Epilogue
One year later…
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I sprint from the room, shoving the tools into one of the closets in the hall outside the drawing room.
I can hear him calling my name.
He’s back early.
“There you are,” He smiles at me, that dazzling kind of smile that makes me lose my breath a little.
“You’re home early,” I struggle to catch my breath, trying to hide what I’ve just been doing.
The smile drops and his brows lower, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I huff, “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“What were you just doing?” His eyes flick to where the door to the drawing room – his office, has been left ajar, suspicion working its way in.
“Oh, I was just looking for something.” I lie.
“You’re a bad liar, kitten,” He curls his finger beneath my chin, bringing his lips close to mine. I inhale the scent of him, melting at his touch and despite the hold he has on me, I won’t be telling him anything.
He should know this by now, the last year has been full of moments just like this.
“What did you do to my office, Olivia?” He asks.
I flutter my lashes, “Nothing.”
“Come with me.” He doesn’t give me an option as he leans down and hauls me over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes. I guess he has learned something because this way I can’t bolt and hide. His hand squeezes my ass while he walks the short distance to the office, opening and closing the door with a kick.
Before he puts me down, he surveys the room, “Show me what you did.”
I giggle, “I didn’t do anything.”
A quick, sharp slap lands on my ass cheek, forcing a short scream as my ass tingles with the sting.
“Ow!” I complain.
He massages it better, “Tell the truth, kitten.”
“I didn’t do anything!” I plead my case and for a moment, I almost believe myself.
“Pretty little liar,” He slowly lowers me, making sure I keep in contact with him the entire way down, “Are you being a brat today, Olivia?”
I flutter my lashes, “Never.”
“I said I was sorry,” He grumbles, not believing a word I’m saying. “I was stuck in traffic!”
I narrow my eyes at him, “It was our anniversary.”
“So now I’m being punished?” His eyes flick back and forth between my eyes and lips. He apologized extensively last night, first with his anniversary gift, and part of the reason he was late was because he was picking it up. I’m now the owner of my own Maserati, a match to his but mine is blue, where his is black and then he worshipped me all damn night. My knees were still weak this morning. So, no I am not punishing him for being late, I wasn’t even annoyed about it last night but it wouldn’t be me, it wouldn’t be us, if I didn’t do something because of it.
“You’re not being punished,” I tell him gently, cupping his face, the coarse hair of his beard scratching at my palm. He leans into the touch before he kisses me gently and steps away.
“Sebastian and Willow will be here soon,” He advises, walking toward the desk and my heart notches up in speed, a little panic setting in. What if this goes wrong and he gets hurt like the water bucket incident!?
That went bad and we ended up in the hospital because of it, and this has just as much risk.
Shit. But before I can say anything and back track, he’s already sitting down.
The chair collapses out from beneath him with a huge crash and he disappears with it.
“Olivia!” He roars.
“Shit.” I look between the desk and the door wondering if I should make a run for it now. But I don’t know if he’s hurt.
Maybe I went too far. It is the water bucket incident all over again!
In my defense, I didn’t realize it would hit him in the head when it fell off the door, so along with drenching him in ice cold water the moment he walked through the door, the bucket whacked him, splitting his brow. So, he was wet and bleeding.
I hop from foot to foot, waiting with bated breath to see if he’s hurt as he grips the side of the desk and hauls himself up, the chair a pile behind him.
Not hurt. But mad. Like furious mad. Like I’m about to have my ass slapped until I can’t sit down mad.
Shit.
“Love you, bye!” I yell out, bolting for the door. I throw it open but he’s already behind me.
Nope.I sprint away, skidding on our floors as I use the wall to propel my body around the corner and toward the stairs, a laugh bubbling out of me as I hear him gaining pace.
I’m almost at our bedroom where I plan to lock myself in, but before I can make it there his arms circle around me and he hauls me back, the breath rushing from my lungs.
“You little brat,” He growls in my ear.
“I’m sorry!” I yell struggling in his grip but he just chuckles. It isn’t filled with humor but the promise of revenge.
