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Chapter Thirty-Six
Nala
We barely make it away from the reception and to my apartment before we combust.
When I told Malcolm to show me…it was like a switch had been flipped. The man who had been gentle, skittish, even afraid to touch me for the past few weeks, was now the hurricane I’d always known. His lips plundered mine while we fell through the door, my hands on his shirt buttons, his already yanking at the zipper on my dress, cussing when it gets stuck on the fabric.
“Touch me.” It’s a chant, something I’ve been saying over and over since we left the wedding. Malcolm’s hands know me, they know my body and what it needs, and living without them after having them has been torture.
“Fuck, let me…” We’re in my room and he spins me so suddenly that I have to brace my hands on the bed in front of me. His hands grip my hips, the hard ridge of his erection pushing into me while I stay bent over.
Panic spikes for a second, and I battle it back. Like this, in the dark, facing away from him, I try to be the girl I was before. I haven’t ever done this. Not since... I need to see my partner, need to know they see me, that they understand me, that they want the same thing I want. Being on top, being in control, that’s what I like. I can’t be in control from here, not when his weight is so much more than my strength.
I hear a rip, and then I’m being shifted up, my hands leaving the bed while Mal sheds me of my dress so I’m standing in nothing but heels and panties.
“Fuck yes,” he breathes, hands coming around to cup my breasts, lips hitting my neck and scraping teeth across it. “I need you, Nala. I need younow.” More teeth, this time lower, on my shoulder, down farther, across my back, my buttocks, until he’s kneeling behind me, showering me with kisses everywhere he can reach. “Tell me what you want,” he grinds out. “Anything, everything. Tell me so I can give it to you.”
His words wash over me, and I realize exactly what I need. Right here. Right now. A clean slate, one where there is nothing we don’t talk about, don’t share, don’t do. Because it’s Malcolm, and as scared as I am, there is no one I trust more.
So, even when panic hits me, I ignore it, climbing onto my bed on my hands and knees. “Take me now, like this.”
It’s barely an instant before he’s behind me, his hands smoothing over my hips in a reverent caress, his body bowing over mine so his chest presses to my back, one hand on the bed, the other on my body, slipping and sliding over my skin, lips chasing it while he lowers us both so we’re lying, me on my stomach, him on me.
I concentrate on the feel of him, the way his skin rubs over mine while he strips us both, the way his hands touch and press, finding all of the places that make me shiver. My breath starts to come in pants, and my back arches against him, the physical need of my body stronger than anything.
And then Mal grips my hips and thrusts inside of me with one powerful surge, the movement so strong that my whole body moves with it, at the mercy of his rhythm and his hands.
Air shudders through my lungs, the passageway closing while the darkness sets in. I’m on my stomach, elbows supporting me, Mal’s weight on top of me, and even though I know it’s him, even though I can smell him, and feel him, and hear him—for a minute, there’s nothing but blinding fear.
Closing my eyes, I try to stave off the panic attack with deep breaths, fingers digging into the comforter beneath me.
Malcolm stops instantly, his hands stilling as though someone has hit pause, his breath quieting, his body a statue even when I can feel him pulsing inside of me, his desire and need for release real and urgent. I bite my lip, afraid, ashamed,angry.
Goddammit, I don’t want to be afraid, don’t want these feelings to sneak up and take anything from me ever again, especially now, here with Mal, when all I want to feel is him inside of me, loving me, filling me, bringing mealive.
“Nala,” his voice is strained with worry, his body taut and unmoving on top of me.
“Don’t stop,” I say. And again. “Don’t stop, Malcolm. Please.” I’m weak and hurt and terrified, but I need this. I need him to give it back to me, this moment that was once taken. It’s not fair, and it’s beyond selfish to ask him since I know this hurts him as much as it does me, but if anyone can take the pain away, it’s Malcolm.
It’s always been Malcolm.
He’s quiet, his breathing shallow, his body hot and hard and motionless while I wait. Just when I go to beg again, he’s separating us, his arms circling around me to lift and move me through the air.
“Then you have to see me, Nala.Megoddammit. Know that it’sme.” Shifting me until I’m on my knees in front of him, facing the mirror across the room, he holds me steady and meets my eyes in the reflection. “Tell me.” His lips are at my ear, and my body trembles, but this time, there’s no fear. “It’s me, Nala.” And then his arms tighten around me, his large hands covering my breasts and bringing my back to his front while his lips find the sensitive skin of my neck.
I watch, eyes tracing every contour of him and then me, of us together. When he pushes inside of me again, I see the effect on his body, see the shudder that makes him hiss each time, see the tensing of muscles and jaw. And then I see his eyes. They lock onto mine, holding me captive as much as the band of his arms. He doesn’t move, doesn’t press, or touch, or manipulate my body like he’s prone to do. Instead, he just waits, eyes on mine, bodies joined, hearts slamming in rhythm with one another.
“Malcolm.” The fire lights in his eyes—blue and bright as the hottest part of the flame, his hands squeeze my breasts to the point of pain, but I’m not scared. No, everything in me is tingling, igniting, begging him to take me and make me his. Always his.
“Say it again,” he growls, and this time I arch my back as much as I can, jutting my hips out so he slides even deeper. His groan mixes with mine, and I watch that scorching blue get even hotter. But he doesn’t move. “Say it again, Nala.”
This time, I slide my hands up to cover his over my breasts, eyes steady when I squeeze with him and rock my hips. “Take me, Malcolm. Make me yours.”
“I already have,” he groans, and then he’s moving, one hand staying at my breasts, the other going to my hip and around, pressing against me where we’re joined, setting off so many fires I can barely breathe through the burn. I watch the entire time, his eyes on me, anchoring me, holding me, telling me he loves me.
When I come, it’s an explosion, and he’s with me, hips pounding, arms strong as he holds onto me, anchoring me to his chest and never, ever letting me go.
“Nalani,” he says, rolling with me to the bed, still joined while he spoons me. And then he turns my head and kisses me. Not the rough, I own you kiss that I’ve gotten used to, or the small one that he’s been giving me lately while he tried to figure out how much was too much. No, this kiss is tender, his hand caressing over my cheek, his nose brushing mine.
“I love you,” he says, drawing me closer. We stay together like that the rest of the night, and when I wake in the morning, he’s there, already hard, already caressing me.
He rolls so I’m on top, and then he pushes my hair back from my face, cupping my jaw in his hands while he says those words again and again, eyes intense when he pulls me down on top of him, and gives me back the power I handed over last night.
This, I think, riding both of us to ecstasy,this is why I love you. But the words don’t come, not yet. Instead, I lean down and show him with my lips, with my body, what I can’t say.
