25. Malachi
Chapter 25
Malachi
Connor’s eyes burn into mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. His voice is low and possessive; the words sinking into my skin like a brand. His hand is still around my throat, and my pulse hammers beneath his touch, betraying everything I’m trying so hard to keep buried.
I can’t even think straight—can’t focus on anything but him, the heat of his body, the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice wraps around me like a chain I don’t want to break.
And then there’s the worst part, the part that makes my cheeks burn with shame. I’m hard. Fuck, my cock is hard as steel right now, and it’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he won’t notice, but Connor’s not the kind of man who misses anything. I feel his grip shift and my eyes fly open when his thumb brushes against the hollow of my throat as his eyes flicker down. His smirk is slow, lazy, and sharp enough to cut.
“Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with smug amusement. “What have we here, Babyface?”
“Shut up,” I snap, but my voice comes out weaker than I’d like, cracking slightly at the end. My face feels like it’s on fire, and I squirm under his gaze, desperate to put some space between us. “Just let me go.”
“Not a fuckin’ chance,” he says, his green eyes gleaming with dark mischief, and it makes my stomach flip. “You think I’m lettin’ this slide? Not when you’re reactin’ like that.”
“It’s not—” I start, but the words die in my throat when his thumb moves again, this time trailing up to brush lightly along my jaw. My breath catches, and he chuckles, the sound sending another jolt through me.
“You’re a terrible liar, Malachi,” he says softly, his smirk widening. “Your body gives you away every fuckin’ time.”
I want to argue, to snap back with something cutting and sassy, but my brain’s too scrambled to form coherent words. All I can do is glare at him, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
Connor’s smirk fades and his hand tightens around my throat, just enough to make my pulse jump. “Who hurt you?” he asks again, and this time his tone carries a hint of warning.
I shake my head, refusing to answer. “It doesn’t matter.”
“The fuck it doesn’t,” he growls, his grip tightening for a split second before easing again. “You don’t get to brush this off, Malachi. Not with those marks on your back.”
I shake my head again, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something stupid. “It doesn’t matter,” I repeat. “It’s in the past. Just… leave it alone.”
Connor stares at me for a long moment, his eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to read my thoughts. Then, slowly, his hand moves and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip in a way that makes my breath hitch.
“Please, Malachi,” he begs. “Please tell me who hurt you.”
I curl my hands into fists at my sides at the sincerity in his voice. Fuck, I am so close to cracking. “I’m not talking about it. Drop it.”
His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think he’s going to push harder, but then his thumb moves again, tracing along my jawline. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s mine ,” I snap. “It’s mine, Connor. My past, my scars, my pain. You don’t get to take that too.”
The silence that follows is deafening. His eyes search mine, and I can see the war playing out behind them. The anger, the frustration, the… care. God, it’s almost too much.
“You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters, his tone caught between frustration and resignation. “You drive me mad, you know that?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. All I can do is lie here, my body betraying me as his thumb slowly drags across my lip again. The heat in his gaze makes my chest feel tight, like I’m standing too close to a fire and I can’t step away.
“You can keep your secrets for now, but just know whoever hurt you, whoever left those marks on you—they’re already fuckin’ dead.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends another shiver down my spine, and I hate how much I feel it. Connor leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he murmurs something in Gaelic again, the words rolling off his tongue like a promise I can’t understand.
“What does that mean?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his smirk returning. “That’s for me to know and for you to…” he trails off and I honestly wish I could lift my hand to punch him.
And then, before I have a chance to process what’s happening, his lips crash against mine. It’s not soft or gentle—it’s rough and demanding, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip as his hand tightens on my jaw.
I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his other hand bracing against the bed to keep me pinned beneath him.
For half a second, I forget how to breathe.
Connor’s mouth is hard against mine, like he’s trying to pull the truth from me with his teeth, his lips, and his fucking tongue. My chest burns, my body tensing even as heat coils low in my stomach.
I should push him away.
I don’t.
Instead, my hands find his shoulders, fingers digging in like I can steady myself against the storm that is him. He tastes like whiskey, and I fucking hate how much I want more of it.
I let him deepen the kiss for a moment longer before my instincts kick in, and I turn my head, breaking the contact with a sharp inhale. “Fuck you,” I rasp, but the words don’t carry as much heat as they should.
He tugs my jaw back toward him, his grip firm. “You think I don’t know what this is, Babyface?” His voice is softer now, but there’s an edge to it, something that makes my pulse skip. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me when you think I’m not payin’ attention?”
I glare at him, but my body betrays me, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the heat rolling off him in waves, making it impossible to think straight. “You’re delusional.”
Connor smirks. “Am I?”
His free hand moves, fingers tracing lightly over the hem of my shirt again, but this time it’s different. Slower. Not teasing, not mocking—just… testing.
I force myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest. “This doesn’t mean anything,” I say, and even to my own ears, it sounds weak.
Connor leans in again until our noses almost brush. “Liar.”
I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge, his weight a solid, immovable force above me. His fingers skate over the fabric of my shirt, and I can feel his hesitation, his frustration, his fucking desperation to know the truth I won’t give him.
I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.
And yet, he’s right here, his touch burning, his voice cutting through the carefully built walls in my head.
