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Chapter Twenty-Three
Malcolm
Nala is standing in front of me without clothes on, her chin held high, eyes glowing, hair cascading in a riot of sun-bleached curls over her golden skin, tan lines glowing in the dark.
I swear to Christ my knees are going to shake any minute—with want, with need, with the goddamn fear that I’m going to wake up and realize this is a cruel dream my subconscious is using to torture me like it has in the past.
Never in all of my fantasies over the years since I walked away from her did I realize how seeing Nala like this—naked, willing, wanting me—would affect me. When I took her mouth the other night, all it did was light the need inside of me, make me greedy for her, inflame the constant ache that’s hounded me since I came home from tour all those years ago and realized Nala was no longer a girl, but a woman, one my body craved in ways it had no right to.
Now, I’m seeing another side of her, the side that is both vulnerable and strong, both willing and scared, and I can’t make myself take that last step—not yet.
This, her, me, us…it’s left me trembling and speechless like a goddamn virgin because it means more than anything else in my life ever has, and I don’t want to fuck it up.
“Did you expect something else? Something more?”
Her words draw my gaze back to her face, and I realize she’s barely breathing, her body held tight, her shoulders straight, her chin up, defiant. But there’s a slight tremble to her words that betrays her.
“You’re scowling,” she explains when I just stare at her, and though she keeps her voice low, I hear it, the uncertainty. My gut clenches. “Is this still what you want?”
I shake my head, and she freezes. Before she can turn away, I step forward. “I want more.”
My voice is gruff and heavy with need, but it stops her. I walk the rest of the way toward her, careful to keep my casted leg from bumping her when I get close enough to touch. She looks up at me, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, enough so her tongue can snake out and wet them. My body tightens to the point of breaking, and the desire to mirror that move with my own tongue is a tangible thing inside of me.
Cupping her head in my large hands, I let my thumbs trace the underside of her jaw, refusing to let my eyes wander anywhere but her face. “I want it all,” I say, and then I lean down and cover her lips with mine, allowing the unique flavor of her to explode on my tongue before I dive in deeper for more. When she flicks her tongue against mine, I almost explode.
With a groan, I change the angle of the kiss, anchoring one of my hands at the back of her head while the other grips her chin, forcing her to following my rhythm. My tongue plunders, fucking her mouth with abandon, going harder when she meets me stroke for stroke, adding a scrape of teeth every now and then that makes her gasp.
I jolt when her hands snake under the hem of my T-shirt and splay against my abs. Her laugh is low and seductive, and I grin against her lips.
“A little jumpy?” she asks, lips leaving mine to trail over my jaw, and then down my neck.
“A lot horny,” I correct, and laughter explodes out of her.
Another smile tugs at my lips, and I cover hers again, drinking her in while my hands leave her hair to skim over smooth skin and gentle curves. Her breath hitches, and then she’s shoving at my shirt, forcing me to break contact long enough to yank it over my head.
The minute I’m free, I pull her against me again, drinking down her shocked gasp. The level of my need explodes from a hunger to a craving, pushing my body to feast on hers. Still standing, I lean down and suckle at the skin of her neck and shoulders, lifting her at the hips until she’s wrapped her legs around me and I can bring one firm breast to my mouth.
Her gasp borders a scream when I suck her nipple in. Hands grab the back of my head, not pulling me away, but bringing me closer, and her back arches as she offers herself to me with abandon.
My head swims, my blood boils, and my body is screaming at me to fucking take her. Make her mine, fuck her until she carries a part of me inside of her like I’ve carried her inside of me all these years. I use my teeth and tongue, sucking and nibbling until I know she’ll bear marks, and going harder when I realize how much I want to see myself on her.
My need for Nala is primitive, basic, all-consuming. I want her to be mine, and I want everyone else to know she’s taken—by me. I, Malcolm Brady, have laid claim on Nalani Jansen, and I will fucking kill for her.
Kill to have her.
Kill to keep her.
Kill to love her if it means I get to feel her against me like this, every day. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
Because I can’t think of the words, or make them come out in a way I know will mean something, I use my mouth and her body, doing my best to convey everything that’s inside of me.
When she cries out, I release her breast and move to her neck, one hand still holding her in place, the other hand snaking underneath her and brushing against her heat. A strangled sound rips from her throat, but she arches against me, so I do it again, this time dipping the tip of my finger inside, shuddering when she does.
She’s small, tight, and so hot I’m surprised we haven’t melted. I want to ram inside of her and take it all before doing it again. Because that’s what I want to do, but know it’s not what’s right, not this first time, I tether my need.
“I don’t know how to be gentle,” I grind out. Nala shakes her head, hands pushing through my hair and tugging hard enough I have to tilt my head back and meet her eyes. Hers are full of passion, her lips swollen, and pink from mine, her cheeks flushed. But the look she gives me makes me tremble for different reasons.
Scraping her nails over my scalp, she brings her forehead down to rest on mine, and everything in me quiets, leaving only the hum of desire and the feel and smell of her around me.
