Page 155 of Untamed

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.

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