9. Malia
NINE
Malia
The familiar cadence of Kai’s voice washes over me as he asks about our specialty roasts. It’s so easy falling back into our rhythm, that special shorthand that only siblings who grew up finishing each other’s sentences have.
God, I’ve missed him. Video calls and texts aren’t the same as having him here, seeing his eyes light up behind those ridiculous glasses as he geeks out over our brewing methods.
“You’re using precision temperature control for the pour-overs?” He leans forward, genuinely fascinated. “That’s brilliant. The molecular composition of the beans would react differently at varying heat levels…”
“Oh no.” I laugh, the sound warm and natural. “No quantum coffee lectures allowed at dinner. But yes, we invested in some seriously high-tech equipment. The tech team especially appreciates the precision.”
“Of course they do.” His grin is infectious. “They’re my people.”
Watching him now, relaxed and animated, it’s hard to believe he seemed so agitated earlier. That phone call must have rattled him, but looking at him across the table, all I see is my big brother—the same guy who used to help me with science projects and chase away playground bullies.
His hands are steady as he gestures, no sign of the earlier tremors. Maybe I imagined his distress, reading too much into things after Walt’s words about Kai’s strange questions.
“Remember when you tried to teach me about electron configurations?” I ask, smiling at the memory. “Using coffee beans as atoms?”
“And you kept eating my electron shells.” His laugh echoes across the table. “Worst teaching assistant ever.”
“Hey, I was seven! And hungry!”
The conversation flows effortlessly, years of inside jokes and shared memories making everything comfortable and right.
Almost everything.
Because while my mind is fully engaged with Kai, my body remains traitorously aware of Walt beside me. Every slight shift reminds me of his earlier touches, his fingers skating up my thigh, the way he…
Heat floods my cheeks and I reach for my water glass, trying to cool down. The silk of my panties is uncomfortably damp, a constant reminder of Walt’s effect on me. Of all the filthy promises he whispered in my ear at the coffee shop. Of how badly I want him to fulfill every single one.
“Remember that summer you decided to become a scientist?” Kai asks, pulling me back from dangerous thoughts. “You set up that ‘lab’ in the garage?”
“Using Mom’s kitchen supplies.” I grin. “She was so mad when she found her measuring cups full of dirt and leaves.”
“‘ But, Mom, I’m doing science! ’” Kai mimics my childhood voice perfectly.
“God, I miss this,” I say softly. “Miss you. Video calls aren’t the same.”
His expression softens. “I know, Sissy. I miss you too. Maybe I could come out more often? The quantum lab’s expanding our research sites. Might be able to coordinate some work on the west coast.”
The hope in my chest blooms, but Walt shifts beside me, his thigh pressing against mine, and suddenly, all I can think about is his hands, his mouth, his promises. My body thrums with awareness, the silk between my legs growing damper by the second.
“You okay, Sissy?” Kai’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You look flushed.”
“Just warm,” I manage, though Walt’s soft chuckle beside me says he knows exactly why I’m overheated.
I focus on my brother, on our conversation about the Grind’s future plans, but my body has other ideas.
The pressure in my bladder is becoming impossible to ignore, compounded by all the wine and water I’ve been nervously drinking. Every shift reminds me of my growing need and the slick evidence of Walt’s effect on me.
“Speaking of the Grind,” Kai continues, “have you thought about expanding? Maybe a second location?”
I try to focus on his question, but Walt’s presence beside me is overwhelming. The heat of his body, the lingering ghost of his touch on my thigh—it’s all too much.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, starting to rise. “I need to…”
“I’ll walk you.” Walt’s voice is low but commanding, brooking no argument.
I start to protest—I’m perfectly capable of finding the restroom on my own—but the look he gives me stops the words in my throat. His eyes are dark with promise, reminding me of every touch, every whispered threat of punishment for my disobedience.
My mouth goes dry as he stands, offering his hand with gentlemanly courtesy that feels anything but gentlemanly.
“I can find my way to the ladies’ room by myself,” I murmur as we weave between tables, keeping my voice low enough that only Walt can hear.
