Page 67

The rich aroma of strong Italian coffee mingles with the buttery sweetness of pancakes, the scents curling through the kitchen and dancing in the golden morning light pouring through the windows.

I sit perched on a stool at the island, one leg folded beneath me, still wrapped in Ares’s oversized t-shirt, my skin tingling from where his touch still lingers.

Across from me, Ares leans against the counter, shirtless, sipping his espresso like he didn’t just spend the last hour completely destroying me in the most exquisite ways.

“Do you ever eat?” I ask, plucking a strawberry from the bowl and sinking my teeth into it.

He lifts his gaze, holds mine for a long breath, then the corner of his mouth curves in that infuriating, devastating way. “I just had the best breakfast any man could ask for.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks under the weight of his stare, but I refuse to look away. “I meant food, Ares. Do you eat actual food?”

A low, gravelly chuckle rumbles from his chest, and I nearly forget how to breathe. Did Ares Russo just laugh? My brain stutters. Holy hell.

“Yes, bambina,” he murmurs, voice like smoke. “Of course I eat food.”

I raise an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “I’ve only ever seen you drink espresso and glower at people.”

His eyes glint with something unreadable as he sets the tiny porcelain cup down, the sound sharp against the marble. “Maybe I’ve never had a reason to linger long enough for breakfast.”

My heart gives a traitorous flutter.

He moves around the island with that lethal grace of his, like a storm disguised as a man. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to stay casual, but every step he takes tightens something low in my belly.

He stops beside me, fingers brushing my jaw as he swipes his thumb across the corner of my mouth. “Strawberry,” he murmurs, lifting his thumb to his lips.

I swallow hard, pulse skittering.

“That’s a shame,” I say, voice low. “Because pancakes are pretty life changing.”

Ares smiles, barely, just the smallest twitch of his mouth, and takes the plate from the counter, sliding a pancake onto it before setting it down in front of me. “Then show me.”

I blink up at him. “Show you what?”

“How to eat pancakes like a civilian,” he says, leaning in close enough that his breath grazes my cheek. “I’ve been too busy playing monster, bambina. You might need to teach me how to be human again.”

My throat dries like I swallowed a spoonful of cinnamon. The strawberry in my hand drops onto the plate with a soft thud. He’s still so close, too close, and I can’t tell if we’re talking about breakfast anymore, or something much deeper.

Something inevitable.

I stare at him, heart thudding like a war drum. “You really want me to teach you how to eat pancakes?”

His lips twitch. “I want to see how you eat them.”

A tremor laces my inhale, but not in that obvious, cliché way. It’s very subtle...internal. Like my lungs can’t quite expand under the weight of his attention. I pick up a fork, slice off a small piece, and drizzle it with syrup, feeling his gaze track my every move.

“You watch people like you’re memorising their weaknesses,” I murmur, holding the fork halfway to my mouth.

He doesn’t deny it. “Sometimes I am.”

I take the bite, slow and deliberate, I watch him as I chew and swallow before asking, “And what have you memorised about me?”

Ares leans a hand on the counter beside me, caging me in without touching me.

His voice drops low, velvet dark. “That you blush when you’re flustered.

That you bite your lip when you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t.

And that you look like this— his eyes drag down my bare legs, then up to my mouth, “—when you want to be kissed.”

My fingers curl around the edge of the plate and I swallow hard. “You’re wrong.”

“No,” he says simply. “I’m not.”

Then he does the unexpected, he picks up the same fork I used, slices a piece of pancake, and eats it, eyes never leaving mine.

“You taste better,” he murmurs.

Shit. I literally feel the words detonate something inside me. I should pull away. Say something sarcastic. Break the tension before it consumes me. But I don’t move. I can’t. I’m tethered to the floor, to him, by invisible strings I never agreed to tie.

“Ares,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.

He steps even closer, his thigh brushing my knee, his voice rough silk. “You keep saying my name like that, bambina, and I won’t make it to the end of this breakfast.”

My heart pounds in my chest, frantic and treacherous. His words settle over my skin like heat, like hands. I should look away, but I don’t. Instead, my eyes flick to his mouth.

His perfectly shaped mouth.

And I bite my bottom lip, slowly, like I’m trying to ground myself, but all it does is draw more attention to the ache pooling low in my stomach.

Ares exhales a quiet breath, and his lips curve, not into a smile, but something far more lethal. A knowing.

