Juliette
He warned me we were doomed from the start, and I should have listened. But some fires burn too hot to resist.
Now, I'm trapped in a vicious cycle of desire, tangled up in Areston's dangerous world. Every kiss, every touch pulls me deeper...
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How is Sunday already? *GASPING IN BOLD* It's like I winked, and the weekend is over. I was under the impression that it's Friday today, lol. The week has been tough. Phew. I hope y'all had a better one? happy reading xoxo! I'll post another later tonight or tomorrow, depending on my availability.
"Come on, Belle. You can do better than that. You're the runner between the two of us." Areston mocks, stopping in his tracks for me to catch up.
He has been outpacing me effortlessly, his athletic frame working up a sweat in a skin-tight white jumper that clings to his toned abs and chest, flaunting the full extent of the shredded, rippling muscles of his torso and black tracksuit bottoms that hug his muscular, long legs, and custom Nike running shoes. While this reservoir in Central Park used to be our jogging paradise eleven years ago, he hasn't been here since our breakup. Now, he feels almost out of place here. It's as if he's a lion in a petting zoo. I cannot recall if he has ever been photographed in a workout outfit in the past decade.
Areston hates public spaces. The only public place he really enjoys is his office. It's not exactly public because he only interacts with people he approves. Not one date we have been on, apart from the time when we were on his island, has he ever taken me to a place where we could be surrounded by people. He tries to avoid being in public like the plague. However, today, he woke me up with his gentle lovemaking, dressed me up in athleisure, and announced we were going for a run in the park. He's trying to give me a change of environment to lift my spirits that have been rattled by his confession since last. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out.
"Why do you have to look so yummy? I hate that everyone gets to see what should be reserved only for my eyes." I pick up my pace, panting, and he starts running again, and I try to match his speed. "I have been running behind so no one can eyefuck you, and if you do, I can exercise some endorphins on them."
He laughs, the sound warm and rich, a stark contrast to his arctic, aloof persona the world is used to seeing. "If that's the case, then I should be running with you in my arms. I do not approve of that sports bra and skin-tight pants that leave nothing to the imagination, tesoro. Come up with a better excuse, slowpoke. Keep up."
I huff, pushing myself harder to eat up the distance between us. "I can't believe you're calling me that! You are shameless, your highness. Shouldn't have made my legs jelly from morning sex if this was your intention all along. Whatever happened to not letting me leave the bed for the whole Sunday as you promised?"
"We have so many Sundays for that," he says, turning around and running backward, his long legs still surging ahead of me. I love seeing him like this. Carefree. Playful. So out of his natural element. A side of him that's rare and one I cherish deeply.
He's catching the attention of the passersby, who recognize him and are surprised. New York City is the only place in the world where people do not spare a fuck to celebrities. They consider them beyond, and I am with them on that. However, the sight of centillionaire tech mogul His Royal Highness Prince Areston De L'Aquila is a different league altogether.
