Page 17

Chapter seventeen

~IRENE~

I wake up sore. Not the kind of soreness that makes you regret it, but the kind that makes you close your eyes and smile. I turn slightly, and there it is—that slow, pulsing ache between my thighs, a reminder of what he did to me. What we did.

The soreness is not just between my thighs. It’s everywhere. My hips, my legs, my core, even my nipples from where his teeth grazed and his mouth sucked. It’s like my body’s still trying to catch up with what happened last night. And I feel every inch of it, every bit of him still on me, in me.

My lips tingle at the memory of how he kissed me, of how he whispered filth into my ear like it was prayer. I feel heat bloom across my cheeks.

I stretch, wincing a little as I push myself up. My muscles protest, but I feel the grin on my face. Because I know exactly where it’s coming from.

I sit up unhurriedly, the shirt I’m wearing falling over my thighs—his shirt. It still smells like him, a mix of soap, cologne, and a scent only Ares has.

I glance around the room, almost expecting to see him standing there. But no. He’s not in sight. It’s just me and a whole lot of “ what now?” swirling around in my head.

I start to pull myself together, throwing a leg off the side of the bed, when I spot him. He’s out on the balcony, looking way too calm, reading a book like he’s waiting for me.

I freeze for a second, the soft morning light making him look ethereal and sinful all at once. He’s already dressed in a black T-shirt and pants, hair still damp from a shower. His tattoos shift as he turns a page, his muscles in his forearms flexing lazily.

And I just stand there for a second, watching him and not believing any of this is real.

Because that man out there, that lethal, tattooed, quiet storm of a man, was inside me just hours ago. I let him take my virginity while he held my throat and told me how tight I was… my cheeks immediately redden at the memory of all the obscene words he growled in my ear while taking me.

And now, he’s out there, reading a book like he’s not the reason I can’t walk straight right now.

I gradually move, like I’m afraid the floor is going to swallow me up and spit me back out. It’s hard to walk when you feel like your body is still figuring out how to live after being completely shattered.

The second I step outside, he looks up, his gaze pulling me in. His eyes flick over me, from my bare legs to the shirt that hangs off me, and then back to my face. His gaze lingers, heavy and calculated. And my stomach flips.

That look, the one that makes everything in me clench. He’s devouring me with his pale blue eyes.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice soft.

He doesn’t say anything at first; he just gives me a small, crooked smile.

Then he reaches up and grabs the collar of his shirt that I’m still wearing and pulls me down, right into him.

I gasp at the contact, a small wince following its wake. His mouth brushes mine, slow and warm, and the pain is forgotten. I melt into his soft kiss.

“I have morning breath.” I giggle against his mouth and pull away from him. His eyes flash hot, and before I can say another word, he leans back in and kisses me again, deeper and slower.

I try to pull away, try to tell him that I need to brush my teeth and go change. He doesn’t let me. Because in the middle of the kiss, while his lips are still pressing into mine, he pushes something into my mouth with his tongue. I freeze when I realize what it is.

His gum.

My eyes fly open as he pulls back just an inch, looking at me like what he just did is the most natural thing in the world.

My body floods with heat, and I feel myself clench again. I'm already getting wet and haven't even recovered from the night before.

His eyes are soft, almost tender in that twisted Ares Black way.

“There,” he murmurs, his voice low.

He leans back, and just the sight of him, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the way his muscles tense when he moves, that cocky smirk, makes it impossible to stay focused.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, reaching out to stroke my thigh with his free hand. The contact sends waves of nerves through my body straight to the soreness between my legs.

“Um,” I hesitate, unsure if he’s asking about how I feel or how my body feels. Both answers are: surreal . “It hurts a little,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush.

His eyes darken slightly, a hint of possessiveness flashing behind his gaze. He leans closer, his voice low and rough.

“Good pain or bad pain?” His tone is raw, so full of the kind of wicked things he can’t even be bothered to hide.

I swallow hard, my pulse quickening at his words, and I can’t stop thinking about how everything felt, how he felt.

“Good,” I say, my voice a breath above a whisper.

Ares hums, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll give you time to recover while we’re out today.”

"Out?" I ask, the confusion clear in my voice. "I didn't know the team had plans for today."

"They don't," he says with a tilt of his head. "I do."

I blink, trying to process it. He made plans? That include me?

"You…you want to spend the day with me?" The words come out before I can stop them, and I already feel stupid for asking.

“I do,” he says—and it’s almost impossible to believe this is the same man who once pushed me away, shut me out, and warned me to stay away. And now, he's making plans for both of us? He wants to spend time with me?

I look down at myself, still in his shirt. I can feel his gum in my mouth, and I press my tongue against it, tasting the faint traces of him.

“I need to go to my room and change.” Even though something in me never wants to take his shirt off.

“I don’t see anything wrong with what you’re wearing now.” His eyes flicking down at me.