It’s what we do. I fuck with him, and he gets his pay back in some sick way.
He walks us toward the bedroom, locking us inside.
“Don’t forget our friends will be here soon!” I say breathlessly, hoping to worm my way out of this.
“I don’t give a shit,” He continues walking us toward the bed until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the mattress. He turns me swiftly, forcing me to the mattress with a hand at the back of my neck.
“What should I do with you, wife?” He contemplates. “Spank this pretty ass until my handprint is tattooed on your skin?”
A shiver works through me, the rough desire in his tone waking up every nerve ending in my body. His hand strokes down my spine before he cups my ass and then keeps going until his fingers are at the hem of my skirt and he’s tugging it up.
“Did you wear these panties for me, Olivia?” he asks, toying with the strap of the lacy thong I have on.
“Yes,” My voice shakes as his hand works between my legs, cupping me. As far as punishments go, this isn’t too bad.
“Dirty, dirty girl,” He rasps, moving his hand to apply friction to me above the lace of my underwear, “You’re wet for me.”
“Always.” I admit.
He chuckles, “Good girl.”
His hand comes away from my center to go to the straps, tugging my thong off, leaving my skirt flipped up my back and my ass in the air.
With anyone else I might feel vulnerable, but with Malakai, it’s only empowerment that consumes me.
“Please,” I beg, pushing back on the hand he places back between my thighs.
“Needy little thing,” He whispers, voice roughened with his own desire.
“Yes,” I agree, “More.”
He slowly thrusts a finger inside of me and I moan into the sheets, my breath whooshing from me as he moves his hand faster and harder.
“Just like that.”
He doesn’t remove his finger or stop fucking me with it as I feel him shift behind me. I’m so ready to be full of him, to feel his cock stretching me open and that’s what I’m expecting.
What I am not expecting, however, is the sound of a vibrator and then said vibrator being pressed to my clit.
I cry out at the sudden sensation, my pussy throbbing, preparing for the orgasm I can feel tightening every muscle in my body.
“Fuck,” I hiss, “Yes.”
“You’re dripping, Olivia.” He praises, “All over my fucking hand.”
“Fuck me, Kai,” I beg shamelessly.
He lets out a rumbling sound but doesn’t oblige but that’s okay, because I’m right there.
“Yes, just like tha–”
He pulls out and away, leaving my pussy clenching around nothing, the orgasm ebbing away.
“What are you doing!?” I screech.
But the bastard chuckles, “You really think I’m going to reward your little stunt, kitten?”
I flip around, glaring at him, not bothering to fix myself as I let my hand fall between my legs, fully prepared to finish myself.
He suddenly yanks my hands above my head, laying his body over mine, the weight of him against me soothing something inside of me. I’m irritated but I need him like the air in my lungs.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open to let him in, hoping to seduce him into fucking me and dulling this ache.
But I should know better, “You’re going to have to work for it, Olivia,” He rasps.
“Malakai,” I plead.
“No chance, baby,” he kisses me, his smile playing against my own mouth. He holds both my hands in his one while the other moves back between my legs. I gasp, so tight and ready, the mere touch is almost enough. Almost. I could fucking weep with desperation. But then he is pushing something inside of me and drawing away his hand the moment it is completely inside.
“You’re going to keep that in for me,” He tells me sternly, “Take it out and I won’t let you finish for a fucking week.”
And then his body is gone, and I’m left squirming on the bed, the foreign weight between my legs both pain and pleasure.
He casually straightens his shirt and looks back to me on the bed, “Straighten up, kitten, our friends are here.”
“Malakai!” I scream but he just leaves me on the bed, his chuckle spiking goose bumps over my skin. He’ll know – I don’t know how – but he’ll know if I finish the job.
So, I get up and I fix myself like nothing happened. Like I don’t have an object inside me right now, an object that suddenly vibrates and makes my knees weak but immediately ceases again like it didn’t even happen.
He wants to play?
Fine.
We can play.
We never did learn our lesson after all, or perhaps we did, and we both enjoy playing with fire too much, if only to revel in the burn.