“You’re doing it again,” he utters, voice dark and edged with amusement.

“Doing what?” I ask, even though I know.

His fingers come to rest on the edge of the stool between my knees, barely brushing the inside of my thigh. “Looking at my mouth,” he murmurs. “Biting your lip. Wanting me to kiss you.”

I draw in a shaky breath, barely holding it.

This time, I don’t deny it and he leans in, so close I can feel the warmth of him, the scent of him, espresso and sex and something that’s just... Ares .

“Say it,” he breathes, eyes locked to mine. “Say you want me to.”

I should be stronger. I should pull away and pretend he’s wrong, play coy, protect what little is left of my self-control. But instead, I whisper it.

“I want you to.”

His hand lifts, fingers skimming along my cheek with a reverence that steals the air from my lungs.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t pounce. He studies me like he’s memorising this moment, the exact way my eyes flutter shut, the sound of my breath tittering, the way my lips part slightly in anticipation.

And then, he kisses me. It’s not rough or possessive.

This kiss is slow. Devastating. Like a promise, or maybe a warning dressed in desire. I can’t tell. The only thing I can focus on is the way he tastes, the way his lips feel against mine. The way he swallows my moans and replaces it with groans of his own.

When he draws back, our foreheads still touching, my lungs stutter around the air, too full and too empty all at once. I keep my eyes closed, afraid that if I look at him, the spell will break. That this moment, soft, and raw, and terrifyingly tender, will slip between my fingers like steam.

“You taste like strawberries,” he murmurs, the words brushing my mouth more than the air.

A quiet laugh catches in my throat, breathless and disbelieving. “That’s because you stole my breakfast.”

His thumb grazes the corner of my lip again, slower this time. “I’d steal a lot more than that if you let me.”

I finally open my eyes, and his are right there. Unforgiving and intense as always. But something else lurks behind the obsidian.

Something...vulnerable.

The words come out in a whisper before I can catch them. “What are you doing to me?”

His teeth grind like he’s chewing on a truth he’s not ready to say, but then he does. “Exactly what you’re doing to me.”

My throat tightens.

I need to pull back before I fall harder. But instead, I reach up and let my fingers graze the side of his neck, tracing the edge of that tattoo I shouldn’t know the meaning of.

He doesn’t flinch. He just watches me.

The world outside the kitchen blurs, sunlight pooling across the counter, the faint ticking of the clock above the door, the distant sounds of life happening elsewhere. But none of it touches us.

Until the shrill ring of my phone cleaves it in half.

I flinch. So does he, but barely. And just like that, the spell breaks.

I glance toward the counter, where my phone lights up with Bianca’s name .

Ares straightens, face tight, stepping back just enough for the air to chill between us.

I don’t move, and neither does he.

The screen dims. Then lights up again.

Still Bianca. Still ringing, but I ignore it, frozen in the space where his kiss still lingers on my mouth and his hands still warm my skin beneath the oversized T-shirt that smells like him.

“I should answer that,” I murmur, though I make no move to. “She’s called me like twenty-five times.”

Ares’s eyes stay locked on mine. “No,” he says softly, firmly. “Not yet.”

The phone goes silent again. The quiet hums as he steps closer, brushing his fingers down my bare arm before curling them lightly around my wrist. “You do need to go home though, bambina.”

My brows pull together. “I don’t want to.”

He leans in, lowering his voice until it grazes my throat like a touch. “I know, I want you to stay too, believe me, but...” Ares trails off as his fingers trace the edge of my wrist, like he can’t quite let go.

He exhales slowly, eyes locked to mine. “We can’t afford for anyone to find out.

Not yet. If this gets out too soon, they’ll tear it apart before it even has a chance.

And by they , I mean my father. He already suspects I’ve got a weakness when it comes to you.

That’s why he’s pulled the fucking trigger on this arranged marriage.

To control me. To pull me away from you. ” I sigh, nodding.

“I know. My sister already warned me off you, too.”

Ares looks away, blinking too slow to be casual. And I see that familiar storm rising behind his eyes. “Of course she did,” he mutters acridly. “Because that’s what people do when they see something they don’t understand. They try to kill it before it grows.”

He moves in closer, the space between us shrinking to nothing. His fingers graze my jaw, tilting my face toward his, his voice low and laced with something raw.