I look at my lap, at his hand resting on top of it, and feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. I can’t help the smile on my face. He is so different from just twenty-four hours ago.

“What are you reading?” I ask to distract myself from how close his hand is to my core.

He holds up the cover.

“Shirley Jackson,” I read the author out loud. A horror novel. Of course. “Fitting,” I tease.

He raises a brow at me before setting the book down.

“Go get ready, little thing.” He tilts his head toward the door. “Unless,” he adds, eyes darkening a little, “you want me to take you out just like this.”

His fingers slide up my thigh, collecting the fabric of the shirt.

“I wouldn’t mind. But I’d have to kill anyone who looks too long. Especially once they realize you’re not wearing anything underneath.”

I suck in a breath at his words and the feeling of his hand on me. I can read the word tattooed across his knuckles now in bold, gothic font. ANKH. And a small, odd-looking cross on his thumb with a loop at the top.

“So, for the sake of innocent lives, go change.” He leans back, giving me a small smile. “Florida has one last day to impress us before we head back to LA.”

The drive is quiet, the kind of silence that feels comfortable but also a little charged. The coast stretches out beside us, the light blue of the sky meeting the deeper blue of the ocean. The coastal breeze dances through my hair as Ares drives one-handed, his other hand resting on my thigh like it belongs there. He hasn’t let go of me once. Not since we left the hotel.

He’s focused, his fingers wrapped around my thigh. The same fingers that were wrapped around my throat last night, controlling and possessive. That same hand that pushed me to my limit, making me feel things I didn’t even know were possible. I press my thighs together at the thought, the ache between them still lingering. My body remembers it all—the way he moved inside me, the way he claimed me.

I glance over at him. He looks devastating. There’s a dark, effortless sexiness to him, and the way he drives, so calm and in control, only adds to it. His jaw is sharp, his gaze fixed ahead, but every now and then, his eyes flicker toward me, like he knows exactly how much I’m struggling to keep it together.

I feel this tightness in my chest, this need to connect with him. I still can’t believe we’re actually spending the day together. The Ares from just one week ago would’ve shut me out by now. But he’s here. And he’s taking me somewhere.

He doesn’t talk much, but our silence isn’t awkward. It’s comforting, like the quiet hum of something settling between us.

The car is a sleek black luxury rental, the kind that makes heads turn and camera phones come out. I asked where it came from, but he just said, “Told the hotel I needed a car. This is what they gave me.” Like he didn’t request the most expensive option they had, which seems exactly like what Ares Black would do. When we came downstairs earlier, the staff were already waiting for us.

Keys, bottled water, and smiles too wide to be genuine.

I press my fingers against the glass, watching the world blur past, palm trees, ocean, and sunlight bouncing off the hood.

The word surreal comes to mind again.

I’m in a dream I didn’t even know I wanted.

“Where are we going?” I ask, turning to face him.

“You’ll see.” His mouth curls faintly, eyes on the road.

Twenty minutes later, we pull off the main road and start winding down a long, private path lined with eucalyptus trees and iron lamps. The air smells like salt and sun-warmed wood.

The car slows, and he turns the wheel smoothly. We stop, and Ares cuts the engine and gets out of the car. This is the first time he’s let go of my thigh.

I sit there for a second, trying to clear the fog in my head. Then I see him standing next to the car, looking down at me with that damn smirk on his face.

“Let’s go,” he says, holding the door open for me.

I slip out and stand next to him, looking around. The view in front of me is breathtaking. The water stretches endlessly below us, the sun reflecting off each small ripple. And on the cliff, there’s a huge beach house. It’s gorgeous. It looks like a place you’d only see in movies.

“Wow,” I whisper, taking it all in. “That house…it’s beautiful. The view must be amazing from inside.” I glance at him. “Are we even allowed to be here?”

Ares is leaning against the car now, arms crossed and sunglasses on.

“Wanna see the inside?” he says casually.

I blink up at him, and he nods.

“The inside?” I question, unsure of what he means.

Without a word, he scoops me up, slinging me over his shoulder.

I yelp, my heart racing. I kick my legs and brace my hands against his back, but he’s too strong, and I’m too thrown off guard to do anything about it.

“Put me down!” I panic, realizing what he’s doing, where he’s taking me. “What the hell? Ares!”

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, but his grip is firm as he strides toward the house. “The view should be better from the inside.”

“Are you breaking into this house?” I shout, suddenly panicking. “This is…this is illegal!”

I thrash around on his shoulder, my stomach turning as panic sets in. But he just keeps walking, his strides long and confident, like he doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone. His arms are strong around me, holding me tight, and I can feel the tension in his body.

I’m freaking out.

“You can’t just break into some random person’s house!” I slap his back, squirming. “I don’t want to see the inside!”

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he marches straight up the steps to the massive front door like he’s allowed to be here. I can’t see what he’s doing with the lock, but we stand there for a few seconds while I try to climb off him.

“This is called breaking and entering!”

