Page 112 of Untamed

She shoots me a look that could cut steel. “Sit. Down.”

I do as I’m told, because there’s no winning with her when she gets like this, and I honestly can’t deal with the headache. At least that’s the story I’m telling myself. It has nothing at all to do with me craving her touch as though it’s my only lifeline.

She finds the med kit without needing direction, like she’s done this a thousand times before, like she’s memorised the details of my bedroom. Then she moves behind me, perching on the edge of the mattress. Her knees bracket my back as she peels the gauze away.

She’s breathing so quietly, her breath fanning my neck, her touch gentle and careful. “God, Ares, it looks so raw and painful.” She says, her fingers shake slightly as she wipes away the blood, but her focus never wavers. I feel the sting of antiseptic ointment she applies over the wound and squeeze my eyes shut and draw in a slow, deep breath. Not because of the pain from the wound, because of her, her touch, her scent wrapping around me like some kind of sweet, scented armour. My shoulder stiffens from the tension, and Jordyn stops for a second. “You need to relax, or I’m going to make it worse.” She adds and then I feel the soft pressure of clean gauze. Her touch lingers and I only realise I’m not breathing when my lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen.

“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly.

I shake my head once. “Nah, at least not the part you’re thinking of.”

Her hand lingers a beat longer before slipping away.

Then she shifts.

I hear the mattress creak, feel the dip of her weight change behind me. My skin tightens with awareness as she moves, around me, not away. Unhurriedly, like she knows I’ll bolt if she moves too fast.

I watch her as she steps in front of me, barefoot, steady, and close enough that her knee brushes mine. Her gaze doesn’t flinch, it grips me, rooting me more than her touch ever could.

Then she murmurs, so mellifluously I almost miss it.

“Then show me, Ares, show me the parts that do.”

I’m floating somewhere in the hazy space between danger and desire. I stopped fearing the fire that burned within me and instead chose to readily and blindly step into its embrace. And fuck it, if I burn, then so be it. I’ll burn.

My hand lingers on his shoulder longer than it should, warm against his skin, blood beneath my palm. But eventually, I let go.

Only… I don’t step away.

The mattress creaks softly as I rise. I move around him instead, slow and deliberate. His body tenses, like he doesn’t know whether to brace or bolt, but I don’t stop. I move to stand in frontof him, barefoot, the hem of my nightdress and robe grazing the tops of my thighs as I move.

Ares lifts his gaze to mine, eyes dark, enigmatic, as if they hold secrets of the universe, but he doesn’t pull back.

I inch forward, a single, deliberate step, until my bare knee grazes his. The silk of my robe slides against my skin, but I barely feel it. All I can feel ishim.All I can see is the man sitting before me, still and guarded, like he’s waiting for me to flinch.

But I don’t.

Instead, I speak, my voice a quiet, unwavering current cutting through the tension. Words meant for both of us. “Then show me, Ares, show me the parts that do.”

For a moment, he goes still, breath suspended, eyes locked onto mine as if I’ve said something both perilous and profound. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Do you really believe you’re brave enough to see what’s underneath all this?” He gestures faintly to his chest, to the tension in his frame, the weight in his silence.

“I promise you, bambina... it’s not something soft. It’s not something kind.” I tilt my head, my heart thundering so loud it echoes in my ears.

“Maybe not, but I still want to see.”

The silence that follows is sharp, drawn taut like the air before a thunderstorm. His fingers twitch against his thigh, then curl into a tight fist, as though he’s trying to restrain himself or hold the pieces of himself together.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, layered with caution. “You think if I hand those parts over,” he murmurs, “you’ll stillwant to stay?” My breath catches in my throat, yet I don’t avert my gaze. I should be afraid, I think, but I’m not. I shake my head, slow and assured.

“Are you afraid that I will?” His brown eyes flare with something raw and untamed flickering just beneath their surface. “You don’t scare me,” I whisper, the words a soft challenge hanging in the charged air between us.

I don’t wait for permission.

Maybe I should. Maybe this is reckless, standing so close to a man who wears violence like a second skin, but my body moves before my fear can catch up. Something raw and unspoken hangs between us, thick and trembling, and I can’t ignore it any longer.

My hand lifts, slow and uncertain, fingers hovering over the place where I know his heart is still beating, wild and buried and stubborn. And then I press my palm to his chest.

Right over his heart.

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