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More time. More of his touch. More of these drugging little flicks of his tongue over the area right beneath my earlobe.
However, every time I try…he puts a stop to my advances.
He’s waiting on me to heal from the lies that broke my heart, but what he fails to realize is that he put me back together again that same night.
“Well, it was amazing, and I appreciate the effort.” His fingertips skim the edge of my loose tank top, dipping beneath the hem to caress my stomach.
“You’re welcome, and none needed.” It’s a low keening sound that escapes without my permission. Slowly, those same hands wander high, over my torso and stop around my neck. One alone takes up the entire expanse, and I’m distracted by how unafraid I am of him.
His masculinity calls to the inner slut in me. How much bigger he is—his hardness to my petite form is a turn-on. It makes me think of more intimate moments where he could easily dominate me. Take me.
I want him to claim me.
“I’m going to enjoy spoiling you, Twirl,” he whispers, tightening his hand so I can feel the thin metal chain he’s holding against my throat. Where he’s hid it all this time, I have no clue, but then again being distracted does that to a person. The charm digs into the skin a bit. It’s cold, small and round, a delicate piece that he brings up to my face after letting go. “My tiny dancer. So beautiful and devilishly sweet.”
“Malcolm,” it’s a breathless sigh. My eyes are on the thin, gold chain with a vintage locket hanging from it. The intricate design on it is beautiful, but what stands out is the delicate ballerina in an en pointe pose. “It’s so pretty and too much. You’ve already—”
“Arguing with me will get you nowhere, London.” Large fingers open the clasp and show me an old photo inside. “Do you like it?”
“How did you…?” My eyes water, and I turn to look back at him with a huge smile on my face. So thankful for this man. “Where did you get this picture?”
“I have my ways.” His smirk is so sinful, his body mouthwatering.
“Put it on me.” He does as I ask when I turn back around to face the TV. The fact that he went looking for a picture of my mother and me as a baby leaves me without words. And while there are three that I want to say, they evade me at the moment.
I might not have any experience when it comes to sex, but I know what I want. And I want him.
Not because I need to repay this kind gift, but because nothing will please me more than loving him. Showing him with my actions what I can’t verbalize just yet.
Before he can protest, I stand and turn to face him. On my knees and between his, I place my hands on his thighs and squeeze the now tense muscles. Massage him slowly, all the while my eyes are on his.
His wander, though. From my baby blues, to my lips, and then to the now beautiful gift he’s given me. Malcolm looks me up and down in this position; I can see the want in his eyes. Almost touch the fire that burns between us.
Our need is palpable.
Combustible.
And I’m tired of the words no and slow.
“London, you don’t have to do this.” He swallows hard when I bite my bottom lip. “My gifts don’t come with any expectations.”
“All the more reason to act on my own wants. This isn’t for you…” walking my fingertips up his gym shorts, I pause at the waistband and pull the fabric back, exposing him “…this is for me.”
28
MALCOLM DOESN’T MAKE A single move to stop me. Doesn’t so much as breathe when I wrap my hand around his girth, fingers not fully touching as I pull him out. He’s thick and long, absolutely perfect with velvet-smooth skin and a drop of clear-like fluid at the tip.
There’s a part of me that’s scared. It’s my first time touching a man like this, and yet excitement wins out. I’m curious.
I want to explore him. I want to taste him.
Enjoy the more intimate part of a relationship between a man and his woman.
Because that’s what this is. It’s clear to me that he is mine and I am his.
My mouth waters at the sight, and I lick my lips. “Show me, Malcolm. Teach me how to please you.”
At my words, his entire body shakes. A deep rumbling sound forms in his chest, and I pull my eyes away from the perfection throbbing in my hand to meet his eyes. They’re hooded, and the hunger in them causes my core to clench.
