31. Malachi
Chapter 31
Malachi
I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it’s got all the answers to the mess in my head. The room is quiet, too quiet, except for the faint hum of the heating kicking in. It does nothing to distract me from the one thing I can’t stop thinking about.
Connor.
The way he looked at me earlier, like he could fucking devour me and wouldn’t even bother to wipe his mouth after. The way his voice dipped when he called me his good boy like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he was throwing me into.
I want him.
There’s no denying it anymore. I want him to push me, to claim me, to wreck me until I can’t think about anything but him. But I also want to fight him. I want to push back because the way he challenges me, the way he refuses to let me hide, is both intoxicating and dangerous.
I drag a hand through my hair, letting out a sharp breath. “Christ,” I mutter to myself. “This is a fuckin’ disaster.”
Because it is. I’ve spent years locking down every part of me that even hinted at this. I’ve told myself over and over that I’m not like that, not like this. And then Connor storms into my life, grinning like a damn maniac, and blows everything to hell.
I don’t even hate him for it.
I groan, standing up and pacing the length of the room like it’ll help. It doesn’t. I can still feel him—his hands on me, his mouth, the weight of his body pinning me down. I can hear the way he growled my name like he owned it, like he owned me.
I need to get out of my head.
Stripping off my shirt, I head for the bathroom, figuring a shower might help. The hot water pounds against my skin, the steam fogging up the mirror as I lean against the tiled wall, trying to ground myself.
But it doesn’t work.
Because all I can think about is him.
The way his hands gripped my thighs, his lips trailing over my skin. The way he looked at me like I was something he couldn’t fucking resist.
My hand slides lower, almost without thought, and I let out a shaky breath as I wrap my fingers around my cock, stroking slowly, the heat of the water doing nothing to cool the fire burning under my skin.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my head falling back against the tiles as I close my eyes, my grip tightening.
It’s Connor I see. Connor I feel. His voice in my head, rough and teasing, calling me his good boy. The thought sends a jolt straight through me, my hips bucking into my hand as my breath comes faster, sharper.
“Connor,” I gasp, the name slipping out before I can stop it.
It’s humiliating how fast I fall apart, how quickly my body gives in to the memory of him. My climax hits hard, ripping through me, and I brace myself against the wall, biting back his name again as it tears from my throat.
By the time I finish, I’m trembling, my chest heaving as I let the water wash away the evidence of my weakness. But it doesn’t wash away the shame—or the fact that I’m still thinking about him.
Grabbing a towel, I step out of the shower, scrubbing it roughly over my hair before slinging it around my waist. When I open the bathroom door, I freeze.
Connor’s sitting on my bed.
His chest is bare, his muscles flexing as he leans back on his hands with his legs spread. The only thing he’s wearing is a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and his cock is hard, straining against the fabric.
“Did you touch yourself thinkin’ about me?” he asks, his voice low and feral and his green eyes locked on mine like he’s daring me to deny it.
My throat tightens, and for a second, I can’t speak. My heart pounds so loudly, it’s drowning out every rational thought in my head.
“Get the fuck out,” I finally manage, though my voice is shaky, my fingers gripping the edge of the towel like it’s my only lifeline.
Connor chuckles, the sound dark and mocking as he pushes off the bed, stalking toward me like a predator closing in on its prey. “That’s not a no,” he says, his smirk widening as he stops just inches away, towering over me.
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, Malachi,” he cuts me off, his tone sharp as his hand shoots out, gripping my jaw and forcing me to look at him. “I heard you.”
My eyes widen, heat flooding my cheeks as my stomach twists in mortification. “You—”
“I heard you moanin’ my name,” he growls, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “I heard the way you fuckin’ whimpered for me like you couldn’t help yourself. So don’t stand there and tell me you didn’t think of me.”
I shake my head, my pride warring with the undeniable truth of his words. “I—fuck—you’re such an arsehole.”
His grip on my jaw is tightening as he leans in, his breath hot against my lips. “Whimper for me, Malachi,” he growls. “Prove me right.”
