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I feel his hands tighten around my waist, grounding me, anchoring me to something I can’t name but feel all the same. And I kiss him back without thinking, without holding anything back, because in this moment, I don’t want space. I want him, fierce and unfiltered and right here.

The bottle of lotion slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud I barely register.

All I know is the press of his chest against mine, the way his fingers slip beneath the knot of the towel, testing the edge like he’s unwrapping something holy.

My skin is still damp from the shower, still tingling from frustration and adrenaline and now this, his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere, and the rush of being wanted so completely it makes my heart stammer.

His grip shifts, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me like I weigh nothing.

The air hitches in my throat as he sets me down on the counter between the two basins.

The cool marble bites at my thighs, but it only sharpens everything else.

Ares crowds into the space between my legs, not giving me a second to think, to retreat, to breathe.

The towel comes undone beneath his fingers. It doesn’t just fall, it surrenders.

And then I’m bare before him.

The air is cooler against my skin now, but the heat radiating off him chases away the chill. He takes a step back, not far, just enough to look at me. Dark eyes drinking me in. His gaze travels the length of me, slow and searing, and for a heartbeat I forget to breathe.

He doesn’t speak.

The look in his eyes says everything. Reverence. Hunger. Possession. Like he’s seeing something he already knows belongs to him and he’s not sure whether to worship it or ruin it. Frankly, I’m down with both.

Then he’s back on me, his mouth against mine, hotter now, more desperate.

One hand cradles the side of my face while the other fumbles with his belt, tugging his trousers open with a kind of restless impatience.

He doesn’t strip, doesn’t bother with anything beyond what’s necessary.

His need is too immediate, too consuming for pretence.

His hands slide beneath my thighs again, dragging me to the edge of the counter until there’s nothing between us.

“Mine,” he mutters against my throat, the word low and raw, more breath than sound, like it’s been carved from somewhere deep.

And then, he’s inside me.

The moment stretches and snaps all at once.

I gasp, head tipping back, fingers digging into his shoulders like I might come undone from the sheer weight of it.

The ache, the stretch, the sudden fullness, it crashes into me like a wave I didn’t see coming, stealing the air from my lungs and replacing it with him.

He holds me there, tight and still, letting me feel every inch of him. There’s no rush in the way he moves. Just control, heat and raw need. Like this, me, like this, is something he’s been starving for. Something he won’t take lightly.

My arms wind around his neck as I bury my face in his shoulder, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe again.

A shiver passes through me when I feel his breath hot on my neck, his body a furnace against mine.

I can feel his heart pounding, echoing my own racing pulse.

He begins to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that sends shockwaves of sensation through me.

Each thrust is a claim, a promise, a brand searing into my soul.

His lips find my ear, his breath ragged. “There’s not a man alive I’m afraid of,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that resonates within me. “but you? The way you undo me without even trying? That scares the shit out of me, bambina.”

I can't form words, can't do anything but hold on to him as he builds a fire within me.

His grip on my thighs tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh like he's trying to merge us into one being.

The cool marble beneath me is a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the fire he's stoking inside me.

His mouth moves down to my collarbone, teeth grazing my skin in a way that makes me gasp. It's pain and pleasure all rolled into one, a sensation that's overwhelming and addictive. I arch into him, wanting more, needing more.

And he responds with a deep guttural groan, his pace quickening. The room fills with the sound of our ragged breaths, the slick noise of our bodies coming together. It's raw, primal, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

His hand moves from my thigh to between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. Slowly he circles it, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The dual sensation sends me spiralling, my body tensing as I climb higher and higher.

“Ares,” I manage to gasp out, his name a plea on my lips.

He looks at me then, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

There's a fierceness in his gaze, a determination that sends me hurtling over the edge.

Waves of pleasure crash over me, drowning me in their intensity.

I cry out, my body convulsing around him.

Ares buries his face in my neck, his body tensing as he finds his own release. We stay like that for a moment, locked together, our breaths ragged, our hearts pounding as one

After a moment, Ares lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine again.

This time, there's a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that makes my heart flutter in a different way. His fingers brush a strand of hair away from my face, his touch gentle. “You’re the only woman in existence to ever bring me to my knees, both literally and emotionally.” he whispers, his voice hoarse with spent passion.

“That’s how much power you have over me.

” I can't help but smile, a lazy, sated curve of my lips that seems to please him.

“Oh, you like that?”

I shrug, biting my lip impishly. “I love that.”

Ares smiles and presses his forehead to mine, his hands still resting on my hips, thumbs moving in slow, idle circles across my skin like he can’t stop touching me.

“You ruin me,” he says quietly. “Every fucking time.” His voice is low but sure, like it’s the only truth he’s certain of in this moment. There’s no tension left in him now, just that raw, unguarded stillness he only ever gives to me.

I close my eyes, resting my hands on his shoulders, letting the heat between us linger.

“And you keep coming back for more,” I murmur, teasing.

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound brushing against my lips as he leans in again. “Every time,” he says. “I’d crawl through hell for you, bambina. And you wouldn’t even have to ask.”

Ares doesn’t say anything else. He just looks at me like he’s mentally capturing this moment, like he doesn’t quite believe I’m still here, breathing hard and warm and real. Then, without a word, he slips his arms around me and lifts me off the counter.

I melt into his chest, limp and pliant, my head falling against his shoulder as he carries me through the threshold. His skin is still hot under the shirt, his chest rising and falling beneath mine with a rhythm that feels like thunder on the inside but barely a breeze on the surface.

The bedroom light is soft, casting golden shadows across the bed.

He lays me down slowly, like the softness we just shared still lingers in his fingertips.

His eyes never leave mine as he settles above me, one hand braced beside my head, the other trailing from my hip to my waist. I keep my gaze locked on his as he leans down, slow and unhurried, and kisses me again.

This one is different. It’s not hungry or desperate. It’s just slow. Deep and certain.

Like he’s trying to tell me something without saying it, something that sounds a lot like mine.

I feel myself sinking under again, a soft sound catching in my throat as I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him closer, fully prepared to get lost in him all over again, until a sharp knock at the door steals the moment. Then a voice, gruff, impatient.

“Ares.” he freezes.

I feel it immediately, his whole body goes still above me, like a wire pulled taut. The moment between us shatters. His head turns slightly toward the door, teeth clenched, breath held.

“Ares,” Dante calls again. “We’ve got a problem.”

Ares closes his eyes for a brief second, and when they open again, the softness is gone. Replaced by steel. Back to his usual self.

“Of course we do,” he mutters under his breath. His weight shifts as he straightens up, one hand sliding across my stomach before pulling the sheet up higher over me with more care than the situation deserves. But I know it’s his way of staying connected, even when the world demands he walks away.

He leans in one last time, lips brushing my forehead. I close my eyes and sigh.

“I’m sorry, Bambina,” he says, low and quiet. “Stay here, lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Understand?” I nod mutely.

Then he’s gone, already moving, already somewhere else entirely.

And just like that, the room feels colder, and all I’m left with is the lingering ache of him inside me, the warmth he left behind slipping away like the rest of him.