29. Malachi
Chapter 29
Malachi
My entire body locks up. Heat floods my face so fast it makes me dizzy, and suddenly, I feel trapped. I jerk my head away, scowling. “Fuck off, Connor.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I shove at his chest, glaring at him even as my fucking face burns. “It’s none of your business.”
His brows lift slightly, but he still doesn’t smirk. Still doesn’t tease. “It is my business.”
“Why?” I snap. “So you can laugh at me? So you can—”
Connor growls. He actually fucking growls at me, his grip on me tightening as his jaw clenches. “I already told you—I’m not askin’ to mock you.”
I swallow hard, my breath coming too fast, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “Then why are you askin’?”
“Because I need to know so I don’t push you too fuckin’ hard. So I don’t make you feel like you’re losin’ control of somethin’ you’re not ready for, and that means I need to be careful with you.”
The words knock the breath out of me and I stop struggling, blinking up at him, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Care…ful? With me?
No one has ever given a fuck about being careful with me before. No one has ever bothered to ask if I was new to something; if I was okay.
And now Connor fucking Cunningham—the arrogant, cocky bastard who kidnapped me, who torments me, who makes my life a fucking mess—is sitting here, holding me close like I matter, telling me he needs to be careful with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my throat tight. “I—” I break off, exhaling shakily before muttering, “Yeah. I am.”
I open my eyes and watch as Connor tilts his head, watching me like he’s reading me, and can see every fucking thought in my head. “Have you kissed or touched anyone before this?”
My cheeks heat even more and I drop my gaze, clenching my jaw. “N-no… I haven’t.”
Before I can snap at him for that question, he tugs me forward, pulling me flush against his chest. His arms wrap around me again, and I swear to fucking god, I melt before I can stop myself.
“So you’ve not only had your first real sexual experience, but it was with another man,” he continues, his voice patient, like he knows. “It’s a lot. I get that.”
I swallow hard, my mind still racing, but his words settle something inside me. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m feelin’, Connor,” I admit.
He hums, his hand moving to stroke my hair, and fuck, it feels so good and makes me feel safe. “I do.”
I frown against his chest. “You do?”
He nods. “You feel lost right now, don’t you?”
I swallow hard, nodding before I can stop myself. “Yeah,” I croak.
He nods again, like he understands. Like he’s been here before. “That’s normal,” he says. “You’re feeling a drop.”
“A… drop?” I echo, my voice weak.
“You’re comin’ down,” he explains. “Your body’s still ridin’ the high from what just happened, and your brain hasn’t caught up yet. You feel raw, maybe a little shaky, and probably confused as fuck.”
I shake my head. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he says gently, cutting me off. “And it doesn’t make you weak. It’s normal and happens a lot after intense experiences, especially when you’re not used to it.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “How do I stop it?”
Connor chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to the side of my head. “You don’t.”
I tense slightly, and he squeezes my waist. “You ride it out,” he corrects. “And you let me take care of you.”
I stiffen again, but he just holds me tighter—his warmth bleeding into me, his presence grounding me in a way I don’t understand but need.
“Malachi,” he says, his voice so fucking gentle. “Let me take care of you.”
I lick my lips, trying to piece together the mess of thoughts swirling in my head. “And you… you know this? Because—?”
He smirks slightly, but it’s softer now, less of his usual arrogance and more something real. “Because I’m a dom, Babyface.”
My brain short-circuits.
I blink up at him, completely thrown. “You’re what?”
Connor chuckles again, dragging a hand through my hair again, fucking soothing me without me even realizing it. “I’m a dom,” he repeats, amused at my shock. “This isn’t my first time dealin’ with someone crashin’ after a high like that.”
I stare up at him, my brain struggling to process what he just said. Connor Cunningham is a fucking dom. It makes too much sense, and I hate that.
“You really didn’t know?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice.
I glare at him. “How the fuck would I have known that?”
Connor smirks, like he’s enjoying my reaction a little too much. “Thought maybe you’d picked up on it with all the ways I’ve had you under me lately.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a dick,” I mutter, scowling.
He laughs, rubbing his thumb against the nape of my neck again, his voice dropping just slightly. “Ah, but you like it.”
I don’t dignify that with an answer.
Instead, I focus on my breathing, on calming the chaos still swirling in my chest. Connor doesn’t rush me, doesn’t push, just holds me against him, letting me figure my own shite out while he runs his fingers through my hair.
And maybe that’s the part that gets me the most. The fact that he knows what I need without me having to say a fucking word.
“Wait,” I mutter, frowning. “If you’re a dom, does that mean you’ve had—”
Connor smirks slightly, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Subs before? Aye, I have.”
Something ugly twists in my chest before I can stop it. The thought of someone else in this position—of someone else melting under his touch, responding to his voice, being his—makes my stomach churn.
I don’t even fucking realize I’m reacting until Connor goes still, his fingers pausing mid-stroke against my scalp.
Then, slowly, he pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. “Oh?” he drawls. “What’s this now?”
My face burns. “Shut the fuck up.”
“You’re jealous.” Connor grins, his green eyes lighting up like I just handed him his favorite fucking Christmas present.
“I am not jealous, you twat,” I snap, but it’s weak.
Connor’s smirk fades slightly as he watches me, reading me like I’m an open fucking book. He hums low in his throat, rubbing his thumb over my cheek like he’s testing something.
Then he leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “You don’t have to be jealous, mo stóirín ,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re the only one I want.”
I let out a shaky breath, nodding and glaring at him. “I don’t want anyone else to have you,” I admit.
Connor goes still, his fingers tightening slightly against my cheek like he wasn’t expecting me to actually say it.
I can’t fucking believe I said it.
The words just slipped out, like they’d been buried under my skin for too long, waiting for the right moment to break free. But now that they’re out in the open, I don’t regret them.
I can’t, not when Connor is looking at me like that.
His usual cocky smirk is gone, and his green eyes flicker over my face, studying every inch of me, his thumb still brushing lightly against my cheek.
“You used your words,” he says, his voice softer now, like he’s proud. Actually proud. “Good boy.”
A violent shudder surges through me and heat rushes up my spine, my body reacting before I can even process what’s happening, and fuck, he knows. Connor grins, but it’s not smug or teasing this time. It’s something warm, something that makes me feel seen in a way I don’t understand but fucking crave.
He leans in slowly, giving me time to stop him—not that I want to—and presses his lips to mine. It’s not like the other kisses we’ve shared. It’s not rough or demanding.
It feels like a reward.
His lips move against mine with something close to tenderness, something that makes me pull him closer. He kisses me like I’ve earned it, like I deserve it.
And that’s what breaks me.
I don’t know how to handle this. The praise, the warmth, the way he knows what I need before I even know it myself. I whimper against his mouth, and he groans softly, deepening the kiss just slightly, his hands smoothing over my waist like he’s so fucking proud of me.
And just like that, I let someone catch me.