Page 154 of Untamed

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.

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