His pupils dilate against his pale irises as his gaze drags over me.
Then, a slow tilt of his head.
“You just threatened me,” he says with a slow tilt of his head, disbelief in his deep voice. It’s not a question. It’s a fact. His voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t waver.
I should regret this. But I can’t stop my mouth from moving. I force my smile to stay in place. This is both thrilling and reckless. But it feels good.
“Yep.” I nod, popping the P. “Precisely!”
His eyes darken before they drag over me again. And then the corner of his lips twitches upward. I’m not sure if it’s a smirk or a sneer, but whatever it is, it sets butterflies off in my tummy.
“You really are a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” His voice is low but too deep to be swallowed by the buzz and noise coming from the arena.
There it is again.‘Little thing.’I try to swallow, but it gets stuck. I’m not afraid of him. At least, I don’t think I am. What I feel isn’t fear; it’s something lighter, something that makes me run toward him instead of away from him. Without thinking, I tighten my hold on his fingers.
His eyes darken, and his entire body goes still when the air thickens to the point of suffocation.
I feel it before it happens—a shift in the air, a slight movement before his hand snaps forward. Before I can react, his fingers clamp around my wrist.Again.
He yanks my hand off his fingers, and I let out a small gasp, my pulse slamming against my ribs. But he doesn’t stop. With the same hand, he grabs my other wrist. Now, he has both of my wrists trapped in his grip. One of his huge, tattooed hands completely wraps around them.
I can’t do anything except stare up at him, wide-eyed, breath shallow, and heart racing.
He takes a single step forward, and everything inside me locks up. The heat of his body, the sheer size of him, is too much. He tilts his head, slow and calculating.
“What did I say about touching me?” His voice is low and deep. My stomach flips as he tightens his grip enough to make my thighs press together.
That’s not fear coiling in my gut. That’s not anxiety clawing up my throat.
A heat so deep, so sharp, it crackles up my spine like an electric current.
Oh, God.
A spike of arousal, immediate and undeniable, shoots through me.
No. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.
I suck in a shaky breath. I need to say something. I need to break this moment.
But I can’t. I’m frozen. And I’m sure Ares can see it. He watches me, his gaze dragging over my face, taking it in.
His thumb presses against my pulse, and I know he feels it. He has to because it’s racing. Because I’m giving myself away. I see the moment he realizes. The moment he understands. His lips twitch. He knows what he’s doing to me. And I don’t know if I want to die or sink deeper into it.
Ares leans in so close I feel his breath skim my cheek. So close, my knees threaten to buckle.
“I’ll do your exam on Tuesday.” His words are quiet and final. “But you’re going to be good for me.”
A shiver races through me violently at his words. My lungs forget how to work.
“You’re not going to tell anyone about my injury.” His breath is warm. He pulls away enough to look down at me. “Can you do that for me?” His voice is almost inaudible over the roar of the arena now. I catch myself nodding, saying yes. He mimics me, his chin bobbing up and down with mine. “Good.”
And I am not okay. Because I should be pushing him away, but I’m not. Because the moment he finally releases me, the moment he lets me go, my wrists feel empty.
And I know that whatever he just did unlocked something in me.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
Chapter eight