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His weight is above me, his mouth trailing fire across my throat, his body pressed to mine like he can’t get close enough, like if there were a way to crawl inside me, he would.

We shouldn’t do this.

We can’t.

But we will . Because there is something in this moment that has me gripped in a chokehold.

He’s right there, hard, bare , waiting.

Waiting for permission. And I should be smart and tell him to stop. Maybe I should care that we have no protection.

But I don’t.

Instead, I whisper the one thing I need more than air right now.

“Say you’re mine.” His eyes flick up to mine, pupils blown wide, expression cracked open like he wasn’t expecting that. “Say it,” I breathe, curling my fingers around the back of his neck. “You’re mine.”

His voice is gravel and soaked in sin. “I’m yours.”

I nod, heart thundering. “Only mine.”

He growls...deep and primal. “Only yours.”

Then he thrusts in, slow and thick and bare, and every breath leaves my lungs in a shattered gasp.

Our bodies lock. Our mouths collide. And in that moment, nothing exists but us. Just skin and heat and the words we can’t stop saying.

“Fuck, I’m yours,” he mutters again, voice ragged.

And God help me, I believe him with every fibre, every nerve burning in my body.

We move in a rhythm that feels like the earth shifting beneath us, like we're creating our own universe in this small room. The intensity of his gaze never wavers, dark and consuming and I let myself get lost in the raw passion and connection that surges between us.

As he whispers to me again, “There’s no one else, Bambina. Only you. Always you .” I feel a surge of emotion so powerful it takes my breath away. It's not just desire or lust...it's something so much more profound, something primal that binds us together in ways I never thought were possible.

“I’m close...” he groans, his thrusts slowing to a deep grind. His forehead presses to mine, slick with sweat, jaw locked tight. “Fuck, baby… I need to pull out.”

I don’t know why, but instead of letting him pull out, I tighten my legs around his waist. “Don’t.”

His body stiffens. His breath catches. “Jordyn?—”

“Stay,” I whisper. “Please.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and something feral flickers behind his.

“You’ll get pregnant,” he growls, in warning, like a promise.

“I don’t care,” I breathe.

His nostrils flare. The muscles in his jaw tick almost violently.

“I do,” he grits. “I care too fucking much.”

My legs tighten around him again and I roll my hips, slow and deliberate, pulling him deeper.

His breath punches out of him. His fingers dig into the sheets on either side of my head. “Jordyn, stop,” he rasps, voice ragged and furious with need. “ Stop, bambina... fuck. ”

But I don’t. Something inside spurs me on and I keep moving. Hips rising to meet every grind of his, soaking in the way his control shatters on top of me as he soars closer to his release.

“I want to feel you,” I whisper. “Every drop . ”

“Oh fuck ...” His mouth crashes down on mine like punishment, like surrender, like he’s cursing me with every kiss.

He shifts his angle, hitting a spot that makes me see stars, and I cry out, arching against him.

Waves of pleasure crash over me, sweeping me away, and he follows with a low growl, pulsing deep within me.

And when he comes, spilling inside me, body shaking, breath stolen from his chest, I know I’ve just branded myself into him forever.

We stay locked like that, riding out the storm, our breaths ragged, hearts pounding wildly.

As the waves recede, he collapses on top of me, his weight a comforting pressure.

I stroke his back gently, feeling his heartbeat slow to match mine once more.

In this quiet, intimate moment, there’s no room for the chaos outside.

For a second, I just lay there, eyes closed, breathless, imagining what it would feel like to carry his child.

It’s stupid, reckless, dangerous even.

Ares doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak, just stares down at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.

His chest rises and falls against mine, each breath a battle. His eyes are dark, darker than I’ve ever seen them. Not angry, but not soft either.

Just wrecked .

His gaze drops between our bodies, still joined. Still bare. And then it happens. A whisper, followed by a curse.

“Che cazzo, Jordyn…” he breathes, like he can’t quite believe what we just did. “Do you have any idea what we’ve just done?”

The words slice through the haze like a blade. My stomach flips. My heart stumbles. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because I don’t know what he means, what part of this he’s fighting.

Is it the risk or possibility that I might get pregnant? The trust that I didn’t listen when he told me to stop?

He finally pulls out, slow and tense, like the contact is burning him now.

I feel the loss instantly, physically, and emotionally. It leaves me hollow in a way I didn’t expect.

