After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law-Chapter 85: Slippery When Wet*

The rainfall showerhead inside the bathroom dumped water like a tropical storm.

Aria stood under the spray, hands braced against the slick black tiles, trying to catch her breath in the steam.

"Damien," she gasped. "We have to go. Dinner."

"Dinner is at seven," Damien murmured, stepping in behind her. He was a solid wall of heat, water sluicing down his broad shoulders and over her own skin. "It’s six-fifteen. We have time."

His hand slid down her wet stomach, skipping her hip to dive straight between her thighs.

"Damien!" Aria yelped, her knees buckling as he found her instantly.

"Still sensitive," he noted, his voice a low vibration in her ear. He didn’t stop. He started a slow, rhythmic stroke that used the water to devastating effect.

"We need... to dry off," Aria argued, though she was already leaning back against him, her head falling onto his shoulder. "We’re...going to be late."

"I really don’t care," Damien growled, kissing the wet column of her neck. "I want to stay here...and touch you."

He upped the pressure, his fingers curling inside her, hitting the spot he’d wrecked just an hour ago on the vanity.

Aria bit her lip. The acoustics in the tiled room amplified everything—the slap of water, the heavy breathing, the wet, slick noises of his hand working her.

"This is... counter-productive," she panted, her hands slipping on the wall. "We’re supposed to be getting clean."

"I’m multitasking," Damien responded, his other hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb flicking over the hardened nipple.

He spun her around, pinning her against the wall. He lifted her leg, hooking it over his hip. The position opened her completely to him. And his hand resumed its relentless work, faster now.

"Here’s the deal," Damien said, eyes dark and dilated as he watched her face unravel.

"I’m not... negotiating... naked," Aria gasped.

"Too bad. You cum for me. Right now. Loudly. And then we go to dinner."

"And if... I refuse?"

"Then I fuck you," Damien said, the words terrifyingly casual. "Right here. Until the water runs cold."

Aria looked at him. He was wet, beautiful, and completely unyielding. He meant it. He didn’t care about the dinner, nor his family. He only cared about this.

"You’re a tyrant," she whispered.

"I’m a husband who knows what he wants."

He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He kissed her, swallowing her protest, and upped the tempo until the pleasure turned sharp and blinding.

Aria broke. She couldn’t help it. She cried out into his mouth, her body convulsing against the cold tiles, nails digging into his wet shoulders as he held her through the spasms.

When she finally slumped against him, breathless and boneless, Damien turned off the water.

"Done," he said, sounding incredibly smug.

He grabbed a fluffy white towel from the warmer rack and wrapped her in it, rubbing her arms briskly to get the circulation back.

"You’re insatiable," Aria muttered, letting him dry her off. "How do you have this much energy?"

"You recharge me," Damien said simply.

They moved back into the bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the floor. The air was cooler here, and reality began to set in.

Damien pulled a towel around his waist, leaving his chest bare as he dried his hair. He leaned against the doorframe, watching Aria head for the closet.

"So," he asked. "What fresh horror are you unleashing tonight? A dress made of disco balls? A literal suit of armor?"

Aria reached into the closet. She pulled out a garment bag. She didn’t open it. She just patted the fabric.

"Actually," she said, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. "I decided to be good."

Damien narrowed his eyes. "I don’t believe you."

"I’m serious. I thought about what your grandfather said. About dignity. About tradition."

"Aria," Damien warned impatiently. "You’re planning something?"

"I’m just finally going to dress the part, Damien," she said innocently, holding the bag to her chest.

She walked past him toward the vanity, the bag rustling.

"I’m going to need 30 minutes for hair and makeup," she said.

Damien watched her. He looked at the bag. He looked at the wicked glint in her eyes.

"I want to know what you’re up to," he said.

"Just be patient, my darling," Aria winked. "Now get out. It’s going to be a surprise for you too."

Damien chuckled, a low rumble of amusement. He grabbed his own garment bag containing his tuxedo and headed for the bathroom door. "Fine, but don’t take too long, Mrs. Sinclair."

The moment the door clicked shut, Aria moved. She sat at the vanity, her hands moving with practiced efficiency despite the lingering tremors in her muscles. She swept her hair up into an elegant, intricate chignon, leaving a few tendrils loose to frame her face. Her makeup was flawless—sharp winged liner, a bold red lip that matched the ruby ring now resting on her finger. It was elegant glamour.

Then, she turned to the garment bag hanging on the closet door.

A wicked grin spread across her face.

"This is going to be fun" she whispered.

She slowly unzipped the bag.

She slipped into the dress. It fit like a glove, the lining cool against her heated skin. She adjusted it, smoothing the fabric down. It was the picture of modesty.

It wasn’t a lie.

She walked to the bathroom door and knocked once, sharp and confident.

"Ready?"

The door opened instantly.

Damien stood there, and for a second, Aria forgot how to breathe. He was wearing a black tuxedo that fit him so damn well. The jacket emphasized the terrifying breadth of his shoulders and the taper of his waist, while the crisp white shirt contrasted sharply against his tanned skin.

His bow tie hung undone around his neck—a deliberate imperfection that made him look like sin packaged in silk. His hair was slicked back but still damp, a few rogue strands falling over his forehead, framing golden eyes that burned with intelligence and power.

He looked devastatingly handsome.

Damien looked down at her.

He took in the dress.

Damien stared at her for a long beat.

Then, he threw his head back and laughed.