Warning: This is an 18+ version of Chapter 60 containing explicit content and language. It is intended for mature audiences only.
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
Cold.
Wet.
Shock.
My eyes flew open. I shot up, scrambling into a sitting position.
"Whoa!" I gasped, looking down at my chest.
My shirt (my beautiful shirt) was now tie dyed in the shade of 'expensive mistake'. The wine was soaking through my skin.
"Oh no!" Wanda gasped. She put the glass down hurriedly. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Aryan! I am so sorry! My hand... it slipped!"
I looked at her.
Her eyes were wide. She looked horrified.
But the corner of her mouth... it was twitching.
She did that on purpose, I realized. The Scarlet Witch just dumped wine on me.
"It... slipped?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I was... distracted," she said, reaching out to dab ineffectively at my chest with her hand. "By the... massage. I am so clumsy today."
"Right," I said slowly. "Very clumsy."
I pulled the wet fabric away from my skin. "Well. This is ruined."
"We must wash it," she said immediately. "Now. Before it sets. Red wine stains are... permanent."
She stood up. She grabbed my hand.
"Come," she commanded. "To the laundry."
She pulled me off the couch. She dragged me through the kitchen, toward the small utility room at the back of the house.
Her grip was firm.
The laundry room smelled of detergent and confined space.
Wanda let go of my hand and turned to the washing machine. She opened the lid.
"Give me the shirt," she said.
I stood there. The wine was cold on my chest.
"You want the shirt?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, turning to face me. "Take it off."
I reached for the buttons.
Button one. My fingers felt clumsy.
Button two.
I watched her watching me. Her gaze followed my fingers.
I undid the buttons. I shrugged the shirt off my shoulders. I pulled my arms out of the sleeves.
I handed her the sodden mess of cotton.
I was shirtless.
I'm not flexing. Okay, maybe I'm flexing a little. Just standing up straight. Posture is important.
Wanda took the shirt. She threw it into the machine. She poured in the detergent. She hit the start button.
The machine began to hum. Water rushed in.
She turned back to me.
She reached for a clean washcloth sitting on the dryer. She walked over to the utility sink and turned on the tap.
She wet the cloth. She wrung it out.
She turned to me.
"You have wine on your skin," she said softly. "It is sticky."
She stepped into my personal space.
She was so close I could feel the heat radiating off her.
She raised the cloth.
She pressed the cool fabric against my collarbone.
I inhaled sharply.
She dragged the cloth down.
She wiped the hollow of my throat. She wiped the center of my chest. She moved in slow circles.
"Wanda," I breathed.
"Shh," she whispered. "I am fixing my mistake."
She moved the cloth lower. Over my pecs. Down my sternum. Across my abs.
Her eyes were locked on her hand. She was focused.
My skin burned where she touched it. The contrast between the cool cloth and the fire in my blood was maddening.
"You missed a spot," she murmured, moving the cloth to my side, near my ribs.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I reached out. I caught her wrist.
I stopped her hand.
The room went silent, save for the rhythmic swish swish of the washing machine.
Wanda stopped. She looked up.
Her eyes met mine.
They were the eyes of a woman who was done waiting. They were full of a naked desire that mirrored my own.
"Aryan," she whispered.
I took the cloth from her hand. I dropped it on the floor.
I looked at her. I looked at her lips.
I stepped closer. One inch.
She tilted her head up.
I brought my hand up to her face. I cupped her cheek. My thumb brushed her lower lip.
"You did that on purpose," I whispered.
"Yes," she admitted. "I wanted to see you."
"You see me," I said.
"I want more," she said.
I lowered my head.
Our lips met.
As soon as my lips touched hers, a circuit closed. The energy that had been building between us for days ignited.
She tasted like red wine and desire.
She made a small sound in her throat, a whimper of need and opened her mouth to me.
I groaned, deepening the kiss. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her so tight against me that I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.
Her hands flew to my bare shoulders. Her fingers dug into my skin. She pulled me down, demanding more.
We stumbled back. My back hit the washing machine. The vibration of the spin cycle hummed against my spine, matching the frantic rhythm of my heart.
I lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around my waist instantly.
I kissed her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive spot behind her ear.
"Aryan," she gasped, her hands tangling in my hair.
I carried her out of the laundry room. I didn't break the kiss. If I stopped kissing her, I felt like I would stop breathing.
We moved through the kitchen. We knocked a chair over. Neither of us cared.
We reached the stairs.
I took them two at a time.
We reached the hallway.
I kicked my bedroom door open.
I walked to the bed. I lowered her onto the mattress.
I followed her down.
The room was lit only by the moonlight and the faint glow of the streetlamp outside.
I hovered over her.
She looked up at me. Her hair was spread across my pillow. Her lips were swollen. Her chest was heaving.
She looked like a masterpiece.
"Hi," I whispered, breathless.
"Hi," she whispered back.
She reached up and pulled me down.
We kissed again.
My hands roamed over her body. The velvet dress was soft, but I wanted the skin underneath.
"The dress," I murmured against her lips. "It's... in the way."
"Take it off," she replied.
I found the zipper at the back. I pulled it down slowly. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
She shrugged the dress off her shoulders. It pooled at her waist.
I looked at her.
"You are..." I shook my head, unable to find the words. "You are perfect."
She smiled, a beautiful thing.
I ran my hand down the curve of her spine. She shivered, pressing closer to me.
"Are you sure?" I asked, looking into her eyes. "Wanda, are you sure?"
She reached up and touched my face.
"I have never been more sure of anything," she said. "I want you."
"I am yours," I promised. "I have always been yours."
I kissed her.
As our lips met, the world outside dissolved into a hazy dream. There was only the warmth of her breath, the soft give of the mattress beneath us and the thrumming beat of my own heart echoing in my ears.
The universe shrank until it was nothing more than the space between our bodies, a space that was rapidly disappearing.
My hands, acting on a desperate instinct that felt more real than any conscious thought, slid up her sides. I mapped the delicate curve of her ribs, the gentle flare of her hips, with a reverence that felt like a claim.
Her skin was like heated silk under my fingertips, a living map that I wanted to spend a lifetime exploring.
She arched into me with a soft sigh, molding herself to the lines of my body.
A jolt of pure heat shot through me where the soft curves of her chest pressed against mine, a silent acknowledgment of the bare skin between us.
The sensation was so overwhelming, it was almost painful.
Her lips parted against mine and the kiss deepened, shifting from a question into a hungry answer. A low groan was pulled from her throat as my tongue tentatively met hers, a shy exploration that quickly blossomed into a desperate dance.
It was a kiss that spoke of lonely nights and silent longing, a conversation without words that told the story of two worlds colliding.
I could feel her own desire in the way her fingers dug into my shoulders, her nails leaving exquisite trails of sensation that sent fire tracing down my spine.
That small act of possession, ignited a coiling ache low in my belly.. a magnetic pull that drew me impossibly closer. The point where our hips met became a center of gravity, a searing heat that promised a world of release.
In the midst of the intoxicating haze, Wanda's eyes fluttered open.
Her piercing green gaze locked onto mine, stripping away every defense I had left. Her breath came in shallow gasps that mingled with my own, each exhale a shared promise in the moonlit room.