“You’re mine, Malachi.”
The words land like a hammer to my ribs again. Something cracks open in my chest, something ugly and raw, and I fucking hate him for it. “No, I’m not.” My voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
Connor’s smirk fades. “Yes, you are,” he says simply. Like it’s a fact. Like it’s something I should just accept.
I shake my head, trying to break free from the weight of this moment, from the way his hands linger, from the way my fucking body reacts to him. “You kidnapped me, Connor. I don’t belong to you.”
His fingers tighten around my jaw. “Then why aren’t you fightin’ me?”
My throat works, but I don’t answer. I can’t.
His eyes darken. “You don’t have to tell me who did it, but don’t fuckin’ think for a second that I won’t find out.”
I swallow hard. Connor isn’t the type to let things go. I know that. And worse, I know that when he does find out, my father is dead.
I push at his chest again, trying to put some space between us. “You think you can protect me?” I ask, and I don’t even know why I say it, but the words spill out, anyway.
Connor’s grip on me doesn’t waver. “No,” he says. “I know I can.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “You’re not a fuckin’ hero, Connor.”
He leans in again, lips brushing against my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t need to be a hero,” he murmurs. “I just need to be worse than whoever hurt you.”
My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and heat, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. I’m breathless, my chest heaving as I stare up at him, wide-eyed and flushed.
Connor doesn’t leave. He stays there, hovering over me, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that feels like it’s burning right through me. My chest is still heaving, my lips swollen from the kiss, and I can’t seem to move.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? Me, the only heir to one of the largest Syndicates in the country,” he says, his lips brushing against my neck. The softness of it makes me shiver, but it’s the raw frustration in his voice that makes my chest ache. “You’ve ruined me, mo stóirín .”
My heart pounds harder, every beat echoing in my ears as his words sink in. He presses a kiss just below my jaw, before trailing his lips lower.
“You’re all I think about,” he whispers. “All I fuckin’ want. And it’s drivin’ me insane.”
I want to say something, to tell him to stop or to keep going—I’m not sure which—but the words get stuck in my throat when his hips press against mine. The hard line of him grinds into me, pulling a sharp gasp from my lips. My hands clutch at him, like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Connor chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin. “You think you’re the only one feelin’ this? I’ve tried to cut you out, to forget about you, but the more I try, the more you fuckin’ burrow under my skin.”
I don’t answer, can’t answer, because my thoughts are a tangled mess. He grinds into me again, slow and purposeful, and I can’t help the small, broken sound that escapes me. His smirk grows wider at the noise, his lips brushing the shell of my ear sending a shiver through me.
“Connor,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his green eyes burning with need. “I haven’t done anythin’.”
His breath is warm against my cheek as he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Exactly,” he says. “And yet, here I am. A goddamn mess because of you.”
He leans down again, his lips grazing the side of my neck, right where my pulse is hammering. When his teeth graze my skin, a shiver runs through me, and I hate how much I want more.
“You’ve ruined me, Malachi, and I don’t know whether to thank you or kill you for it.”
Those words make my chest tighten and my breath catch in my throat. I don’t know how to respond, don’t know what to say that won’t make this worse—or better. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t want it to stop.
I shake my head, forcing myself to look away. “You’re wrong,” I say, my voice low but sharp. “I haven’t ruined anythin’. I haven’t done anythin’. And I definitely don’t feel… whatever it is you think I feel.”
Connor’s smirk returns, slow and knowing, like he sees right through me. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t,” I snap, my voice louder now, though it cracks at the end. “And I’m not—”
“Not what, Babyface?” he interrupts, his green eyes narrowing as he studies me. “Not into me? Not hard because of me?”
“Both,” I say quickly, too quickly.
Connor chuckles again, and the sound sends a shiver through me that I can’t stop. “You think not sayin’ it out loud makes it go away?”
I flinch and he notices. His expression softens just slightly, like he regrets pushing too hard. But I know him well enough by now to understand that his version of soft is still made of steel.
I shake my head, frustration clawing at my ribs. “Just let it go, Connor.”
He exhales, long and slow, and then, finally, he leans back, giving me space. “For now,” he says.
It’s not a promise. It’s a fucking threat. Connor studies me for another long moment before shifting off the bed completely to stand beside it. His hands flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach for me again.
I don’t move. I don’t trust myself to.
He runs a hand through his blond hair, exhaling again. “You should sleep,” he says, voice gruff.
I laugh dryly. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
His lips twitch, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Try.”
I don’t answer, and after a few seconds, he turns toward the door. But just as he reaches it, just as his fingers brush the handle, I make a mistake.
I speak. “Connor.”
He stops, but doesn’t turn. And I see the way his shoulders go tense, the way his fingers tighten around the doorframe. I swallow hard. I don’t know what the fuck I’m about to say, but I can feel the words crawling up my throat anyway.
“I—” I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t fucking say it. But my voice comes out before I can stop it. “Stay.”
The tension in the room shifts instantly like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.
Connor doesn’t move for a long time. Then, slowly, he turns his head just enough to look at me over his shoulder and shakes his head. “Go to sleep, Malachi.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with the mess he’s made of my head—and my heart.