mind could catch up—slow, deliberate, like wading into dangerous waters I had no business entering.

He was still watching me.

Eyes dark and unblinking, like they saw everything.

And I was still there.

Standing in the quiet pull between what I knew was right… and what my body was begging me to feel.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest, a drumbeat of desire and anticipation that drowned out all rational thought.

I couldn't control myself any longer; the pull towards him was too strong, too overwhelming. I walked towards him, my steps slow and deliberate, my eyes locked onto his.

He watched me approach, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort of maintaining control.

As I came to stand in front of him, I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the dark, hungry desire in his eyes.

I stood before him, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the sight of his restrained form.

The chains that bound him to the wall caught the dim light, glinting like a warning—but it wasn’t the metal that made my breath catch.

It was the look in his eyes.

That raw, untamed hunger.

It rooted me in place, held me fast, even as every instinct screamed at me to run.

Then he moved.

His hips snapped forward with a fierce, almost feral intensity, the sheer force of it making the heavy chains rattle against the wall.

Muscles rippled down his torso and thighs, tight and commanding, like he was built for this—like nothing could restrain him, not even iron.

I gasped, stumbling back a step before I could stop myself, heart slamming against my ribs.

The movement was animalistic, powerful… and impossible to look away from.

His breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, his body shining with sweat as he invested every bit of his energy into each thrust.

I could see the strain in his body, the way his muscles flexed and rippled with effort, the veins in his neck and arms standing out in stark relief.

He was a man possessed, driven by a primal need that left no room for anything else.

The chains bit into his wrists, leaving angry red marks, but he seemed oblivious to the discomfort, his focus solely on the rhythm of his body and the chase for release.

His hips moved back and forth, slow and steady, each thrust full of raw need.

Back and forth...

Back and forth...

The chains pulled tight with every motion, clinking softly in the quiet room.

The way he moved was intense, almost hypnotic—like he couldn’t stop himself, like something deep inside him had taken over.

The room filled with the sound of our shared breaths, the clanking of chains, and the wet, obscene sounds of his body moving against the air.

My eyes widened as I watched him, my body responding to the primal display even though I wasn't even touching him yet.

My heart hammered in my chest, a wild, erratic rhythm that seemed to echo through every fibre of my being.

A wave of heat crashed over me, setting my skin on fire with a heightened, tingling sensitivity.

My nipples tightened and ached, pushing against the confines of my clothing, craving his touch. I could feel the dampness between my thighs, my body readying itself for him, my inner muscles clenching with a desperate, hollow need.

My breathing became erratic, coming in quick, shallow gasps as I fought to maintain some semblance of control.

My eyes met his, and I saw the same primal hunger reflected in his gaze.

He was a caged beast, wild and untamed, and I was his prey.

The knowledge sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through me, a heady rush that left me dizzy and desperate for more.

I was playing with fire, and I knew it, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I wanted to burn, to be consumed by the inferno of his desire.

Suddenly, he lunged forward, a predator claiming his prey, and buried his face against the sensitive curve where my neck met my shoulder.

I stood frozen, my body a statue of anticipation and trepidation.

The first sensation that assaulted me was his laboured breathing, hot and heavy against my skin, a primal rhythm that sent shivers down my spine.

His breaths were ragged, each one a testament to the wild, untamed desire that coursed through his veins.

I could feel the heat of him, the raw, masculine energy that seemed to envelop me, drawing me into his orbit.

My heart pounded in my chest, a drumbeat of anticipation that echoed the primal rhythm of his breaths.

As his movements grew more urgent, more insistent, I felt a shift, a dark, exotic current that passed between us.

His tongue emerged, a wet, warm serpent that trailed long, possessive strokes up and down the vulnerable expanse of my throat. I gasped, my eyes fluttering closed as I surrendered to the sensation, my body alive and responsive in a way it never had been before.

He explored me, his tongue tasting, teasing, claiming the delicate flesh of my throat.

Each stroke was a brand, a mark of ownership that sent waves of pleasure and fear crashing through me.

I could feel the power he held, the raw, primal dominance that threatened to consume me, to drown me in a sea of sensation.

His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue a relentless force that mapped every inch of my throat, from the hollow at the base to the sensitive spot just below my ear.

Paralysed by a tumult of fear and unexpected arousal, I stood motionless, my body a battlefield of conflicting sensations.

I was a statue, frozen in time, as he began to move his hips in a rhythmic, deliberate thrusting, his engorged length seeking friction, seeking release.

My mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that left me breathless and unable to form a coherent sentence.