Page 268 of Untamed

My fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, giving into the storm because it’s easier than facing the silence after. Easier than telling him goodbye.

When our tongues glide over one another he groans against my mouth, the sound low and guttural, like he’s been starving for this. Forme.

But it’s more than need, it’s dread. It’s fury. Love, too loud to be spoken in words.

His hands slide down to my waist, gripping me like he’s terrified I’ll slip through his fingers. He breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against my lips, his breath trembling with truth.

“I don’t want to kiss lips that aren’t yours, Jordyn. I don’t want to touch skin that doesn’t belong to you. I don’t want a world without you in it,mia cara.Don’t make me live in one.”

And that’s when my chest cracks open. Because I don’t want that either. I never did.

But wanting him has never been the problem. It’s keeping him alive that is.

“I don’t want that world either, Ares… but I’m scared it’s the only one I’ll be left with if you keep charging into this crusade of yours.” I whisper, my voice fraying at the edges.

He doesn’t respond.

Well, not with words.

His eyes search mine, dark and molten, wild with something unspoken. Then his mouth is on mine again, fierce and consuming. Not like before. This kiss isn't a claim or a demand, it’s a plea. A silent promise. A prayer laced with fire.

Strong arms tighten around me, and before I can draw another breath, my feet leave the ground. A quiet gasp escapes my lips as he lifts me effortlessly into his arms, like I weigh nothing as he carries me through the open doors without breaking the kiss. My arms loop around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer, deeper, like I could climb inside him and disappear if I just held on tight enough.

The bedroom is dim, the air thick with the scent of us, warm skin, salted tears, the tension we’ve been burying for far too long. He sets me down at the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at my waist, thumbs pressing into my hips.

We break apart only long enough for him to look at me.

Like, really look, as though he’s trying to retain every detail of this moment.

And the look in his eyes? Fuck me. There is something reverent in his eyes that steals the breath out of my lungs. Like I’m not just the girl he loves, but the last piece of himself he hasn’t surrendered to the world.

His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek before trailing down my neck, over my collarbone, slow and deliberate. I feel his breath on my skin, his gaze burning paths even before his hands follow.

When he lowers me back onto the mattress, it isn’t rushed. It isn’t frantic. It’s a slow unravelling, the kind you feel in your chest more than your body. Every touch, every kiss, every heartbeat is soaked in something so much deeper than lust.

I sigh when he kisses the corner of my mouth, the hollow of my throat, the place just below my ear that makes my breath hitch every time. Ares worships me in silence, like it’s the only language we have left. His hands never stray, palming, guiding, anchoring me to him, holding me close enough that we can keep pretending the world outside doesn’t exist. That its shadows can’t reach us here.

Clothes fall away, piece by piece, but there’s no haste. Just need and devotion.

By the time Ares sinks into me, we’re nothing but bare skin and tangled breath, caught in a rhythm older than language. His forehead rests against mine, our bodies pressed so tightly there’s no telling where I end and he begins.

And even in the quiet, I hear everything he’s not saying. That I’m his. That he’s mine.

That this is the war he’s willing to lose if it means holding me like this, just one more time.

And still, deep down, I know…

This will be the last.

It’s barely morning when the sky turns the colour of bruised lavender, and I know our time is almost up.

Ares hasn’t slept, and neither have I.

We’ve been lying tangled in the hush of early light, our bodies a knot of limbs and longing, skin to skin, hearts racing, as if the slightest distance would destroy us. His hand rests on the curve of my hip, warm beneath the sheets, breath soft against the back of my neck. Every now and then, he presses a kiss there, and it feels like a promise he won’t say out loud.

But it’s not just his touch that feels different. It’s the way he holds me, too tight, too still.

But it’s the moment I feel his palm slide over my stomach in a lazy pass and settle there without thinking. His thumb gently caresses my skin.

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