Page 255 of Untamed

He enters the bathroom without asking, like it’s his right. I mean, it is his house, his bathroom, so he is well within his right to just stroll in without a single fuck given.

I feel him before I see him. The air shifts, tightening around my skin.

Then, softly, his hands find my hips, settling there over the towel. His touch is steady, warm and anchoring.

He leans in and presses a kiss to the top of my head, and I go still.

Then another kiss. Lower this time, my shoulder. Then his nose drags slowly along the column of my neck, a breath escaping him as he exhales against my skin.

“I hate leaving you, bambina.” he whispers, voice low and raw.“Hate it more than you’ll ever know.”I close my eyes. My grip on the lotion weakens when every brush of his lips against my heated skin. And slowly he turns me around so I’m facing him.

I peer up at him while he looks down at me for a moment. I resist the urge to close my eyes when his hand comes up to stroke my face before he leans in and his mouth finds the edge of my jaw. Then moves to the soft spot just beneath my ear.

Another whisper, this time softer, like a secret.

“It doesn’t matter where I am, you’re on my mind, always.”

I swallow hard. “And if I had a choice, believe me, I wouldn’t leave your side.”

He shifts in front of me slowly, one hand sliding around to neck, the other still resting on my hip. His head dips, and he kisses the corner of my mouth, once, gently. Not asking. Not pushing. Just there.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he murmurs. “But I want to.For you.” Another kiss, my cheek this time, warm and firm. “You’re the only thing that makes this life feel less like a fucking prison.”

My guard fractures. Just slightly. My shoulders drop. My pulse stutters.

“Tell me what you need, bambina. I’ll give it to you. I swear to God, I’ll give you everything I’ve got, even if I have to bleed it out one piece at a time. Just don’t give me the silent treatment. Be patient with me.”

And just like that, I’m unravelling.

My head tilts toward him before I can stop it. My lips part. My body leans into his like it’s been waiting, aching, for this exact kind of softness wrapped in steel.

I don’t pull away, either. And that’s how he knows he’s still got me.

Ares reads the shift in me instantly, like some unspoken thread has pulled taut between us. The second my head tilts toward him, just barely, he moves.

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that doesn’t ask.It claims. There’s no hesitation, no room for thought, just heat and the weight of everything unspoken crashing into the space between us.

I feel his hands tighten around my waist, grounding me, anchoring me to something I can’t name but feel all the same. And I kiss him back without thinking, without holding anything back, because in this moment, I don’t want space. I want him, fierce and unfiltered and right here.

The bottle of lotion slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud I barely register. All I know is the press of his chest against mine, the way his fingers slip beneath the knot of the towel, testing the edge like he’s unwrapping something holy. My skin is still damp from the shower, still tingling from frustration and adrenaline and now this, his mouth on mine, hishands everywhere, and the rush of being wanted so completely it makes my heart stammer.

His grip shifts, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me like I weigh nothing. The air hitches in my throat as he sets me down on the counter between the two basins. The cool marble bites at my thighs, but it only sharpens everything else. Ares crowds into the space between my legs, not giving me a second to think, to retreat, to breathe.

The towel comes undone beneath his fingers. It doesn’t just fall, it surrenders.

And then I’m bare before him.

The air is cooler against my skin now, but the heat radiating off him chases away the chill. He takes a step back, not far, just enough to look at me. Dark eyes drinking me in. His gaze travels the length of me, slow and searing, and for a heartbeat I forget to breathe.

He doesn’t speak.

The look in his eyes says everything. Reverence. Hunger. Possession. Like he’s seeing something he already knows belongs to him and he’s not sure whether to worship it or ruin it. Frankly, I’m down with both.

Then he’s back on me, his mouth against mine, hotter now, more desperate. One hand cradles the side of my face while the other fumbles with his belt, tugging his trousers open with a kind of restless impatience. He doesn’t strip, doesn’t bother with anything beyond what’s necessary. His need is too immediate, too consuming for pretence.

His hands slide beneath my thighs again, dragging me to the edge of the counter until there’s nothing between us.

“Mine,” he mutters against my throat, the word low and raw, more breath than sound, like it’s been carved from somewhere deep.

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