My Fiancé Slapped Me and Lost Me To His Billionaire Nemesis

Aria's POV

His hands were everywhere at once, and I wanted them to be. Dante's mouth crashed against mine, a claiming that stole my breath and my sanity in one hot, wet sweep. His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make my scalp tingle. His other hand... oh God... his other hand slid up my bare thigh beneath my skirt, rough palm skating over my skin until his thumb found the soaked lace of my panties.

I gasped into his mouth and my body pushed against the cold wall in the hallway. The music from the club was so loud it felt like it was shaking inside me, but my heart was beating even faster, like it was running really hard.

"Aria."

When he said my name, it sounded like a quiet growl, and it made my stomach feel weird and hot. I didn't even know him. I shouldn't be here. But the way he said my name made it feel like he knew me really well, like he knew things about me I didn't even know.

He stopped kissing me and looked at me with serious eyes, like a storm was coming.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

I couldn't say it. The word wouldn't come out. I only felt like someone else had grabbed me before and it hurt. I shook my head and whispered, "Don't you dare."

He smiled like he won something. Then he leaned down and kissed my neck really hard, and it felt like he was leaving a bruise. I cried out and grabbed his shoulders because it hurt. He smelled like rain and something warm, and it felt like I was getting pulled into it.

-Earlier that day-

I watched Catherine, my sister smile as she passed it to him, her fingers brushing his for a second too long.

Yet there it was. Rhys Granger accepted it like it was a prize.

"Here," Catherine said brightly. "You always complain about the cups here. Use mine."

Mine. She said it like she was proud. My heart pounded hard. That mug was not just a mug. It was something she carried everywhere. She once screamed when I used it by mistake. She had called it special, Important and Hers.

Now she was giving it to my fiancé.

I forced a smile that hurt my face. "Catherine," I said softly. "Why are you giving him that?"

She tilted her head and looked at me like I was slow. "Because it is just a mug, Aria. Or are you keeping count now?"

Rhys chuckled. The sound crawled under my skin.

He lifted the mug and took a sip. His eyes stayed on me while he drank, like he was daring me to say something.

"I do not want that cup used," I said.

My mother cleared her throat. My father did not look up from his phone.

Rhys lowered the mug. "Why?" he asked. "Jealous of your own sister now?"

Catherine laughed lightly and leaned against the table. "You always get sensitive over small things."

It was never small.

"That mug matters to you," I said, looking straight at Catherine. "You know it does."

Her smile widened. "Not anymore. Something sharp twisted in my chest.

Rhys stood up slowly.. "She gave it to me," he said. "That means it is mine."

"No," I replied. "That means you should give it back."

The air changed. Rhys's eyes darkened. "You are embarrassing me," he said quietly.

"I am asking for respect."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Respect is earned."

He pulled me close, his voice a harsh whisper for only me to hear. "You don't tell me what to do. You are here because I allow it."

I tried to pull back. "Let go."

The slap was not loud, but it felt loud inside my head. It made a sharp sound, like something breaking. My cheek started to burn right away, and my head turned to the side before I even knew what happened.

My eyes filled with tears. Not just because it hurt, but because I could not believe it. This was my parents' house. The place where I was supposed to feel safe.

I looked at them, hoping someone would say something. Hoping someone would stop it. But they did not move. They did not speak. They just stood there and watched.

My father's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. My mother looked away, adjusting a perfect bracelet.

Rhys dropped his hand from my neck. He set the mug down carefully, as if it were precious. "Clean yourself up," he said, his voice flat. "You're embarrassing yourself."

I didn't move. I couldn't. The mark on my face burned, but the shame burned hotter. Catherine's ghost was in the room, laughing at me. Second best, Always second best. Never chosen.

I turned and walked into the night with my face burning and my chest breaking apart. I ended up at a club without thinking. Loud music, Noise that drowned out my thoughts.

Ben, the bartender with kind eyes, slid a glass of amber liquid toward me without a word. I drank it. It burned, but it was a better burn.

And then I felt a gaze. Heavy and intent, like a physical touch across the crowded room.

I turned.

He stood near a shadowy pillar, a tall man in a dark suit that cost more than my car. Dante Blackwood. I'd seen his picture in the financial pages. My father hated him, Called him a shark.

Our eyes locked. His were unreadable from this distance, but his stare pinned me to my stool.

He walked toward me. "You look like you want to break something." His voice was deep, a vibration I felt in my bones.

"Or someone," I heard myself say, the whiskey making me brave.

A dark eyebrow lifted. "Easily arranged." He didn't smile. He just... absorbed me. "Come with me."

He didn't wait for an answer. He just turned, knowing I would follow. And I did. Down a hallway, away from the noise, into a quiet, dim space.

And then his mouth was on mine, his body pressing me into the wall, and all the broken, angry pieces inside me caught fire.

Now, his hand was under my skirt, His thumb moved in circles on the wet lace. It felt really strange and sharp, like a surprise, and it went right through me. I moaned, the sound lost against his lips.

"This," he growled, his breath hot on my ear. "This is what you really want. Not his pathetic games."

He hooked a finger in the side of my panties and pulled, tearing the lace, the sound was loud. Cold air touched my skin for a moment, then his hand moved closer and it felt strange and warm.

I jerked against him, a cry tearing from my throat. He seemed to know exactly what I was feeling like he could read my mind, his fingers sliding through my wetness, making a hot, slick mess.

"So responsive," he murmured, a dark approval in his tone. He pressed a finger inside me, just the tip, and my knees almost buckled. "So hot. And all for me."

He added another finger, stretching me, filling me. His thumb pressed against the tight, My body felt like it was full of nerves, and it started moving in slow, painful circles.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I forced my eyes open. His face was so close, his expression fierce, hungry. I was panting, my hips moving against his hand of their own will, chasing the pressure.

"Tell me whose." His fingers thrust deep.

"Yours," I gasped. The word was a truth I hadn't known until now. "Yours."

He looked at me like he was proud of himself. Then he pulled his hand away and I felt sad because I wanted him to stay. He brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them slowly while still staring at me. The sight was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed.

Then he started taking off his belt, and it made a loud sound. He pulled his pants down a little bit. He was huge, thick and hard, the tip already wet. He nudged himself against me, The pressure felt crazy and strong.

"Wrap your legs around me," he ordered, his voice thick.

I did, locking my ankles behind his back. He held me up, pinning me to the wall with his body. There was no gentle slide, no asking. He pushed into me in one sudden, powerful thrust.

I screamed. It was too much. He was everywhere, splitting me open, filling a void I didn't know I had. The stretch was a sweet, burning agony. He went still, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to mine as we both trembled 

"Aria," he growled again, He began to move.