CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ALEXANDRA JONES
ITOLD CLARK THAT I WOULD SPEAK TO ARES TOMORROW, tomorrow turned out to be a week later. I couldn’t muster up the strength to go back in and ask if he was gay for Clark. Because I was afraid. Not off him, no, I was afraid that he wouldn’t want to speak to me because of the way I reacted after finding out he was Diávolos.
I realised that there really isn’t a need for me to be angry or afraid of Ares because he showed me another side of him.
The good side.
The side I felt safe with.
The side where he made me feel understood.
The side where he made me laugh.
I push the parlour door open; the bell above lets a small ring to echo, and I watch as Aliza makes her way to the desk. “Can I speak to Ares please?” I ask her.
She nodded, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. I walk down the tight hallways until I reach his door. Slowly, I push it open and found Ares engrossed in paperwork.
“Hi,” I announced myself, trying to break the tension in the air.
His eyes locks with mine as he stood up, “Alexandra,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a forbidden secret.
“Butterfly left your dictionary now?” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood. He ignored my attempt at humour, picking up the rubbish on the table and throwing it in the bin. “How are you?” I whisper, wanting to connect with him.
“Fine, yourself?” He replies, maintaining a cool distance.
I placed the container of pomegranates on the table, a gesture meant to show him that I cared. “I picked these out for you...”
“Alexandra, is there anything you need?” His tone is icy, and I could feel the walls he had built around himself.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my heart aching for the connection we once had. “For the way I shouted at you.”
Ares had the type of eyes that would make you fall to your knees and worship his every command, the type of eyes that you would let do anything to you. And the way he looks at me, almost with so much love and obsession.
“I shouldn’t have reacted that way...” I finally admit, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.
“You have a right to react, Angel. You know that, right?” He told me, stepping closer to him, yearning for the closeness we had lost. “And you never apologise to me,” he said softly, his fingers gently pushing a strand of my hair away from my face.
I miss him.
I miss the way he smells.
The way he towers over me.
“You know I won’t tell anyone, right?” I plead, wanting to reassure him that I could keep his secrets.
“I know,” he reply, a smile forming on his lips.
My arms wrap around his waist, seeking comfort in his embrace as my head rests on his chest. He brushes the back of my hair down, his touch electrifying before slowly lifting my face and kissing my lips gently.
“But you need to understand, this is who I am, Angel. And I can’t change it. So don’t expect me to change,” he warns, his voice laced with a mix of passion and fear.
I nod, brushing my thumb across his lips, a silent promise to accept him for who he was.
“Apparently you did Clark a favour,” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood again.
“Who?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
“The son of the man you killed. He would have ended up marrying me.”
Ares scoffs.
“Would have killed Clark then.”
“Let’s not kill anyone for now.”
“That’s like telling me to not eat sweets.”
“Right, then don’t eat sweets-they aren’t good for you anyways.” I sigh, looking around the room. “Do you like men?”
He looks taken aback, but his fingers slid down my neck, resting on the necklace he had given me. Slowly, he leans close to my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.
“I prefer my woman.”
“Oh, thank God.”
I grab onto his face and pull him down, our lips forced to meet one another. I can feel the hint of a smirk against my mouth, a teasing sensation that only fuels the fire burning within me. His lips are soft yet commanding, moving in perfect harmony with mine as if they were meant to be together.
Lost in the moment, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, our bodies pressed together in a fervent embrace. The world around us fades away as we become lost in each other. His hands find their way to my waist, pulling me even closer as the intensity of our kiss deepens. His hand grabs the side of my legs, lifting me from the ground effortlessly.
He walks us over to the couch, laying us down. His tongue grazing my bottom lip, wanting to gain entry inside my mouth but I tease him with a smile. “Open your mouth, Alexandra.” He demands.
“Make me.”
He bites onto my bottom lip, I gasp-my mouth opening before he shoots his tongue down. I moan, his tongue intertwining with mine. Feeling every inch of my mouth. My hands grab onto his hair, brushing through it with my fingers as my back arches.
I feel his hand graze down to the hem of my dress, sliding it up my thighs.
Okay, red alert! This needs to stop!
You’re a good catholic woman!
You’re a virgin!
That’s right, I am a virgin!
Does he know?
Of course he doesn’t know stupid, but shit-he feels so good pressed against me. His dick was hard. I can tell, it is pressing against my thighs.
I should stop this!
But I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t because it feels so good.
The way his hands caress my body.
As my hands glide over his broad shoulders, I feel a surge of anticipation coursing through me. His lips leave a trail of heat as they move down to the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
With a gentle tug, he pulls my dress up, and I lift myself from the couch, allowing it to slip off and fall to the side. A rush of vulnerability washes over me as I sat exposed before him, but his words, so tender and sincere, reassure me in a way I never thought possible.
“Do you know how beautiful you are, Angel?”
His whisper sends a jolt of desire straight to my core, and as his lips brush against the curve of my breasts, I can feel the flames of passion igniting deep within me.
He leaves soft kisses between my breasts and looks up at me for approval. I nod my head and his hands travel behind my back, unclipping my strap as he loosens my bra. When his teeth capture my nipple, a low moan escapes my lips, my back arching instinctively towards him. The sensation of his mouth on me is intoxicating, sending sparks of pleasure dancing along my skin.
I gasp as he lifts his head, his fingers gently pinching my nipple, eliciting a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. I dig my hand into his shoulders, my nails grazing his skin as he returns to claim my lips once more.
“We should stop.” I whisper.
“We should stop.”
“I’m a virgin.”
He looks into my eyes for a moment, a smirk forming across his mouth. “Then I guess we better stop,” he agrees. “Because you deserve more than doing it on a couch.”
“I do, do I?”
“Yes, you do butterfly, way more.”