Page 61 of Untamed

“Like Mum and Dad?” Bianca asks gently, her voice softening with the tender echo of their parents' love story.

“Exactly. The way she used to describe it, like she was floating.” Jordyn’s laugh is soft, like the gentle rustle of leaves in a summer breeze. Then, quieter, almost as if she's embarrassed by the depth of her own desires, she confesses, “I know it probably sounds juvenile. It’s just a kiss. But when I do it… I want the other person to want it just as badly as I do.” She exhales, her breath a whispered wish. “Like we’ll die if we don’t give in and taste each other.”

“And so you should, because you deserve nothing less, babe.” Bianca tells her, her voice full of warmth and sincerity, “But remember, those breathtaking moments... the ones that make your heart race and your spirit soar, are very rare and often confined to the world of movies and romance books. In real life, the magic isn’t always so grand or perfect.”

“I know, and I’m aware that it sounds ridiculous… but I’d rather wait for something that feels like magic than settle for something that doesn’t.”

I don’t move. I physically can’t. The world tilts ever so slightly, as if the very foundation beneath me has shifted, like something fragile has broken loose in the frame of reality.

She’s still a virgin. She’s untouched. Pure. Those words reverberate in my mind, louder and more piercing than they should be. Like the echo of gunfire ricocheting through my ribs. I fix my gaze on the rough, cold stone wall before me, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, jaw locked so tightly that I can feel the grind of bone against bone.

That night at the pool... the way she moved against Matteo, the sultry sounds that escaped her lips, the longing look in her eyes... I was convinced she’d surrendered herself to him, believed she’d crossed that irrevocable line. I told myself it didn't matter. A lie. I assured myself she was merely another name on the endless list of mistakes he’d inevitably make. Another lie. But if she’s still untouched, if he didn’t take what I thought he did, then what burden have I been bearing all this time?

A heat coils in my chest, tightening like a serpent, but this time it isn't pure anger. Not entirely. It’s something far more insidious. Desire. I press a palm against the wall, trying desperately to ground myself in this spiralling moment. This can’t be happening. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have this knowledge. But I do. And now it’s mine—burned into my brain like a brand, slow and merciless in its torment.

And I can’t un-hear it. Can’t un-see her standing in my gym that day in that oversized t-shirt, barefoot, looking up at me with those captivating blue eyes. The eyes of someone innocent who sees me as the only person capable of hurting her, yet the only one, for some bizarre reason, she trusts not to.

I push away from the wall and step back, retreating down the shadowed corridor, vanishing like smoke folding into itself.

I came here to report a death.

But I’m leaving with a far more dangerous truth.

With the frustration I’m feeling, the bag isn’t enough. It’s just a silent witness, absorbing my rage without protest. I need something that hits back. So, I call Dante into the ring. The basement gym is a shadowy underworld, dimly lit with flickering bulbs casting eerie shadows on the concrete walls. The air is thick with the raw scent of sweat and blood mingling with the oppressive heat, precisely the way I like it. It’s clean, brutal and real.

Dante’s quick, a blur of movement, but I’m usually quicker. Tonight, though, my timing’s off, like a clock that’s lost its rhythm. He ducks under my right hook with the agility of a cat and drives a solid punch into my ribs. I grunt, barely flinch, and step back, eyes narrowed.

Circling me, Dante keeps his hands up, eyes sharp and calculating. “Your head’s not here, Ares.” he states between laboured breaths. “Problem?”

“You asking or offering?” I snap back, my voice edged with irritation.

He smirks, a wry twist of his lips. “Just wondering if I should be aiming higher.”

I lunge at him again, determination burning in my veins, but he blocks it cleanly, his forearm meeting mine with a solid thud. My jaw clenches tight as her voice invades my mind once more.

“I want it to be monumental…”I step forward and swing for Dante. I miss. “...like we’ll die if we don’t give in and taste each other.”

Damn it. Focus.

Dante lands another swift jab. I barely register it, my mind distant.

“You’re off,” he observes flatly, stepping back with a slight shake of his head. “You’re never off. Something on your mind?”

I rip off the gloves, hurling them down onto the mat with a frustrated growl. My chest heaves, not from physical exertion but from the storm raging inside me. I’ve gutted a man, ignited a war, and left his body to hang in the city square as a bloody testament. Yet, all I can think about is her voice. Her enticing mouth. The way she confessed that she’s never been kissed, never touched.

And now, every time I close my eyes, all I see is her.

Not naked or moaning. Just watching me with that soft, fucking wide-eyed look… like she’d let me ruin her if I asked.

And that… that is more dangerous than anything any of my adversaries could throw at me.

By the time I storm out of the gym, my shirt clings to my skin, and my knuckles ache.

But I don't stop to cool off.

Apparently, Luciano and Enzo are waiting in the study and judging by the closed door and the tension in the air, this isn’t a conversation they want echoing through the halls.

I push the door open without knocking.

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