Too Late Mr. White! I'm Married To Your Rival Now novel Chapter 332

Author's POV

"Choking?"

Aiden pulled a tissue from the box and held it out to her.

Aria flushed, taking the tissue to dab at the water on her lips. "I'm full," she said, then quickly added, "I haven't practiced the piano today. I'm going to go practice for a bit."

With that, she picked up her glass and headed for the music room.

Once inside, her mind was anywhere but on the piano. She managed less than half an hour of distracted scales before giving up. She glanced around guiltily, relieved to find Aiden wasn't in the room. After sitting for another few minutes, she grabbed her phone and left, returning to the master bedroom.

It was empty.

Huh?

She checked the study next. Also empty.

By this time, Lucy had already left for the day, and only a single nightlight glowed downstairs. Aria paused halfway down the staircase. Seeing the main lights were off, she knew Aiden wasn't down there either. Frowning, she wondered where he'd gone. After a moment's hesitation, she turned and went back upstairs.

Just as she reached the second-floor landing, Aiden emerged from the master bedroom.

"Looking for me?"

Aria's cheeks warmed. "You weren't in the room."

"On the balcony."

That explained why she couldn't find him.

"Finished practicing?" he asked.

The question made her squirm internally, her ears turning pink. "I... practiced for a while."

"Not finished?" He raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes.

Mortified, she met his gaze. "Ate too much. Stopping for now."

Aiden looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Need some exercise to help with digestion?"

Her heart skipped a beat. He turned and walked back into the bedroom, leaving the implication hanging in the air. Her face burned.

His touch trailed from her arms to her waist, then crept higher, his fingertips skimming the sides of her breasts through the silk of her blouse. A jolt of pure heat shot through her, and her fingers fumbled a chord.

"I said, don't stop." His voice was firmer now. He worked the buttons of her blouse open with an efficiency that stole her breath, pushing the fabric off her shoulders. The cool air of the room kissed her skin, a sharp contrast to the fire he was stoking.

Somehow, she kept playing, the notes becoming a shaky, breathless rendition. His hands slid around her, palms warm and rough against her stomach before moving up to cup her breasts, still confined by her lace bra. He teased the peaks through the delicate material, rolling them between his fingers until they were taut, aching points.

A gasp tore from her lips, and her hands fell from the keys with a discordant clatter.

"Told you not to stop," he chided, his voice thick. He turned her on the bench to face him. His eyes were dark pools of desire, his expression one of predatory focus. "You're not trying hard enough, sweetheart."

Before she could reply, he sank to his knees on the Persian rug. His hands pushed her skirt up her thighs, the sensation of his calloused palms on her sensitive skin making her tremble. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and drew them down her legs, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Put your hands back on the keys," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Play something. Anything."

"Aiden, please—"

"Play."

Trembling violently, she turned back to the piano. Her mind was blank, wiped clean by need.