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<I Took Revenge On My Cheating Ex and Best friend
Chapter 20 Playing with
Fire
The week rolled by in a blur. Between meetings, project deadlines, and quietly orchestrating Liam Carter’s
downfall, Ariana barely had time to breathe.
Yet somehow, Damian Blackwood had slipped past her carefully constructed defenses, making himself a
presence in her life–through texts that lingered with teasing charm, unexpected phone calls that left her
flustered, and looks that burned too long, too deep.
By the time the weekend arrived, Ariana wasn’t surprised when he invited her to his estate.
Damian: Come to my place Saturday. I’ll cook for you.
Ariana: You cook?
Damian: You’ll find out.
Ariana: Fine. Impress me,
Blackwood.
Damian: Oh, sweetheart… I intend to.
Ariana rolled her eyes at his cockiness, but if she was being honest?
She was looking forward to it.
Saturday evening arrived, and Ariana stepped out of her penthouse, dressed to kill.
She chose a dress that was pure temptation–a deep wine–red silk slip that clung to her curves like it had been poured onto her skin. The thin straps left her shoulders bare, the hem barely brushing her thighs.
It was classy, elegant–but sinful in all the right ways.
When Damian pulled up in his Aston Martin, the second he stepped out of the car and laid eyes on her–he
froze.
Ariana smirked. “Lost for words, Blackwood?”
Damian let out a slow exhale, his gray eyes darkening. “You’re trying to kill me.”
She walked toward him, watching the way his jaw clenched, his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding
himself back.
“Drive, Damian,” she teased, slipping into the passenger seat.
Damian took a deep breath, running a hand down his face before shaking his head and getting in beside her.
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Chapter 20 Playing with Fire
“Sweetheart,” he muttered as he started the car. “You have no idea what you just started.”
Oh, but she did.
And she loved it.
Damian’s estate was just as breathtaking as she had imagined.
Nestled on the cliffs of Blackwood Heights, the mansion was a fortress of modern luxury–tall glass windows, sleek black architecture, and a view that stretched endlessly over the city skyline.
But what caught her attention wasn’t the house.
It was the man in the kitchen.
Damian rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, revealing strong forearms, veins prominent as he chopped vegetables with precise, practiced ease.
Ariana leaned against the counter, watching in genuine surprise.
“You actually know what you’re doing,” she mused, arms crossed.
Damian smirked, tossing a handful of garlic into the pan. The sizzle filled the air, mixing with the scent of
butter and rosemary.
“You thought I was bluffing?” he asked, glancing at her.
Ariana shrugged. “Men like you usually don’t cook.”
Damian’s smirk widened. “Men like me?”
“Rich. Powerful. Used to having things done for them.”
He chuckled, flipping the steak in the pan. “Sweetheart, if I let someone else cook my food, how would I know
it’s not poisoned?”
Ariana arched a brow. “Paranoid much?”
He gave her a look. “You’d be surprised how many people want me dead.”
Ariana tilted her head, intrigued. “And yet, you invited me into your home. You must trust me.”
Damian stepped closer, his voice dropping into something dark and velvety.
“I don’t trust you, Ariana,” he murmured. “But God, I’m enjoying the danger.”
Heat curled in her stomach, but before she could respond, Damian turned back to the stove, smirking to
himself.
Cocky bastard.
The meal was nothing ‘short of perfect.
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Ariana wasn’t sure what impressed her more–the fact that Damian cooked or the fact that he did it flawlessly.
Steak, seared to perfection. Garlic butter potatoes, roasted asparagus, a bottle of aged wine that paired too well.
By the time they moved to the living room, the air between them had shifted.
The conversation was easy, laced with teasing and challenge, but beneath it all?
The tension simmered.
Then, the show started.
Damian had chosen a series–one Ariana had heard of but never watched.
It was visually stunning, filled with power plays, seduction, and raw sensuality.
And the scene that played on the screen?
It was explicit. Too explicit.
Ariana exhaled slowly, suddenly very aware of how close Damian was beside her.
His body heat, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his fingers rested on his thigh–so close yet not touching
her.
She shifted slightly.
So did he.
The tension crackled.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
Until Ariana did.
She turned toward him, her heart pounding in her chest.
Damian was already watching her.
His gray eyes were dark, filled with something dangerous, primal.
Ariana exhaled, lifting a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
Damian stilled, his gaze flickering to her lips.
And then–she kissed him.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t tentative.
It was a collision–fire meeting gasoline.
Damian groaned, his restraint snapping as he grabbed her waist, pulling her onto his lap.
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Ariana gasped against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss–hot, cntuming utterly reckless.
Her dress rode up, his hands slipping beneath the silk to grip her thighs, his touch possessive, daming
“Sweetheart,” Damian murmured against her lips, his breath ragged. “You have no idea how long The wanted
this.”
Ariana smirked, rolling her hips slightly.
“Then take me, Blackwood.”
A low, dangerous growl rumbled from his chest.
And then, he did.
Damian stood, lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom
Ariana’s pulse thundered, her skin burning where he touched her.
The door slammed shut behind them.
Damian set her down, his fingers tracing down her spine, unzipping her dress in one smooth motion.
The silk pooled at her feet.
Ariana stood before him in black lace and nothing else.
Damian’s jaw clenched. “You’re trying to kill me.”
She smirked. “You started it.”
His eyes darkened.
“Let’s finish it, then.” His hands moved to strip away the last of the barriers between them……
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