The soft clink of silverware and murmured conversations create a gentle backdrop, the rich aroma of garlic and wine filling the air.
“That’s where you’re wrong, princess.” His hand settles at the small of my back, warm and possessive through the silk of my dress. “Escorting you is exactly my job. Making sure you’re safe…” His voice drops lower, sending shivers down my spine. “And ensuring you follow instructions.”
A waiter passes with a tray of desserts, the sweet scent of vanilla and caramel momentarily distracting me.
“What do you mean?”
Walt guides me past a table of business diners, their laughter covering his next words.
“Those panties you’re wearing? The ones I specifically told you not to wear?” His thumb traces small circles against my back. “They’re mine now. You’ll remove them and hand them over when you’re finished.”
I nearly stumble, catching myself on his arm.
“What?” The word comes out as a shocked whisper. Around us, the restaurant continues its elegant dinner service, completely oblivious to how my world has just tilted on its axis.
“You heard me.” His smile is perfectly pleasant to any observer, but his eyes burn with dark promise. “Consider it the first consequence of your disobedience.”
“But…” I glance around at the other diners and the bustling waitstaff. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
His soft laugh sends heat pooling low in my belly. “Hand them to me, of course. They belong to me now.” He leans closer, ostensibly steadying me as we pause to let a couple pass. “Just like you do.”
The words should outrage me. Should make me pull away in indignation. Instead, warmth floods through me, my pulse quickening.
How does he do this? Turn my world upside down with just a few words and make me crave things I never knew I wanted?
We reach the hallway leading to the restrooms, the ambient noise of the restaurant fading slightly. The lighting here is softer and more intimate. Walt turns me to face him, his body effectively shielding me from view.
“Don’t make me wait too long.” His voice is velvet over steel. “Your brother might wonder what’s keeping us. If I’m ravishing his little sister in the bathroom.”
“You wouldn’t?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches over my head and pushes the ladies’ room door open.
My cheeks burn as his soft chuckle follows me inside. My heart thunders in my chest, my body humming with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.
What’s happening to me? When did I become this woman who gets excited by such outrageous demands? But even as I question it, I know I’ll do exactly what he asked.
Because God help me, I want to.
The restroom is one of those elegant spaces built for one—all marble and soft lighting, with fresh flowers by the sink and plush hand towels monogrammed with the restaurant’s logo. No multiple stalls. The lock clicks behind me with surprising finality.
My reflection stares back at me, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. I look different somehow, changed, like Walt’s commands have awakened something in me I didn’t know existed.
After using the facilities, I almost pull my panties back up out of habit. Then I remember his words: “ They belong to me now. ”
My hands tremble slightly as I step out of the black lace, hardly believing I’m actually doing this. The silk is still damp—evidence of his effect on me that I’ll have to hand over.
“This is insane,” I whisper to my reflection as I ball the delicate fabric in my fist. But even as I say it, heat pools low in my belly. The thought of walking back to the table like this, with nothing between my skin and the silk of my dress…
I wash my hands, trying to steady my breathing. The marble counter is cool beneath my palms as I lean forward, giving myself one last chance to back out. To be sensible. To be the good girl I’ve always been.
Instead, I straighten my dress and grip my panties in a fist.
When I open the door, Walt is waiting exactly where I left him. His eyes drop immediately to my clenched hand, catching a glimpse of black lace between my fingers. Something dark and hungry flashes across his face.
He moves forward before I can step out, forcing me back into the restroom. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and suddenly, the spacious bathroom feels very small.
“Walt?” My voice comes out breathy, uncertain.
The wicked gleam in his eyes makes my knees weak.
His hand extends, palm up, an unspoken command.
When I place the delicate lace in his hand, his fingers curl around mine for just a moment, trapping me there. The air between us thickens, charged with possibility. My heart hammers against my ribs, so loud I’m sure he must hear it.
Walt lifts the silk to his face, inhaling deeply, his eyes never leaving mine, and my brain short-circuits. A whimper escapes my throat at the blatant gesture.