Ares pushes off the bed without a word, walking to the far side of the room like he needs space to think. He runs a hand through his hair, his bare back rising and falling like he’s trying to breathe through panic.

I pull the sheet up over my chest, watching him in the silence that follows.

Finally, he speaks. “Why did you do that, Jordyn?” His voice is rough but controlled.

I blink. “I don’t know,” I answer, my voice barely audible. “It just felt right in the moment. I didn’t want you to stop.” He turns slowly, face unreadable. “You wanted it too, and you didn’t stop me either.”

He swears under his breath and turns away again. “So, what, you regret it now?” I ask, voice quieter than I mean it to be.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.” His silence lingers between us, heavy and electric.

“What we just did was reckless.” He admits. “I can’t have a kid, Jordyn.”

Something in me breaks. “Ares, I wasn’t trying to get pregnant.”

He whips around, eyes sharp. “But you didn’t stop me.”

I stare at him, breathing hard. “Neither did you.”

“I tried —” He cuts himself off, dragging both hands over his face. “I tried to pull out. I told you to stop.”

“But you didn’t .”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking hold me there, ” he hisses. “You rocked your hips because you wanted me to come inside you. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

My eyes sting, but I don’t cry. “So did you, Ares, but you did it anyway. You could have easily pulled out if you wanted, or stopped yourself from coming, you are the king of control after all, aren’t you?”

He grabs his shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head like armour.

“I’ll take you to get the morning-after pill,” he says flatly, without looking at me.

I stiffen. “Wow. Straight to cleanup then?”

“It’s not a clean-up, Jordyn,” he snaps, voice razor-sharp. “It’s damage control.” Whoa. Those words hit hard, so hard I visibly wince.

“Damage,” I repeat, numbly. “Is that what I am now?”

His nostrils flare. His eyes finally meet mine. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” I rise from the bed, the sheet still clutched to my chest. “Because it sure as hell sounds like you think I set some kind of trap. Like I planned this. Like I was trying to get pregnant.”

“You didn’t think,” he bites. “You acted on impulse, like you always do.”

“And you didn’t?” I shoot back. “You were right there with me, Ares. You wanted it. You needed it. Don’t stand there and make this one-sided.”

I wrap the sheet tighter around myself, heart still thudding from the heat we shared… and the sudden shift now turning it to ice.

“You don’t need to panic,” I say quietly, my voice steadier than I feel. “The last thing I want right now is to get pregnant. I was going to take the morning-after pill.”

That gets his attention. He stills, buttoning up his jeans, dark eyes locking to mine. Then he walks toward me, slow, deliberate, until he’s standing right in front of me.

“If that’s how you want to fuck, bambina …” His voice is low, dangerous, the kind of dark velvet that slides over skin like silk just before it burns. “If you want me to go bare,” he growls, “and fill your tight cunt with my cum, then you need to go on the pill.”

My breath stutters, but I don’t look away. His hand lifts, brushing my cheek, not tender, but grounding. “Because I don’t want a kid,” he finishes, eyes on mine. “Not now. Not ever. Not in this world.”

There’s no softness in his tone. But it’s not cruel either. It’s just honest .

And beneath all of it, that same aching truth lingers. He still wants me.

Desperately. But on his terms, on his control. And maybe that’s the part that scares me the most.

“Make an excuse to go out tomorrow. I’ll meet you in town and we can go to doctor and get you on the pill.” He watches me for a beat longer, as if checking to see if I’ll argue, if I’ll push back. I don’t.

I just nod once, slowly. “Okay.”

He exhales, a breath more relief than victory. Like he wasn’t sure which way I’d break. His hand lingers at my cheek for a second too long before it drops.

And then he turns toward the door, grabbing his watch from the dresser, slipping it on with practiced ease. He’s already switching gears, sliding back into the man the world sees, calm, lethal, untouchable.

But I know better now. I saw the panic behind his eyes. The part of him that wanted to run. The part that didn’t . Just before he walks to the window, he pauses.

“I’ll text you the time.” And then he’s gone. No kiss, not even a hug, just the deafening silence he leaves behind.

The morning sun is unbearably bright. It pours through the manor kitchen’s glass doors, oblivious to the heaviness inside me. I perch at the long marble island, barely aware of Bianca humming softly at the stove. A plate of eggs lies untouched before me, the fork dangling limply between my fingers.

My phone vibrates once.

I glance at it.

Ares:

11:30. I’ll meet you in town. Don’t be late.