18. Chapter 18 #2
Well, shit .
Am I supposed to say no to that?
I let Mal push and guide me to the floor until I’m leaned back against the couch. His hands scramble at my waistband as soon as I’m seated.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he says.
I open my mouth to question him, to ask how long exactly, but my teeth clack shut as Mal lowers himself between my bent knees and sucks me, without warning, into the heat of his warm, welcoming mouth.
I kick out my leg, one hand grasping at the smooth hardwood beneath me and the other wrapping in Mal’s hair, as he steals the breath from my lungs. His lips wrap around me like a glove, sinking deeper and deeper, until I’m tucked entirely inside the snug expanse of his mouth and throat.
Fuck, he can deepthroat .
My eyes roll up, and I offer a brief prayer to a god I don’t believe in.
“Mal,” I croak out, my fingers flexing in his hair, holding on as I fall apart.
Mal hums around me before drawing back, suckling my crown while he catches his breath, and I trace one hand inward, feeling the way his mouth curves around me, a perfect “o.” He turns his head, releasing my dick and nipping my finger lightly, and I laugh.
My laughter dies as he sinks down my length once more, working me deep inside his throat.
“ Fuck ,” I gasp out. I chant his name— MalMalMal —over and over again, my hips driving up of their own accord.
He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he stills, letting me punch into his mouth in shallow thrusts.
When I feel the evidence of tears streaking down one of his cheeks, I try to pull back, but Mal follows me down, working me with renewed vigor.
I curse, tightening my grip in his hair as my balls draw up tight.
“So good,” I all but whisper, to myself or him, I’m not sure.
Mal tightens his lips around me, cheeks hollowed, the pressure demanding release. And with a punched-out groan, I give it, emptying down the back of Mal’s throat in dizzying bursts of pleasure. His tongue teases me as I come down from my high, like a soothing embrace, and then he sits back.
I’m panting, still trying to catch my breath, but I lean forward, finding the tent in Mal’s yoga pants. “Lie back,” I tell him, palming his hard length.
He does, lying down across the yoga mat as I brace myself over his body, hand slipping under the stretchy material at his hips.
He gasps as my palm encounters the smooth flesh of his erection, and when I start to stroke, he moans, a happy hum of a sound.
I bend my neck, running my day-old stubble across his smooth pec and taking a nipple into my mouth with a suck and flick of my tongue.
Mal’s back arches with the assault, and my chest hums.
“Hen,” he gasps softly, sinking his fingers into my hair.
He’s the only person who’s ever dared call me such, and I should discourage the familiar endearment. I shouldn’t thrill every time the syllable reaches my ears. But I stay silent, letting the nickname worm itself deep inside me in search of a home.
I trace my lips to Mal’s other nipple, wondering idly if it’s dusky pink or perhaps brown, but as his hips start meeting the strokes of my hand, I refocus my efforts, certain he’s close.
I don’t need to see Mal to know that much.
The sounds he’s making, all breathy and hurried, the way his fingers have tightened in my hair in anticipation, how his dick has started swelling in my fist, it tells the story just fine.
Mal groans long and low as he comes, his hips jerking when I give his nipple a tug.
Once he becomes too sensitive, he pushes my head away, but I don’t go far, wrung out still after my own orgasm.
Simply needing a minute to recoup, I slump down next to Mal, one hand resting on his softened dick, my chin near his shoulder.
He blows out a breath, and when he next speaks, it sounds as if he’s turned to look at me, his voice right near the top of my head.
“I’m going to need to do laundry.”
I bark out a laugh, and Mal’s shoulder shakes with his own chuckle.
“Seriously,” he says. “Did you have to make me come inside my pants?”
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” I point out, squeezing his satisfied dick for emphasis.
He snorts. “Hardly. Are you going to hold that all night, though? ’Cause if so, maybe we could move to somewhere more comfortable.”
I huff a breath through my nose, letting Mal’s dick go. He chuckles as I push myself up, and I nearly jolt when Mal’s warm fingers tuck me back into my pants, patting my crotch once I’m zipped up. I catch a quick whiff of his coconut shampoo, and then Mal’s presence disappears.
“We should clean up,” he says, sounding as if he’s rolling up his yoga mat.
He’s right, but I can’t resist. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”
Mal’s laughter follows me down the hall, and there’s a grin on my face I don’t even try to hide. When I get back to the living room, having washed, I find Mal sprawled across the couch, wearing soft sleep pants and a tee. He doesn’t protest as I sit next to him, lifting his head onto my lap.
“Crossword?” he asks.
I smile. “Mhm.”
Mal’s smooth voice lulls me as he starts to read the clues, and I lean my head back against the couch, closing my eyes, occasionally offering up an answer.
Who would have thought I’d get such enjoyment out of something as simple as this?
Sitting with another person, spending time doing a daily puzzle.
Somehow, with Mal, everything is different.
I know this isn’t wise. I know I shouldn’t allow my happiness to become wrapped up in another person, one I barely even know. I told myself long ago I wouldn’t let that happen, that I wouldn’t depend on another person in that way.
But despite knowing this make believe happily ever after is all Mal and I could ever have, I also know I’m done fighting the draw.
It’s useless. His presence has been tugging at me ever since that first night I heard his slightly insecure voice.
He’s been urging me, unknowingly, off the unattainable cliff I’d perched myself upon.
And I’ve already tumbled down. Leapt, more like. I think I took that ill-advised jump the moment Mal rested his head on my lap much like this over a week ago. When I caressed the tears from his face and felt like, for a brief moment, someone’s everything .
I didn’t care then—and I don’t care now—that it’s not real. I don’t care that the Henrik of a month ago would have scoffed and told me I’m being foolish. That I need to remind myself of my priorities.
Because Mal is something…special. The word doesn’t even do him justice, as overused as it is.
He’s softness. That sinking feeling when your muscles let go and relax into a warm bath at the end of the night.
He’s fresh air and a tropical breeze. The brushing of a palm bough against your skin, both gentle and exhilarating.
He’s a spark, vibrant and fleeting but capable of great destruction.
He very well might be the end of me.
But if we only have a few months to burn, might as well make the blaze touch the sky.