Page 47 of The Untamed

He acknowledges that it’ll be a man. Just not him.

“My parents would never allow it,” I whisper. “They will be disgusted with me.”

His breath tickles over my face, so close I think he might kiss me again. He doesn’t. “Sometimes we do things that make us happy even if we have to keep them a secret.”

“Like the kiss we shared?”

“Yeah, Ronan, like that. It’s our secret.”

His hand drifts closer, not farther away, stroking me over my throbbing length. My mind goes completely blank aside from the way he incinerates me with his touch.

I want more from him.

I need more.

I need it all.

“Logan—”

“Shh,” he hisses, voice sharp as he freezes. “Fucking hell! It’s them!”

He jolts away from me, cursing as he fumbles with the zipper of his pack. Then I hear the telltale sign of a bullet being chambered in a handgun.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The sudden assault of sound and the three quick flashes of light have me crying out in shock. Logan tears off into the woods, crashing through anything and everything in his way. I draw my own .45 and hurry after him, a little more careful in my steps than him.

Logan is relentless as he chases after the men who hurt his wife. Guilt consumes me, but I squash it down in favor of helping him find those monsters. We’re searching for a good twenty minutes before a string of familiar voices are calling to us.

“Ronan! Logan!”

“Over here,” I call out to Dad. “Logan saw them and managed to shoot at them. I don’t think they’re injured.”

A flashlight flickers on and Dad’s face is illuminated nearby. He casts the glow my way, temporarily blinding me. I squint against the harsh brightness.

“Did you see them?” Dad asks. “Which way did they go?”

Logan walks over to us, vibrating with anger. When he glances at me, some of the fury melts away and his eyes flash with an unspoken apology.

Right.

We’d been kissing and he was in the middle of touching my dick before we were interrupted. As soon as Dad starts drilling Logan with questions, I step away from the group, sucking in a calming breath of air.

I jolt in surprise when someone touches my shoulder. When I realize it’s Ryder, I relax a bit, but not entirely. He turns on his own flashlight, pointing it at the ground between us. There’s just enough glow for me to make out his features.

Concern is the main expression twisting his features. But once he quickly assesses me and determines I’m safe, his eyes narrow.

I squirm under his scrutiny, hoping like hell he won’t know what I’ve done. Forcing myself to hold his gaze, I pretend everything is fine aside from my flaming hot cheeks and lips that feel slightly raw from the bristles of Logan’s beard on my skin.

It’s so obvious.

Dammit!

It’s clear when Ryder comes to a conclusion of what must be close to the truth because his intense gaze burns hot with anger.

Does he hate me now for what I’ve done?

Ryder steps closer, his nostrils flaring. He sniffs—actually fucking sniffs—my face like he can smell Logan’s scent on me. He must pick up on whatever clue he’s hunting for because a low rumble echoes from his throat.

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