Chapter 29 Willow #2
“What life?” Malice interrupts. “What fucking life, huh? You want me to tell you what your life would have been like with him? A living hell. I know his type, Solnyshka, and the things he would’ve done to you…
” He breaks off, as if he can’t force himself to continue that thought.
When he continues, his voice is dark. “You were about to shackle yourself to a fucking monster, and you know that.”
“Of course I fucking know that!” I blurt, shoving against him. “But how is this any better?”
“This way, we’re all free!” Malice bellows, his voice echoing around the room.
“No, we’re not. We’re fucking fugitives!” I shoot back, frustrated tears burning my eyes. “I wanted to save you. Why wouldn’t you let me save you?”
Malice goes silent, and the sudden absence of noise in the room makes our harsh breathing seem even louder. We stare at each other for a long moment, our chests rising and falling, our faces inches apart.
Then something in Malice’s expression cracks. He makes a low, inarticulate noise and hauls me against him, closing the last shred of distance between us.
I gasp as his mouth meets mine, crushing and hot. Unrelenting.
He kisses me like we’re definitely not done fighting yet, and the anger I heard in his voice is translated into the harsh press of his lips, the sharp edge of his teeth.
I’m stunned for a second, but then I come alive under his touch, my lips pressing back against his. I clutch at his shirt, my fingers curling into fists, as I pour all my feelings into the connection between us.
Our mouths crash and bruise, teeth catching on flesh. When Malice thrusts his tongue between my lips with a growl, it feels like he’s staking his claim, and I meet it with my own tongue, letting them tangle together.
He grabs my shoulders and yanks me away from the wall, and I stumble, panting for breath.
Before I can say or do anything, he’s hauling me toward the bed with a look of single-minded determination on his face.
As soon as we reach it, Malice lifts me like I weigh nothing and all but throws me onto it.
I bounce a little as my body hits the mattress, sucking in a sharp breath as I look up at him.
His gray eyes appear almost black as he stares down at me, his pupils blown out and overtaking the irises.
His features, always so harsh and wild, look almost feral now.
I can still see anger in his eyes, but there’s something intense and possessive in their depths too, something that makes my thighs clench.
“I’m not gonna help you take that dress off,” he says lowly, and I swallow hard. “I’m gonna fuck you in it. To prove to the entire fucking universe that no wedding dress, no fake vows, no church or goddamned priest can change the fact that you belong to me and my brothers.”
My heart slams against my ribs as he says it, the strength and conviction in his tone enough to leave me lightheaded.
It’s not the kind of vow someone would ever say at a wedding, but it means so much more than anything I could have said to Troy today in that church.
Anything my grandmother could have forced me into.
This is real.
This is raw and primal.
This is something that nothing else in the world could ever touch, and I tremble in the face of it.
Maybe Malice can see the impact he’s having on me, or maybe he’s just feeling the weight of those words himself. But dark heat flashes in his eyes, and he stalks closer to the bed.
“Pull up your skirt,” he commands, his voice like sandpaper. “I wanna see your pussy.”
I swallow hard but do as he says, gathering the fabric of the dress in my hands until I can haul it up and over my hips. My cheeks flush, even though it’s hardly anything he hasn’t seen before.
The lacy white panties I have on already have a damp spot from my arousal, and Malice’s nostrils flare as if he can smell it.
“Who the fuck are you wearing those for?” he demands.
“I… they came with the dress,” I whisper, my cheeks burning impossibly hotter. “I didn’t—”
“Take them off. Right fucking now.”
I nod, scrambling to obey him. I slide the panties down my thighs, and Malice snatches them away, the fabric tearing in his grip. His eyes glint as he stares down at me, and I feel more on display than ever, like I couldn’t hide from this man if I wanted to.
But in this moment, I don’t want to. Not at all.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, still standing at the foot of the bed like a vengeful god. “Rub that wet pussy for me, Solnyshka.”
Hearing his nickname for me makes me moan, and I swallow again, my throat suddenly dry. I spread my legs, letting him feast his eyes on my pussy and the way my folds are slick with my arousal.
The first brush of my fingertips against my clit makes me gasp out loud. I close my eyes, tipping my head back as I circle my sensitive bud with two fingers, whimpering at the sensation.
“Don’t close your eyes. Fucking look at me,” Malice demands.
My eyes snap open, my gaze finding his immediately, and even though he hasn’t moved, he seems closer than ever.
