Page 40 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8
‘Right.’ He reached out and took her hand.
It was for show, right? That unity to project. They went back to the convivial vibes. From her place beside Ares she watched Gia. The older woman was a walking polite smile, rocking a facade as bullet-proof as Ares so often did. She took in the pictures, sipped from a champagne flute, lasted a full forty minutes—even through all Ares’s speech. Which she applauded. And when she then approached Ares, the crowds stepped back.
‘Congratulations, Ares,’ she said. ‘This is impressive. It will be good for our future yachting employees.’
‘Thank you, Gia.’ Ares matched her formality. ‘I appreciate your effort to be here when I know you aren’t feeling a hundred per cent.’
A moment later, Bethan watched Gia depart, honestly stunned. She didn’t kid herself that everything was suddenly fine. As if a few words from her could heal more than a decade of hurt and loss. Gia had been stilted and perhaps it had only been for public show but Bethan hoped there’d been even a vestige of genuine acceptance. But Ares still had that facade. A few words couldn’t breach wounds like his. She breathed again, trying to ease her tension but her heart felt bound by too-tight ropes and it ached to burst free and bloom big. It just ached. Because she couldn’t say any of this to him.
‘Come on,’ Ares said shortly, taking her hand in his again. ‘I’ve had enough.’
She was silent on the short drive back to the apartment. She refused to babble pointlessly—this night was too momentous for waffle now. Besides which she couldn’t get her strained brain to think of anything to say. It was focused on only one thing. His party was over and tomorrow she would see the notary. She would leave Greece. She would leave him. Which meant tonight was their last night together.
Ares didn’t turn on the lights when they stepped inside but there was enough light from the street outside to make patterns on the ceiling and upper walls. Which meant she could see him—just enough. He took her hand and led her to his big bedroom. He said nothing and she couldn’t. Her throat hurt—too tight, too tense. It was not saying anything that had gotten her into trouble last time. When she’d run away instead of staying and talking to him. She’d not fought for her fragile marriage. Not given either of them a chance to fix it. And it was too late now, wasn’t it? Because everything was different. And Bethan was just that bit scared.
Only then he smiled at her. Then he stepped close. Then slowly—so slowly—Ares slid the zip at the side of her dress down and with a sole, gentle finger nudged the strap from her shoulder. The white fabric slipped to the floor in an easy, slippery rush.
His jaw dropped.
Her strapless bra was pure lace as was the tiny triangle that was her panties—with the little ribbon to hold them up. She’d chosen them deliberately earlier today, spent her last few cents on a provocative outfit—to feel sexy, to force a reaction. And yes, the hunger on his face empowered her. But he didn’t quicken—didn’t haul her close as she’d expect. No, he moved even more slowly. He stepped back, removed his tie, unfastened his shirt buttons. With careful deliberation he gifted her an erotic display. She drank in the dip and ridges of his muscles that the flicker of shadow and light captured. He was so beautiful she melted inside. But she remained still, not wanting to rush this moment in any way.
Reality hung, heavy and unspoken. Thisoncemore. Their last night. Their last time to have and hold.
He stepped out of his trousers but left his briefs. He walked closer, his hands fisted at his sides. Until he reached her. And then those fists unfurled. His touch was unbearably gentle. Reverently he traced every inch of her body with the tip of his finger—barely skimming her skin in a dance designed to ignite her senses. The featherlight tease deepened as he pressed a touch harder, then palmed parts of her—her breasts, her thighs. Scorching heat fired within, her entire being was weakening—narrowing to this. Only this. Her need for him. She couldn’t stand it. She simply couldn’t stand it. And he read her mind, lifting her, placing her how he wanted. She was so willing.
He knelt above her, peeled away the scraps of lace, exposing her to his gaze, to the graze of his teeth and tongue. By the time he stroked between her legs she was already beyond the edge. She was almost broken. He repeated the caress, deepened it. She gasped as he breached her. Moaned louder as he flicked, massaging where she was so very needy. Just as she was about to burst, he drew his finger out. She panted as with a provocative smile he circled her unbearably sensitive spot with the smallest, most relentless of motions designed to drive her even more wild. She arched, moaning louder and faster until he finally gave her his fingers again. She instinctively squeezed hard—the orgasm hit instantly. He growled, pumping faster—twisting his fingers to stroke inside her in a way that made those delicious ripples of pleasure go on and on as she shuddered and quaked and finallycrumbled.
She panted, spent and yet not. She wanted more but she was so far gone couldn’t even beg—she was simply a moaning mess of want and need. He kissed her too gently. Too slowly. Soothing her from that heightened sensitivity before starting the sublime torment all over again.
Ares ached to rip off his briefs, plunge back into her bare and bury his seed deep. Nothing between them. Appalled at his own thinking, he slid down her curves to lave his tongue over her soft, sweet sex and taste her honey all over again. Needing as much intimacy as he could get. Needing to touch every part of her—to imprint himself on her being. He shook with the effort to hold back and rolled on the condom while he still had some semblance of control.
Then he moved. She was with him—her hands seeking to hold, her hips undulating in utter invitation for his possession. But she had her eyes closed. Shutting him out of her soul. He couldn’t stand for that. Not tonight. He needed her to look right at him. Toseehim. Feel him. And never deny him.
‘Look at me. It’s me with you.’ He finally broke the wordless spell they’d been in from the moment they’d left the gala. ‘It’smewith you, Bethan.’
Her eyes shot open. Her pupils blown. Her mouth pouting. He’d never seen her look so beautiful.
‘Of course it is,’ she whispered, her bottomless eyes boring into him. ‘It’s only ever been you,’ she said brokenly.
He stilled. She held his face between her hands. He felt her move beneath him—lifting her legs and locking them around his hips. He was a millimetre away from being inside her. But he couldn’t move.
‘I’ve only ever had you.’
With a guttural groan he lost all control. Her body squeezed on his in delight at his possession, her silken heat sucking him in greedily.Too soon.He stilled—driven as deep inside her as he could get. ‘Bethan?’
He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think he could stand to know—but he couldn’t stop himself asking. He gazed right into her beautiful brown eyes. ‘No one else in this time?’
Her eyes filled, drowning them both. She breathed hard.
‘I made promises too...’ Her words hardly sounded. ‘I wasn’t going to break them. Not until...’
He drew back, rolled his hips and pushed forward again, pleasure arcing to the base of his spine even as his heart tore. ‘Until it was over?’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘How could I...?’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t that,’ he said harshly. ‘It wasn’t just that.’
She stared up at him but he was deep inside her—not only with his body. He would know her truth. He wouldn’t let her hide anything from him.
