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My entire body reacts to his words as heat blooms low in my belly, and I feel it in my throat, in the way my pulse stutters and hammers. I don’t move. I can’t.

And I don’t stop him.

But he doesn’t move either. His hands hold steady, poised on the edge of surrender, not yet crossing the line.

He’s waiting.

Waiting for me.

His eyes lift to mine again, darker now, voice a thread of fire when he says, “Tell me to stop, Bambina...or I swear to God, I’ll lose it.”

I don’t answer.

Not with words. Not when they’d only get caught in my throat and ruin this moment. The silence, the weight, the air so thick I can barely draw a breath much less form coherent words.

Instead, I hold his gaze. He’s still watching me like he’s standing on the edge of something dangerous. Like he’s afraid I’ll pull him under, and maybe I will. But I’m not afraid. Not anymore.

So, I move.

Slowly, deliberately, my fingers reach for the knot at my waist. The satin is soft beneath my touch, the loose tie barely clinging on. With a simple flick, a gentle pull, the robe unravels like it was never meant to stay closed in the first place.

It slips from my shoulders.

First one, then the other.

The fabric slides down my arms like a whisper, the sound nearly inaudible but deafening in the stillness between us. Cool air kisses my skin as the robe falls, gracefully and pools silently at my feet.

Every muscle in my body goes rigid, but I don’t cover myself.

I stand there in the red satin nightdress I chose without thinking. Bare legs exposed, shoulders trembling with nerves and something much deeper. The truth of it is laid bare, me, him, this , and I don’t look away.

Because I’m not unsure. And I’m not ashamed.

I’m offering him something wordless, something real. And somehow, I trust that he’ll understand what it costs to be this open, this still, this undone.

His eyes roam over me, slow, reverent, pained. As though he’s still on the fence whether he wants to worship me or run. His throat bobs with a swallow he can’t quite hide, and I watch his hands flex against my thighs like he’s one second from losing control.

“You’re playing with fire, bambina,” he rasps, voice wrecked.

I inch closer, close enough that the silk brushes his chest. Close enough that I can feel the tension in his body radiating off him like heat. My fingers lift, threading through the thick strands of his hair. I feel him breathe, shallow and sharp.

He doesn’t have to say anything, because I know.

His choice is already made.

And so is mine.

Ares rises slowly, hands gliding up the backs of my thighs, each touch more grounding than the last. His fingers leave a trail of fire in their wake, but not the kind that burns. The kind that ignites...that claims, consumes .

Now we’re standing face to face, my breath catching in my throat as I tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. There’s no retreat in me. No hesitation. Only this moment.

Only him.

His thumb brushes the curve of my jaw, then down my neck, trailing over the fluttering pulse beneath my skin. I know he can feel it, just like I can feel his eyes devouring me without even touching me.

I’m trembling, because I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this. Him.

“Fuck, we can’t do this, bambina,” he murmurs, barely audible. Like he’s trying to convince himself more than me. “I should walk away.”

“You should,” I whisper, my voice steady now. Calm and anchored in him.

I rise onto my toes, my mouth brushing his, lips grazing lips, barely there. “But you won’t.”

Because I know him.

I know the way his hands tighten slightly against my face like he’s already lost the fight. I know the way his chest rises just a bit faster when I get this close. And I know the way he growls, low, guttural, wrecked, as I speak the truth out loud.

“Because you’re tired of fighting, Ares.” His breath punches out, but he doesn’t speak, so I continue. “And so am I.”

My hands lift slowly, sliding up the planes of his chest, feeling the heat of him, the way he trembles, not from weakness, but restraint. His muscles shift under my fingers, tight with tension he’s barely holding back.

“If you need to break me…” I whisper, fingers splayed across his sternum. “Break me.”

His eyes flare, dark and unreadable.

“Because it can’t feel any worse than this,” I continue, my voice fraying at the edges now. “Than you denying me your touch…”

I let the words melt against his lips, brushing my mouth over his, slow and aching, each syllable a surrender. “…your taste.”

His hands remain on my face, unmoving now—almost like he’s standing at the brink, weighing the cost of crossing a line he can’t uncross.

So, I choose for him.

I close the distance until my lips are a breath from his, our foreheads nearly touching. My voice is steady, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Dimmi che mi vuoi scopare,” I moan breathily.

The air between us pulses, heavy and electric, after I say it.

I don’t even know if I said that right, until I feel his breath hitching in his throat.

Something feral and dark flashes in his eyes.

He leans in close, forehead nearly touching mine, his mouth a breath from my lips, voice thick and wrecked.

“No, bambina...” His hand curls around the back of my neck, rough and sure. “Io non voglio solo scoparti.”

I don’t just want to fuck you.

He pauses, eyes locked on mine like he’s bearing something brutal and holy.

“Voglio consumarti. Ogni. Fottuto. Centimetro.”

I want to consume you. Every. Fucking. Inch.

The sound that leaves me isn’t a gasp, it’s a surrender.

A quiet, broken curse tears from his lips. “Fanculo…” And then his mouth lowers to mine. Slow and tentative at first. A question I answer with my breath, my stillness, my conviction.

Our lips brush, but barely. Just a whisper of contact.

And I exhale, my eyes falling closed.

Then he kisses me, fully. Like a man who has been holding back for far too long.

My fingers curl at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands slide down, palms grazing over my waist, my hips, until they settle on the curve of my ass. The silk of my nightdress moves between us like water, but I barely feel it. All I feel is him.

Ares kisses like he’s starved. Like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world, and I melt into it.

I moan softly into his mouth, caught off guard by the way it flows through me. Need, surrender and everything I’ve been holding back. Ares grips me harder, deepening the kiss with slow, aching hunger. His tongue slides against mine, patient and devastating.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

Just this slow, consuming ache that builds and builds with every breath we share, every inch of contact.

I press into him, my body melding to his like I was always meant to fit here, against him, with him. The heat of him seeps through the thin barrier of satin between us, and it makes my knees weak. Causes my thoughts to scatter like ash.

He pulls away first, just far enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breath comes hard and ragged, his hands tighten on my hips like he needs to hold on or he’ll lose himself completely.

“If we do this…” he whispers, voice fraying, “If we cross this line, there will be no going back, bambina, so you better be sure.”

I’m breathless. My mind is swirling in a lustful daze.

Still, I look him in the eye and say nothing, because I don’t want him to stop.

His gaze searches mine, dark and desperate, like he needs to hear it.

Needs me to say it.

“Speak, bambina, tell me you want this,” he breathes. “That you really want me.”

And I do. I want him. All of him.

I don’t flinch, I don’t pretend, I just say it.

“I do, Ares, I want you.” His thumb drags slowly along the edge of my jaw, a touch so gentle it makes everything inside me ache. His gaze stays locked on mine, dark, unreadable, all- consuming. “I want all of you.”

There’s no smug smirk. No tease. Just raw heat and desire.

With a final nod he leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts against my lips. And when he speaks, his voice is low, not a growl, but guttural.

It’s a promise.

“Sei mia.”

You’re mine.

Those two words melt over my skin, sink into my bloodstream, take root somewhere deep inside my chest.

Everything stops. The world, the room, my breath...my fear. They all still, and for a moment, nothing but the two of us exists.

Because he means it, not as a question, not as a threat, but as something absolute. Like a truth he’s carried in silence, and now finally dares to give voice to.

I don’t hesitate; all traces of hesitation are gone when I lean in, my lips barely grazing his as I whisper back, quietly, confidently, while shaking with everything I’m feeling.

“I’m yours.”

I hear him utter something incoherent under his breath, and then, everything that has been coiled tight inside him—inside both of us, snaps loose.