All Chapters of Untamed: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The Oforikrom police station was a low, concrete building lit by a single flickering fluorescent sign. Michael parked behind the patrol car and got out without a word, heading inside to deal with the consequences of his reckless drive. I stayed planted on the sidewalk, arms crossed, refusing to follow him into that stark, brightly lit building. The night air was cooler now, carrying the distant scent of rain. I watched him disappear through the glass doors, his figure silhouetted against the institutional light. Alone. Finally. I fumbled for my phone in the backseat, my fingers closing around the cool case. I powered it on, the screen illuminating my face in the dark car. It lit up with a missed call and a text from Frank: On my way. 5 mins. You okay? Relief washed over me. I was typing a reply when a familiar black sedan pulled into the lot, its tires crunching on the gravel. My relief evaporated. Dr. Yeboah stepped out, his usually impeccable suit looking rumpled, his face etche

The night air had turned bitingly cold. I hugged myself, rubbing my arms as I made my way back toward the lit doorway of the police station. My fingers, almost of their own volition, rose to my cheek. I could still feel the phantom warmth of Michael’s touch there, a brand that confused me more than his defense had. Why did his touch feel so different? I shook my head, silently scolding myself. He was a complication I couldn’t afford.Inside, the station was quiet, the buzz of fluorescent lights the only sound. An officer on duty looked up from his desk. “Madam, how can we help you?”I summoned my most pitiful expression. “Is it possible… could I stay here tonight?”He blinked, clearly taken aback. “Here? At the station?” His eyes held a thousand unasked questions about the woman who refused to go home with her family.“Please. I just… I have nowhere else to go right now.”He was about to respond when the phone on his desk rang sharply. He held up a finger. “One moment.” He answered wi

Consciousness returned in slow, painful waves. The first thing I registered was a sterile, antiseptic smell. The second was a dull, throbbing ache at the back of my skull. I blinked open my eyes to the stark white ceiling of a hospital room.A warm weight rested on my hand. I turned my head, wincing at the protest in my neck, and saw Dr. Yeboah seated by the bed, his head bowed, his fingers wrapped around mine.“How…” My voice was a dry croak. “How did I get here?”His head snapped up. “You’re awake.” Relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by concern. “You fainted. You hit your head when you fell.”“Fell?” The memory was a shattered mosaic—the kitchen, the fight, the rising darkness. I tried to push myself up on the pillows.A sharp, nauseating pain lanced through my head. I gasped, falling back.“Don’t move,” he said, his hand pressing gently on my shoulder. “You need to lie still.”“No.” The refusal was automatic, fueled by a sudden, clear memory that cut through the fuzz

“Micky, what is going on here?”The voice sliced through the charged silence. We broke apart like guilty children caught in a forbidden act. Michael dropped my hands as if burned, the sudden loss of his body warmth leaving me chilled and exposed. He took a deliberate step back, putting physical distance between us that felt like a canyon.At the end of the hallway stood the woman from the kitchen--Keira. Her forehead was creased not with anger, but with genuine, bewildered confusion as her gaze darted between Michael’s tense posture and my undoubtedly flushed, disheveled appearance.“Keira, it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Michael said, his voice carefully neutral as he moved toward her, inserting himself between our space and her questioning eyes.“Are you sure?” she pressed, her tone skeptical. “It looked… intense.”“Yep,” he replied, the single word a firm dismissal. He reached for her hand, his gesture possessive in a different way. “Let’s go.”“Micky, wait.” She planted her f

His playful warning gave way to a deep, reclaiming passion. With a rough, eager pull, he tugged my skirt down over my hips, leaving me exposed. Before I could even gasp, his mouth was on me, his breath hot through the thin barrier of my lace panties. His tongue traced a slow, torturous path that made my back arch off the bed.“You like that, hun?” he asked, his voice a husky vibration against my most sensitive skin.I could only nod, my words stolen by the onslaught of sensation. I was lost, adrift in a sea of physical need and emotional longing, wanting to drown in this feeling of being wanted, of being his again.He hooked a finger in the side of my panties, swiping them aside. The cool air was a shock, followed by the intimate heat of his touch as he slid a finger inside me. “Damn, baby,” he breathed out, his own arousal evident in his strained tone. “You’re so wet for me.”His words, raw and possessive, spurred me on. My moans grew louder, more erratic, as he established a rhythm,