He kicks the front door open, and I gasp, turning my head to see if this is really happening.

“Ares!” I’m full-on hitting him now. “We could go to jail!” I shout again, fists pounding against his back.

But he doesn’t stop.

He walks right through the front door like it’s his, boots thudding against smooth hardwood floors, like he’s not actively breaking and entering in the middle of the day.

“This is someone’s house! What if they have cameras? Or a dog?”

“Not afraid of dogs,” he throws casually.

Are you kidding me?

I wriggle harder, trying to slide down, but his grip tightens like a vice around my legs. His other hand comes up and smacks my ass, making me freeze.

“You scream like that again, and I’ll put you on your knees in the living room.”

I bite my lip at his words, feeling that familiar heat travel lower and lower.

No. Focus.

“This is a crime,” I gasp, panting now from fighting him and my own brain. “We’re literally going to jail. I don’t have a record.”

The moment he sets me down, he walks toward the back doors, to the pool area overlooking the ocean, like he didn’t just throw me over his shoulder and break into someone’s beach house.

I stand there in the middle of the open-concept living room, trying to remember how to breathe. My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking. And he’s heading straight for the outdoor bar.

“What are you doing?” I run after him, glancing around like someone’s about to jump out and arrest us. “We need to go. Now.”

He doesn’t answer; he just pulls open a sleek, stainless-steel mini fridge tucked beneath the outdoor bar and grabs a bottle of wine, then a fruit tray.

He casually sets both down on the marble countertop with all the calm of a man in his own kitchen. He’s acting like we’re not literally inside someone’s million-dollar coastal home.

He pops the cork and pours a glass while I stare at him in disbelief.

“Ares!” I hiss. “We need to leave before someone calls the cops!”

He rounds the bar, circling me like a predator, then steps closer. One long, unhurried stride and then another, until my back meets the cool press of the bar behind me. My heart is pounding as I tilt my head back to look at him. All six feet too much of him. He lifts his arms and rests them on either side of me, palms flat on the cold marble, his chest close enough that I feel his heat through my clothes.

He’s caged me in.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, his voice low and wicked, “You like the thrill, don’t you?”

I try to deny it, but the truth is—I do like it. The danger, the recklessness, the thrill of toeing a line I was never meant to cross. And the irony isn’t lost on me—I'm the girl who always plays it safe. I swallow hard, my pulse quickening.

“No, I don’t,” I lie, but my voice cracks. I can feel the heat pooling between my legs, the undeniable pull of everything I shouldn’t want but can’t resist. Like breaking into a stranger’s home with one of my dad’s players, who also took my virginity last night.

Ares doesn’t care about my denial. He’s not waiting for permission. He’s pushing me up against the bar, his body so close I can feel his muscles pressing into me. His lips hover near my neck, brushing against my skin, sending a shiver through me.

“Such a bad liar,” he murmurs before his mouth finds my neck. His lips are soft at first, but the moment he bites down gently, I gasp, my body responding to him in ways I can’t control. He pulls back, looking down at me with blue fire in his eyes.

“You like the rush of doing something you’re not supposed to do.”

His brow lifts, and he glances down at my mouth.

I don’t have to look in the mirror to know I’m already flushed, already burning. He knows I’m getting wet from the thrill alone, from the fear of being caught with him.

And then his knee presses between my thighs, parting them slightly.

I gasp again, my hands gripping the bar, trying to steady myself. “Ares…we shouldn’t be here.” My voice trembles, but it’s not just fear anymore.

“Then let’s make it quick,” he murmurs, leaning in more, his lips trailing down to my collarbone. “Before the cops show up.”

Oh my God.

I whimper, pressing myself into him, the ache in my core turning into pulsing need.

“How did you even get the door open?” I breathe, trying to focus on the fact that we’re still in someone’s home.

“With a key,” he says smoothly, moving to the other side of my neck. He’s trying to distract me from the fact that he’s made me an accomplice!

“Did you pick the lock?” I try to come back to the topic, but his lips…God, his lips.

I can feel his breath against my skin, and it’s like I’m drowning in him. His hands roam over my body, and I’m so turned on that I don’t even care about the consequences anymore. My heart’s pounding, but it’s not just from the fear. It’s from him . And way he makes me want him despite it.

I’m losing control. This isn’t innocent. This is real. This is dangerous. And he’s made me do it.

I can feel my breath getting shallow, my body betraying me. My dad is going to kill me if he finds out. This is insane. But the more I try to push it out of my mind, the more my body craves it, craves him.

He kisses my throat, his teeth grazing my skin—hot and maddening—before trailing up my neck. His breath is warm and minty as he leans into my ear, hands still braced on the counter, keeping me caged in.

“Should I fuck you on a stranger’s counter?” he asks, sending a thrill right between my thighs. “Hm?” he presses while his right hand starts to slide up my leg, gathering the fabric of my dress along the way. “Let the police find us with my cock buried inside you?”