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I’ve never done this before. Never even let my thoughts drift far enough to imagine what it would feel like, what he would taste like.

But now, with him trembling under my touch, one hand buried in my hair and the other clenched on the glass door like he’s holding onto the last thread of control, I understand why this moment isn’t something people forget.

He tastes like salt and skin, like heat and power stripped bare.

The sharp tang of him is unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, intoxicating in its own way.

He’s velvet over steel on my tongue, every twitch and pulse a new discovery.

I feel him come undone in the most primal, vulnerable way. And I’m the reason.

Me.

My lips slide, guided more by instinct than experience, but I can feel it, feel him , reacting to every flick of my tongue, every slow pull that draws another guttural sound from deep in his chest. It’s not just arousal in his voice, it’s exaltation.

Like he didn’t expect this. Like he never lets go, but somehow. .. he’s letting go for me.

There’s power in that. Not the kind you wield. The kind you’re entrusted with and even on my knees, kneeling before him, I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.

His breath shudders, his thighs tense, and then it happens, he breaks.

All at once. The moan that tears from his throat is almost a growl, thick and low, and his body arches as he spills into my mouth, raw and unfiltered.

It’s messy and warm, overwhelming and intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for, but I don’t pull away.

I stay. I take all of it, and something about that feels important.

Like a promise. Like a claim. And when he pants my name, I feel it everywhere .

When it’s over, he collapses back against the tiled wall, chest heaving, hand still tangled in my hair like he can’t quite let me go. And I don’t think I want him to, not now, not ever. Ares reaches down, his fingers curling beneath my jaw, lifting my gaze to meet his

He’s staring at me like I just broke him, and when our eyes lock, damn . It’s not lust I see in his. It’s devastation. It’s hunger, like I’ve ruined him in the best possible way.

His thumb drags slowly across my lower lip, and I exhale slowly.

“You wrecked me,” he says, voice rough and wrecked. “You fucking wrecked me, bambina.”

There’s no fear in me. No shame. Just this trembling kind of certainty as I hold his gaze, as I stay right where I am, not because he wants me here, but because I want to be. Because I chose this. Him.

He pulls me up, slow and careful like I’m something fragile.

Like I matter. My body follows his like it knows the way, still trembling under the weight of everything we just shared.

His hands are warm on my hips, anchoring me, and even through the steam and water pouring down around us, I feel the way his gaze searches mine, and I know he’s looking for doubt, for hesitation.

But there’s none. Because I don’t regret it, not a damn second.

My chest is heaving, heart racing, and I know I must look a mess, wet, breathless, undone, but when I press my forehead to his, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The way we fit. The quiet between us, filled only by the rush of water and the shared beat of our hearts.

His hands slide up my back, holding me close. Not like a man clinging to control, but like a man giving it up.

“Most people only ever get a piece of me, bambina.” he murmurs, voice quiet but heavy with meaning. “But you took every fucking part and made it yours.”

My breath catches. My heart clenches so hard it hurts.

I don’t speak, I can’t. Instead, my hands find his chest, sliding up to curl behind his neck, fingers threading into the damp strands at the base of his skull. It’s a silent promise, a claiming. A surrender.

And when he kisses me, slow, deep, and tasting of something wild, I kiss him back with everything I have.

There’s an intense urgency in the way he kisses me now, as if restraint was a fragile thread that snapped at the taste of me on his tongue. It’s a frenzied passion, raw and unrestrained.

His hands grip my waist tightly, fingers digging into my damp skin, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. His kiss deepens, fervent and consuming, as though he’s desperate to merge into one, to eliminate the last remnants of distance.

Then, he breaks away, just barely, his breath a ragged whisper against my lips, hot and full of promise. “You’ve had your taste, bambina,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a thrill coursing through me. “Now it’s my fucking turn.”

My stomach flips, a flutter of nerves and excitement.

My legs feel weak, like they might give way at any moment.

The water shuts off, leaving us in a silence that’s thick with tension, only punctuated by our ragged breathing.

