Untamed

Chapter 7

She wanted to tear away, to shout, to resist—but her body arched against him, craving what she had no right to want.

He smirked, fingers sliding along her spine, teasing, stroking, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “You’re dripping for me,” he murmured.

She spat the word again, quivering: “No.”

“Good,” he growled, dragging her closer, pressing his chest to hers so the heat of him seared every rational thought. “Keep fighting. Keep begging without saying it. Every no makes me want to claim you harder. You think you have control? I’m going to strip it from you, inch by inch, until you can’t remember a life before this moment.”

Her lips parted, breath hitching, but her defiance still burned, fragile and beautiful. He smiled, knowing she was unraveling and yet refusing to fall completely. That struggle—that fire—was the thing he lived for.

You’re going to beg,” he whispered, voice low, ragged with hunger, “and when you do, it won’t be because you gave up. It’ll be because I took the choice from you… because I am the only one who can hold you like this.”

Her body quivered against him, every nerve alive with ache and want, and she whispered, raw, furious, trembling: “No…”

Then I’ll wait,” he murmured. “I’ll wait as long as I need. But you can’t fight forever, angel. And when you fall, it will be absolute.”

He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek, eyes glowing like coals. “Keep saying it,” he murmured. “I want every syllable, every spark of resistance burned into me. I want to watch you unravel without ever letting you fall. And when you finally beg… oh, angel… it will be the only word you’ll ever need. Because I will own it. Every part of you. Every moment. Every breath.”

The room felt alive with tension, each heartbeat a drum of sinful promise. She trembled on the edge, refusing, fighting, aching—but every touch, every whisper, every dark, primal smile from him pulled her closer to the brink. And she knew, deep down, that no matter how much she resisted, she already belonged to him.

He circled her like a predator tasting the air, the subtle scrape of his boots against the hardwood echoing in the quiet room. Her eyes narrowed, trying to find a point of escape, but the walls themselves seemed to bend toward him, every shadow alive with his presence.

“You think you’re clever, hiding behind that stubborn spine,” he murmured, voice low and jagged. “But I feel everything beneath it. Every pulse. Every quickened breath. Every muscle straining to resist me.”

His hands ghosted along her arms, tracing the ridges of bone without pressing, and yet each brush left a trail of fire in its wake. Her jaw tightened, fingers trembling as she pressed against the wall, trying to anchor herself.

“Stop looking for mercy,” he whispered, leaning close so the heat from his body coiled around hers. “There is none here. Only what I give—and right now, I give nothing but anticipation.”

I could let this go for hours, angel. Watch you writhe and twist and tremble, taste every ounce of want in your body… and still refuse. I could do that forever and never tire. But eventually…”

He leaned back just enough to trail his fingers down the curve of her side, tracing patterns that made her spine arch involuntarily. “Eventually,” he murmured, lips brushing the hollow of her shoulder, “you’ll realize that my patience is part of the game. That every denial only sharpens the truth you’ve buried in the dark: you belong to me.”

He smiled, a cruel, beautiful thing that made the air between them shimmer with heat. “I don’t need you to bend,” he said, brushing the side of her neck, fingertips skimming over the tattoo without pressing. “I need you to feel me. To know that even as you fight, as you resist, you are burning for me. That you are alive in ways that no one else has ever made you feel.”

She shivered, caught between fear, want, and something tender she had never admitted even to herself. Every brush of his hands, every whisper, every low growl from his chest was a command and a caress rolled into one.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, voice thick with hunger and something softer, almost desperate. “The ache, the fire? That is me. That is love, burning through every inch of you. And I will wait. I will burn with you here, in this storm, until you understand what it means to be mine.”

Her defiance faltered for just a heartbeat, a tremor in her lips. She let herself lean, just slightly, into the heat, the storm, the rhythm of him. She whispered, soft and trembling:

You are exquisite,” he murmured, almost tenderly, voice thick with raw emotion. “So alive, so untamed, so impossible. And yet…” His hands gripped her firmly, tilting her hips, tilting her mind, tilting her will. “…yet I will take every ounce of control until you can’t tell where I end and you begin.”

She started to break, she clung to him desperately. I... You own me Sir.

He cupped her face, thumb tracing the line of her jaw, eyes dark and molten, and his lips curved in a slow, wicked smile. “Say it again,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger and something softer, almost fragile. “Say it like you mean it. Say it like no one else will ever hear it, but you feel it in your bones.”

She swallowed hard, chest rising and falling, and pressed her forehead to his. “My soul… my soul is yours,” she breathed, shivering, trembling in his arms. She didn’t hesitate this time. The words came like a vow, a collapse and a rise at once: “My soul is yours. My body is yours. My mouth, my breath, my sin — all yours. Keep me. Burn me. Hold me. I am yours.” He looked at her, heat building between them.

You belong to me in ways no one else will ever touch… ways no one else could ever reach.

She finally breaks. Please she pleads He heard the crack before he heard the words — the brittle sound of pride splintering, the quiet that follows a shield finally falling. Her breath hitched; her hands trembled where they clung to his chest. When she spoke, the confession tumbled out like prayer and threat both.

“I need you,” she begged, voice raw and urgent. “More than the air I take in. I need you to hold me, to touch me soft, to say the things that make the dark quiet. Please… I need you.” Her eyes slid down as if ashamed to meet his, and the whisper that followed was nearly swallowed by the storm:

Her chest heaved as the last of her resistance cracked. The word slipped out raw, trembling, ripped from her pride like flesh from bone. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice shaking, eyes burning. “I should’ve given in sooner… I shouldn’t have fought you. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

He froze, as if savoring the sound, his jaw tightening while the storm outside rattled the glass. The devil in him—outlaw, hardened, untouchable—wanted to sneer, to remind her of every second she denied him. But the man, the one who hid his heart like contraband, leaned in close instead, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear.