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And the deeper Malice fucks me, the more it grows.
Finally, I’m gasping his name, riding it out as the heat builds, taking over everything. When my fourth orgasm hits, I sob my way through it, writhing against him.
“That’s it,” he grunts. His hips stutter, and I know he’s close too. My pussy ripples around his cock, spasming with my pleasure, and he lets out a choked noise. “Fuck, just like that. Oh fuck, I’m—”
He breaks off with a growl as he follows me over the edge, coming hard. His arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up, and once he’s ridden out his own orgasm, he collapses on top of me.
My chest heaves as I try to get air into my lungs, my head spinning. My body tingles in a good way, feeling sore and overworked, but… better than before. Every muscle in me is loose and light, my skin slowly cooling from the exertion as I lie beneath him with my eyes closed.
I know I’m a mess, covered in sweat and tears and cum, but Malice finally lifts his head from the crook of my neck, he gazes at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“What?” I ask, smiling a little.
He just shakes his head, shoving his dark hair back with one hand before leaning down to kiss me. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I nod, letting out a soft, shaky breath. “I’m good.”
Malice searches my face, as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not, but whatever he sees must give him some comfort. There’s none of the anxious light in his eyes that was there before, and its absence bolsters me even more.
“I needed that,” I tell him, tracing my fingers up and down his arm.
“Seemed like it might have been the opposite of what you needed,” he says, shifting his weight on top of me a little, although he makes no move to pull out yet.
I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to put it into words for him so he’ll understand.
“It’s been hard, since you guys saved me. I felt like a stranger in my own skin, almost. There were all these things I wanted, all these things I’d been working so hard to accept that I was into, and suddenly, I couldn’t handle them anymore. It made me feel broken.”
Malice frowns, reaching up to brush hair back from my face. “You’renotbroken. And that’s not all we want from you, Solnyshka. Even if you never wanted those things again, it’s not like we would stop caring about you.”
“I know.” I nod, gripping his forearm lightly. “You’ve all been so patient with me. But I missed this. I missedyou. And to be honest, almost nothing in the world has ever made me feel as strong as being fucked by you does. I wanted to reclaim that.”
He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s processing my words. Then he snorts. “So that’s why you jumped me after we got home.”
I chuckle at his phrasing, but I nod, because he’s not wrong. “Yeah. I just really needed to do something with the way I was feeling. So thank you. For letting me get that out. For giving me what I needed and taking care of me the way I needed to be taken care of.”
His hard features soften a little as he smiles. “I always will, you know. I’m always gonna be there for you when you need me.”
He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. It’s such a tender gesture, one I would’ve once thought Malice was incapable of, but now I know better. He’s got so much more inside him than I realized at first, and I feel lucky to be one of the few people in the world he lets in like this.
I reach up and thread my fingers through his thick dark hair, savoring the moment. The closeness.
Malice pulls out after a while, and I wince at the rush of cum and the soreness in my pussy. I’m a complete mess, and when he looks down at me as he tugs his pants back on, a possessive grin splits his face.
“Proud of yourself?” I ask teasingly.
“Always when it comes to wrecking you.” He smirks, his gaze darkening all over again. “I’ll be right back.”
He heads to the bathroom and comes back with a damp cloth, and I lie still, letting him clean me up. There’s only so much he can do with the cloth, considering how messy I am, but it feels good to let him take care of me like this.
His fingers follow the path of the cloth in the aftermath, sliding tenderly over the tattoos that he etched onto my chest and shoulder. He studies them intently, and then something glints in his eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” he says again.
I push myself up onto my elbows, watching in confusion as he strides out of the room. I half expect him to come back with snacks or water or something, since we definitely worked up an appetite. But instead, he returns with his tattooing gear in hand.
It’s brand new. He bought it to replace the kit he left behind in Mexico when we had to flee in the middle of the night, and my stomach flutters at the sight of it.
“Are you going to give me another tattoo?” I ask, anticipation already making goosebumps spread over my skin.
