Chapter 11

The night after graduation, my family held a special dinner to celebrate.

I drank a few glasses of champagne and, feeling tipsy, dragged Ryder into my room.

I asked him, “What does kissing feel like?”

“…”

He looked at me calmly, “Aria, you’re drunk.”

I got a little upset: “Don’t change the subject! If you don’t tell me, I’ll go find some other—mph!”

Before I could finish, Ryder suddenly gripped my chin, leaning in to kiss me.

A faint scent of lemongrass wafted from him.

It was probably the cologne I’d given him for his birthday that year.

His lips and tongue, and the pad of his thumb pressing against my neck, were searing hot.

My head was spinning, and soon I could only cling to his shirtfront, forced to endure the overwhelming heat that followed.

Ryder’s voice was laced with a dark, surging desire:

“…That’s what kissing feels like.”

“Want to go deeper, Aria?”