He’s sniffing my panties.
Like, really sniffing them. I always thought that was just some weird urban legend, something guys joked about but didn’t actually do. But Walt’s eyes drift closed as he inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly, and there’s nothing joking about his expression.
I should be mortified. Should be grabbing my panties back and running from the bathroom. Instead, I’m frozen in place, watching his eyes open again, darker than before, hungry in a way that makes my knees weak.
The raw masculinity of the gesture, the way he doesn’t even try to hide how much he’s affected by my scent—it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
A whimper escapes my throat before I can stop it. His lips curve into a knowing smirk as he folds the lace deliberately, almost reverently, before tucking it into his suit pocket. Heat floods my body as I realize he’ll have that intimate piece of me with him for the rest of dinner.
How is it possible that something I would have found creepy from anyone else becomes unbearably sexy when Walt does it? Maybe because he doesn’t try to hide his desire, doesn’t apologize for wanting every part of me, even the parts I’ve been taught to be embarrassed about.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something inside me melts at the praise.
He steps forward, and I instinctively retreat, my pulse thundering in my ears.
There’s something primal about the way he moves—smooth, controlled, predatory like a lion stalking its prey. The comparison should frighten me, but instead, it sends shivers of anticipation racing down my spine.
Another step.
My breath catches as he mirrors my movement.
The air feels electric between us, charged with possibilities. I’ve never felt like this before, never been the focus of such intense, male-focused desire.
It’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.
He takes another step.
I take a retreating step back.
The cool marble of the sink presses against my lower back, startling a gasp from my lips.
Still, he advances, each deliberate movement closing the distance between us. My body responds to his proximity in ways I never knew it could—skin tingling, breasts feeling heavy and sensitive, an ache building low in my belly.
His size overwhelms me as he cages me in.
I’ve always known Walt was big, but now, trapped between his body and the sink, I feel deliciously small. His broad shoulders block out the rest of the room, his arms bracketing me as his hands grip the counter on either side of my hips.
The position leaves me nowhere to go and nowhere to hide from the heat in his eyes.
My heart races so fast that I feel lightheaded. Every breath brings his scent—cologne and something uniquely Walt—flooding my senses. The warmth radiating from his body seeps into mine, though he’s not quite touching me.
Not yet.
The anticipation of that first contact has me trembling.
I should feel trapped. Cornered. Instead, I feel—protected.
Desired.
Safe, even as my body hums with a dangerous kind of excitement. The contradictions make my head spin—how can I feel both vulnerable and completely secure?
Both prey and precious?
His breath fans across my face, and I realize just how close he is. Close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, count each of his eyelashes, and notice the slight stubble darkening his jaw.
Close enough that the slightest movement would bring our bodies together.
The thought makes me shiver. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—like he wants to devour me whole, like I’m everything he’s ever hungered for.
I’ve never felt so aware of my own body. Of the rapid rise and fall of my chest, the way my fingers grip the counter’s edge, and the heat pooling between my thighs. Even the silk of my dress feels too rough against my sensitized skin.
Without my panties, I feel exposed, vulnerable—wanton.
His presence surrounds me completely—sight, smell, the promise of touch. He makes my head spin with all the possibilities—not just of sex, but of everything he’s promised.
The way he commanded me earlier, how naturally I responded to his orders… It awakens something primal inside me. A need I never knew existed.
I should be scandalized by the things he’s whispered he wants to do to me. Should be horrified by how casually he talks about spanking me, controlling me, making me beg. Instead, each dark promise sends heat flooding through my body. The thought of being bent over his knee, of feeling his palm coming down hard while he tells me exactly why I’m being punished…
The rest of the world fades away until there’s nothing but this moment, this man, this electric tension building between us.
My mind races with possibilities, with wants and fears tumbling together in a dizzying rush.
His cologne surrounds me—spice and cedar and pure masculine essence. My hands grip the counter’s edge as he towers over me, his body radiating heat and control. His eyes drop to my parted lips, darkening with hunger.
Oh God.
