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Eleven
Connie
I’mthe big bad wolf?
Oh my God, he’d heard what I said? My skin prickles, my face flushes with heat, my body sways a little in his arms and despite my indignation, I want to lean into him.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear you, Connie Silva…” he growls, the rumble of his voice shooting an electric current straight down my spine to my core.
“I…”
My voice fails me. I want to respond but I suddenly have no use of my mouth. Words stutter on my lips. Words that have nothing to do with how much of an arse he’s being and more to do with how he’s making me feel right now.
Scared.
Alive.
Taut.
Wet.
Needy.
Throbbing.
My breath falls heavy from my lips, matching the raggedness of his. I’m seconds away from throwing myself at him. Seconds…
“I’m taking you back home,” he grumbles but I notice the crack in his voice, the groan. What is happening here? The way he says that sounds far more meaningful than it should.
“I don’t want to go home,” I breathe, meaning something else too. I want to be with him.
I want him. God help me, I do.
I’ve nevereverfelt this way. This pull. I can feel it deep inside, connecting me to him, drawing me to him. Only him. Forever him. I draw in a deep breath and can’t help but let out a whimper because he smells of the sea when it rains. He smells of saltwater tears, of leather warmed in the sun. He smells of the whole damn ocean.
It’s a heady smell, intoxicating. A drug, addicting.
“It doesn’t matter what you want, Connie Silva, this is happening…”
Yet, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he edges closer, wary, as though I’m the predator and not the prey. His fingers on my arm tighten painfully, but I don’t feel it because I’m all too aware of how his breath tickles my ear, how his lips brush ever so softly against my skin, making me weak, pliable.
“Malakai…” I groan, unable to help myself.
The heat between us grows in intensity, and I’m aware of nothing else as he raises his free hand and cups the back of my neck, curling his fingers into my hair at the base. I’ve no idea if Lola and my friends followed us out of The Shack or if there are people watching us.
I’m only aware of him. Just him.
“Don’t move,” he grinds out. “Don’t think. Don’t speak. Don’t fucking breathe.”
I’m whimpering now as he lips trail against the side of my face, so softly I feel as though I’m imagining it. I’m not sure if he’s intentionally kissing me or if he’s trying not to. Either way, I’m lost.
“Why?”
“Because every time you do I can feel your tits brushing against my chest and it’s taking everything in me not to rip that dress from your body and fuck you here right in front of everyone.That’swhy.”
Dear God, please, I almost beg.
“MALAKAI!” a shrill voice shouts.