“Connor—”
He kisses me before I can finish, his lips rough and my hands grip his shoulders as he presses me back against the bathroom door. The towel around my waist loosens, slipping to the floor, but I barely notice, too focused on the way his mouth moves against mine, the way his hands grip my hips like he can’t get enough.
“Say it,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough. “Say you want me.”
I bite back a groan, my nails digging into his shoulders as I shake my head. “You’re a fuckin’ nightmare,” I mutter, my voice trembling.
“And you’re a fuckin’ liar,” he counters, his grin feral as he presses his hips against mine, his cock hard and heavy through the fabric of his sweatpants.
“Fuck you,” I snap, though the words lack bite, my body betraying me as I arch into him, chasing the heat of his touch.
But then he steps back slowly, his smirk wicked as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. His legs spread, his forearms resting on his thighs, he looks like he owns the fucking world—or at least me.
His green eyes rake over me, and then he lifts a finger, curling it in a slow, beckoning motion. “Come here, you sweet little thing,” he murmurs, a command wrapped in honey.
I hesitate for a second, my pride flaring to life, but my body betrays me. My feet move before I can stop them, and within seconds, I’m standing in front of him, my hands fisting at my sides as I fight the urge to cover myself.
I feel exposed, laid bare in every sense of the word, but the heat in Connor’s gaze keeps me rooted to the spot.
“Good boy,” he says, the words rolling off his tongue like a fucking weapon. The words send a jolt straight through me, my cock twitching embarrassingly at the sound, and Connor’s grin sharpens like he fucking knows.
His hands reach out, gripping my hips lightly as he pulls me closer until I’m standing between his legs. My breath catches when he leans forward, pressing his lips to the skin just above my navel. It’s not rough like I expected—it’s soft, lingering, as if he’s taking his time. His hands slide over my hips, up my sides, trailing heat in their wake as he explores me like he owns every inch.
“Connor—”
“Hush, Babyface,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to my stomach, then moving up to my chest. “Let me appreciate you.”
His lips brush over my skin, his hands tracing the curve of my waist, my ribs, before settling on my hips again. His thumbs rub slow circles against my skin, and I shiver, heat pooling low in my stomach as my cock hardens to the point of pain.
“Stop it,” I snap, though there’s no heat behind it, my cheeks burning under the weight of his words.
Connor chuckles, the sound low and amused as his hands slide back down to grip my hips, pulling me closer. “You’re such a little brat,” he says. “It makes me want to break you. To make you beg for me, Malachi.”
I swallow hard, my breath hitching at the raw hunger in his voice.
“But then,” he continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, “It makes me want to take care of you. Fuck, you drive me crazy, but I want to protect you. Worship you. Make sure you never feel like you have to hide again.”
I shake my head, my cheeks burning as his words replay in my mind. I hate how much I crave them, how much I want to hear him say more. It’s like he’s peeled back every layer of me, exposing the parts I’ve tried so hard to bury.
“Connor,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Look at you, gorgeous boy,” he says almost reverently, pulling back slightly to meet my gaze. “So fuckin’ perfect for me, and you don’t even realize it, do you?”
For once in my life, I’m speechless. How could he possibly think I’m gorgeous?
“Are you going to answer me?” Connor asks, his tone sharper now, and my breath catches.
“Yes, sir,” I blurt out without thinking, the words slipping out like a reflex, and the second they do, I freeze.
Connor’s hands tighten on my hips, and I feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back. His head dips, his forehead pressing against my stomach as he mutters something low in Gaelic, the words rough and strained.
I blink down at him, confused and flustered as his fingers dig into my skin, his breathing uneven. “Connor—”
“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls, cutting me off as he lifts his head, his green eyes blazing. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done to me?”
I shake my head, my chest tight, but Connor doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Say it again,” he demands, his hands pulling me closer until I’m practically straddling his lap.
I hesitate, my pride warring with the overwhelming heat pooling low in my stomach, but the look in his eyes makes it impossible to resist. “Yes, sir,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Connor groans low in his throat, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls me closer, his head tilting back to look up at me.
“You’re going to be the fuckin’ death of me,” he mutters, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “But fuck, you’ll make it worth it.”