This is really happening.
My thighs press together, trying to ease the ache building between them. What’s happening to me? When did I become this woman who craves not just physical intimacy but submission? Who gets wet at the thought of following commands and being completely at his mercy?
His earlier words echo my thoughts: “I want to push your boundaries.”
And I do want that. Want him to take control, to show me all these dark desires I never knew I had. Want to kneel for him, to please him, to surrender everything to his experienced hands.
His eyes darken as if he can read my thoughts and see the depraved directions they’re taking. Instead of feeling ashamed, I feel—powerful. Sexy. Like my submission would be a gift he’d treasure as much as my virginity.
Heat floods my cheeks at the realization. I want it all—the tenderness and the roughness, the pleasure and the pain, the praise and the punishment. I want to explore every filthy promise he’s made, discover every dark desire he awakens in me.
But not here.
My first time can’t be here, in a restaurant bathroom with my brother waiting at our table.
Can it?
The thought sends conflicting waves of excitement and uncertainty through me. I want Walt—I have wanted him for so long my body aches.
But not like this.
Not rushed and secret between courses of dinner in a public restroom. I want time to explore this properly, to let him guide me into these uncharted waters slowly, thoroughly, and completely.
“Walt…” His name comes out as a breathless plea, torn between desire and hesitation. I want him to kiss and touch me, but I also want—more.
I want it to be special.
He braces one hand on the counter beside me, the other rising to cup my jaw. His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I shiver at the intensity of his gaze. Everything in me wants to surrender to this moment, to let him claim me right here.
“Mine,” he growls softly, leaning down.
“Wait,” I whisper, pressing my palms against his chest. His heart thunders under my touch, matching my own frantic rhythm. “I want this; want you. So much it scares me.” The confession tumbles out, raw and honest. “But I’ve never… I mean, I haven’t…”
Understanding softens his expression, though the hunger in his eyes remains. “Never?”
I shake my head, heat flooding my cheeks. “I was saving it. Waiting for…” The right moment? The right person? “For someone who mattered.”
His other hand frames my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And do I matter?”
“Yes.” The word comes without hesitation, surprising me with its certainty. “But I don’t want my first time to be here. Like this. Quick and rushed in a bathroom.” My voice drops to barely a whisper. “I want to be able to take my time. Want to explore everything you promised me earlier.” My voice catches on “ everything,” my eyes dropping to his mouth before meeting his gaze again, hoping he understands what I can’t quite say.
That I’m not just talking about sex. That when he threatened to spank me, to tie me up, to make me beg… Those promises made me ache in ways I never knew possible.
I bite my lip, gathering courage.
“I want all of it,” I whisper, my cheeks burning as my body thrums with need. “Everything you said. Everything you promised.”
My fingers twist in his shirt, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away, just holding on as I try to convey without words how much I want to submit to him. How ready I am to explore these dark desires he’s awakened in me.
His sharp intake of breath tells me he understands exactly what I’m trying to say. His eyes darken further, and his grip on the counter tightens until his knuckles whiten.
“Say it again,” he commands softly, and his tone—that mix of authority and hunger—makes me shiver. “What is it you want from me?”
“Everything,” I breathe, letting all my newfound cravings color that single word. Hoping he hears in it my willingness to kneel, to obey, to surrender completely to whatever filthy desires he has planned for me.
For a moment, I fear he’ll be angry. That my rejection will break whatever spell has been building between us. Instead, his thumb strokes my cheek with surprising tenderness.
“When you’re ready,” he promises, his voice rough with restraint. “I’m going to spend hours with you. Learn every inch of your body. Make you come apart in ways you’ve never imagined.” His forehead rests against mine. “But you’re right. Your first time shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re not mad?” Relief and disappointment war in my chest.
His soft laugh stirs my hair. “Mad? Baby, knowing I’ll be your first?” His hands tighten possessively. “That makes me want you even more. Makes me want to do this right.”
The tension shifts, not dissipating but transforming into something sweeter, full of promise rather than urgency. His control and his willingness to wait only make me want him more.