Before I can utter a word, he claims my lips again, and we’re moving, out of the steamy bathroom, across the cold, polished tiles, our skin slick and heated, our bodies magnetised, drawn together with an irresistible force.

With a swift, fluid motion, Ares lifts me, his arms strong and sure around my thighs. I gasp, clinging to him as he carries me as though I’m a precious trophy, something he’s claimed for his own.

His lips never leave mine, not as he strides confidently, not as his grip tightens possessively, not as he lowers me onto the bed with a controlled intensity that surprisingly makes me feel anything but safe, in the most exhilarating way possible.

His eyes, dark and intense, rake over me, burning with desire. I feel the depth of his want in every breath he takes, every tense clench of his jaw as he battles the urge to devour me then and there.

He kneels between my legs, his hands trailing slowly up my thighs, leaving fiery trails and goosebumps in their wake. I’m trembling from sheer anticipation. From the way he stares at me, like I’m a gourmet feast laid out for him after years of being left to starve.

Then his lips descend onto my skin, and his voice, gritty and heavy with need, sends a jolt straight through me. “If you want me to stop at any point, just say the word and I will.”

His mouth hovers over the flat planes of my stomach, his breath warm on my damp skin.

I can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding himself back, staring up at me while he waits for my response.

Like he’s waiting for me to stop him, to tell him I don’t want this, but I do.

God, I do. I want this, him, more than anything I have ever wanted in my life.

I tangle my fingers in his wet hair, my voice steady and sure.

“I don’t want you to stop. I want this,” I tell him, breathless. “I want you, Ares.”

A low groan echoes from his throat, a sound of relief and desire entwined. His soft lips press against my stomach, kissing, licking, biting softly as he makes his way down. My body arches to meet him, my senses overwhelmed by his touch, the sheer intensity of him.

He pauses at the waistband of my panties. His fingers trace the edge, skimming my skin lightly, teasingly. He looks up at me, his eyes dark and hungry, seeking permission. I nod, barely able to breathe, much less speak.

With a slow tug, he peels the lace material down my hips, my legs, and discards it.

His intake of breath is sharp as he takes in my naked form.

My most sacred part exposed to him. He murmurs something in Italian, too low and fast for me to understand, but the tone is one of awe, of appreciation.

His large hands slide up my calves, pushing my legs apart gently but firmly.

I can feel his heart pounding near the Apex between them I let my knees fall open toward the bed and lean back on my propped elbows as I watch him take in all of me with that intense gaze of pent-up desire.

“Maledizione, tesoro,” he murmurs as he drags his fingers over my pussy, through my slick folds. “Has anyone ever?—”

“No,” I whisper, before he even gets the question out.

Ares smirks as he settles between my thighs, his breath hot against my most sensitive skin.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in every part of me, echoing in my ears like a drumbeat urging him on.

His fingers trace light patterns on my inner thighs, making me squirm and gasp.

It's torture, exquisite and unbearable all at once.

I can feel his breath there, hot and wanting.

His fingers dig into my thighs, spreading me open, baring me to him completely.

He looks up at me then, his eyes dark and hungry.

This is what he wanted, what he's been craving.

And now that he has me here, vulnerable and exposed, he's taking his time, savouring every moment.

He lifts my legs up onto his shoulders and then his mouth is on me, and I’m gone.

Lost in a sea of sensation, drowning in the feel of his tongue and lips and teeth.

He’s not gentle, he’s ravenous, feasting on me like a man possessed.

With an audible gasp, my back arches off the bed, my hands grip the sheets tightly, knuckles white with the force of it.

His hands slide under me, lifting me to him like an offering, and I'm helpless to do anything but take what he gives me. I don’t think I will ever forget the feel of his tongue on me.

Every dexterous flick and light suck on my clit wreaks a whole new level of havoc on my body.

Each touch is a brand, a claim. He’s marking me as his own, and I’m letting him.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, building higher and higher until I'm shaking under him, and I’m sure I can’t take anymore.