Page 45 of Untamed

I thought you’d never ask. Look out your window, beautiful. Meet me on the rooftop.

Oh god.

I freeze, my pulse thundering in my ears. My hand trembles as I pull the curtain aside—and there he is, leaning casually against a lamppost, two coffees in hand… all masked up, before he turns and heads toward my building.

Chapter 9

EMBER

The cold rooftopair bites at my skin, but it’s not what sends a shiver rippling down my spine.

He’s here.

Again.

So the guy is local. On the one hand, that should terrify me.

On the other…

I’m not gonna lie. I feel like I’m living in the pages of a romance book.

Towering over me, his presence is oppressive, magnetic. I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. The black mask covering his face doesn’t give much away, but his body radiates tension. Every inch of him screams predator.

And mother of god, I’m here for it.

“Your posts,” he whispers in that accent that makes my body sing, begging for more, like verbal foreplay. I swallow hard. “All these fantasies. You have no idea how close you are to living them.”

I need to push a little. “What makes you think I want to live them out with you?”

Do I?

Feels a bit strange addressing someone wearing a mask, but the anonymity, the mystery… my heart’s beating a million times a minute.

I remind myself that the books I’ve read… they’re…fantasy.

I look into his eyes, brooding and intense.He’s so big, he blocks the sun. I shiver.

When his hand reaches out to me, I’m holding my breath. His fingers graze my chin, ensuring my gaze doesn’t leave his. “Maybe I’ll let you test me—see how far you can push me before I let you see whose queen you are.”

“But you… you don’t even know me,” I whisper.

“Don’t I?” He leans in closer, and it sets my nerves on edge. I don’t like feeling like he’s prying into my mind, like he knows more than I want him to. I turn away, and when he takes a step toward me, I try to push past him.

He catches my wrist and twists gently but firmly until I’m facing him again. My breathing’s hitched, and his is labored through the mask.

“Take it off,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “The mask.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The stillness unnerves me. Then, slowly, his hands rise. He pulls at the edges of the mask with deliberate care, like he’s revealing a weapon instead of his face.

My hands still over his. “Let me,” I whisper.

A thrill races through me when he drops his hands and nods. I feel as if I’m lifting a curtain because we both know—once that mask is off, there’s no going back. It’s a step toward each other we can’t undo.

My heart races as I slowly lift the fabric. It catches on stubble. When I slide my hand beneath it, he stifles a shiver of his own, a groan trapped in his throat. His big hand spans my waist.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.

That strong, masculine cut of his jaw. Olive skin. Wicked, full lips slightly parted.

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