Page 76 of Untamed

In her heart, she believes in the power of love. In her heart, she wants to be as loved and cherished as the women in her books.

And goddamn, I want to give it to her. All of it.

Chapter 17

EMBER

Fancy hotelsand penthouses sound nice. But the smell of coffee and bacon in a log cabin before you open your eyes? It’s the height of luxury.

I stretch before I open my eyes, aware that the hot water bottle beside me isn’t there anymore. Dwelling on the memories of the night before makes me feel like I’m living in the pages of one of my books. Him kidnapping me, toe-curlingly good sex, followed by his adorably and surprisingly hot lecturing, before he tucked me into bed. I want to grab my phone and record a video, only… this one’s just for me.

I open one groggy eye. Early morning light filters in through a small window near the door. The walls are made of polished logs, their warm, honeyed tones glowing softly in the dawn light. Thick wooden beams stretch across the ceiling. It’s rugged and charming. Needs a little fluffy dog by the hearth who wants his ears scratched.

A stone fireplace dominates one wall, its hearth neatly stacked with wood. The faint scent of pine and ash and last night’s fires lingers in the air. I sigh. There’s a sturdy wooden dining table with mismatched chairs and a patchwork rug underfoot, adding a touch of color to the otherwise earthy palette. On the far wall, a narrow bookshelf made of wood holds a few leather-bound books and a glass oil-burning lamp. I don’t see any of the titles onmybookshelf, but a few classic Austen and Brontë books make me grin.

I didn’t know I’d describe a place like this luxurious, but here we are.

“Thought you couldn’t cook?”

Rodion turns around, sexy as fuck wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. From here, I can see the scars I traced with my fingers the night before and the trademark ink of the Bratva. His muscles ripple as he moves. He’s a fucking paragon of masculine perfection. I swallow and lick my lips.

“Uh, no,” he says with a grimace. “It was the one lesson Rafail tried to teach me. I failed miserably.”

“Rafail? He’s your older brother, right?”

“Yeah.” When he turns to me, he has a platter of food piled onto his plate. “This is precooked bacon, but the lady at the store promised me it was foolproof.” He pokes at it with a fork. “Looks… good?”

I sit up and bed, suddenly starving. “Last night’s sandwich is long forgotten, so unless it’s burnt or raw, I’ll eat it.”

“Let me guess,” he says, giving me a wary look. “You need pickles and peanut butter?”

“Do you think I’m pregnant?”

I’m unprepared for the way his gaze grows heated.

His eyes darken, the playful smirk slipping from his face as something raw and primal takes its place. “If you were…” His voice is low, rough around the edges, as though the thought alone has ignited something deep within him. “I could handle that.”

Oh dear god.

My breath catches, and I blink up at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone, the way his gaze burns into mine like he’s claiming something that doesn’t exist—yet.

“Rodion…” I start, unsure if I’m warning him or questioning him, but he steps closer, his towering presence pulling the air from the room.

His fingers brush against my jaw, tilting my chin upward so I can’t look away. “It’d mean you’re mine in a way no one could ever change.” There’s no teasing now, just a quiet, ferocious possessiveness that sends a shiver down my spine.

I should’ve known.

I wasn’t prepared for this…

I’ve read about this, haven’t I? Men like him. I joked last night about him being a wolf, but right now, I don’t feel like that’s far from the truth.

I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of the spell he’s weaving. “That’s… not how this works.”

When he grins, it’s dark and dangerous. “You sure about that, little queen? Because the idea of you carrying my child—of youbeing tied to me in every way—feels likeexactlyhow this should work.”

“I was joking, Rodion.” My gaze focuses on the tray. There’s a pile of crisp bacon beside bagels and cream cheese and a cup of steaming coffee.

“I’m not.”

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