“Just like that,” he grits out. “Don’t you ever fucking look away from me, Solnyshka. Don’t ever try to deny this. You’re ours, do you fucking hear me? You belong to us.”
I nod, my fingers moving faster at those words, as if something about being claimed like this makes me want to come for him even more.
“Every part of you is ours,” he continues. “Your mind. Your heart. Your pleasure. Your pain. And we might share with each other, but make no goddamn mistake—any other fucker who touches you isn’t long for this world.”
My fingers slip and slide as I touch myself, more wetness coating them as my gaze stays locked on Malice. He drags his focus from my eyes down to my pussy and then back up, his inked forearms tensing as he clenches his hands.
“Look at you, soaking wet because you can’t wait for me to fuck you,” he murmurs. “Isn’t that right?”
I nod again, and he scowls.
“Say it. Give me your words, Solnyshka. I know you can do it. Tell me how much you want my cock in that tight little hole.”
“I… I want it,” I manage to gasp out. “Please, Malice. I want your cock in my pussy. I want it so bad.”
“Then show me. Use your fingers and show me how you want it. How you wanna get fucked.”
I slide one finger into myself, my hips bucking forward at the intrusion. It’s not enough. It’s not even close to enough. Malice’s cock is so thick that my finger pales in comparison, so I add another, working them in and out of me as deep as I can get them.
He just snorts, anger and lust warring in his expression. “That’s it? You think that’s how I’m gonna fuck you?” He leans closer, his voice dropping. “You know it’s not gonna be anything like that slow, gentle shit.”
And I do know. Malice doesn’t do gentle. He doesn’t ease me into it. Malice fucks hard and for keeps, and I whimper as I add a third finger, the stretch feeling so good to my lust addled body.
I pull all three fingers almost all the way out and then slam them back in, gasping and arching at the jolt of pleasure that it sends up my spine. I do it again, and then once more, but it’s still not quite enough. Not to mimic the way Malice would claim me.
My other hand joins in, rubbing frantically at my clit while my fingers keep working, the wet, slick sounds of me fucking myself on my own hands echoing in the room.
And Malice doesn’t look away, not for a second. He barely seems to blink, and I can feel his gaze like a physical sensation.
“Just like that,” he urges. “Fuck yourself on your fingers. Get yourself all nice and warmed up for me. You’re gonna need it, I fucking promise you.”
“Malice, please,” I gasp out. Pleasure spikes, and I arch harder, my legs splaying open even wider. “Fuck,” I groan. “Fuck, I’m so… oh my god!”
“That’s it. Come for me, Solnyshka,” he croons. “Fucking come for me.”
I don’t need more urging than that. A sob rips out of me, and I slam my fingers in deeper, twisting and shaking as my orgasm hits me full-on. It steals my breath, and I’m left gasping for air as the sensations wash over me, leaving me a trembling mess.
Malice watches the whole thing, his cock a thick bulge against the front of his pants.
“Turn over for me,” he says as the last tremors of my climax work through my body.
I try to obey him, but my limbs feel as uncoordinated as a baby deer’s.
Malice makes a noise in his throat when I don’t move fast enough, grabbing me around the waist and turning me over himself, then pulling me up onto my hands and knees.
There’s a second where I think I’m going to go right back down on the mattress, but my arms and legs manage to hold me up, and I drag in deep breaths, still trying to recover from the intense orgasm.
I can feel Malice staring at me, taking in my raised ass and my swollen, wet pussy. I know I’m a mess down there, and I tense in anticipation, desperate for him to touch me.
When he does, it’s to slide the lacy garter from around my thigh and pull it off. He puts one large hand between my shoulder blades, pushing my upper body down onto the bed. With his free hand, he grabs my arms, wrenching them behind my back.
“Fuck,” I groan, biting my lip.
Malice hums roughly under his breath, careful to avoid my stitches as he uses the garter to bind my wrists together at the small of my back.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs, leaning down, draping the hard lines of his body over me. “I know what you wanted to do today. But the only way you can protect us, Solnyshka, is by staying where you belong: right by our sides. Do you understand?”
I nod, my heart beating so fast that blood rushes in my ears.
The warm weight of his body disappears, but then I feel his fingers, thick and insistent, probing at my pussy. Two of them slide in with ease, slicked by my arousal. My toes curl, and I groan, pulling at the garter that’s wrapped around my wrists, holding me tight.
“Malice,” I whimper. “Fuck.”