42. Malachi
Chapter 42
Malachi
I wake up slowly, my body aching and my ribs a dull throb under the weight of sleep. For a second, I don’t move. I don’t even open my eyes. I just breathe, steadying myself against the familiar pain, waiting for it to settle into something tolerable.
But then I feel the solid weight of another body pressed against mine. The steady rise and fall of a chest at my back. An arm draped heavily around my waist and fingers splayed over my stomach.
Connor.
I know I went to sleep alone, though.
I open my eyes, shifting just enough to look at him and careful not to jostle my ribs too much. He’s still asleep, his blond hair a mess, his face softer in unconsciousness. There’s no smirk, no sharp-edged arrogance to hide behind. Just him.
This fucking man.
I hate how fucking fond I feel staring at him, how badly I want to reach out and trace my fingers over his jaw and the freckles dusting his skin. I hate that my first instinct isn’t to push him away but to pull him closer, to bury my face against his throat and breathe him in.
Because I’m gone for him.
Completely and utterly gone for him.
I don’t know when it happened—if it was the first time he flirted with me just to make me blush or the time he tried to make me smile when I was down. Maybe it was the night he put a ring on my finger, or maybe it was the moment I realized I felt safe in his arms.
I glance down at the Claddagh ring still wrapped around my finger. The silver catches the faint morning light, the engraving inside still pressed against my skin.
CM.
Connor and Malachi.
I squeeze my fingers into a fist, pressing the ring tighter against my flesh. I want to feel safe, but I don’t anymore. Not after what happened when he wasn’t here.
Connor moves behind me, inhaling deeply before letting out a quiet sigh. I tense for a second, but then his grip tightens around my waist, his fingers flexing against my stomach like he’s making sure I’m still here.
Then, before I can even process it, his lips brush against the back of my neck, soft and lazy, like kissing me is as natural as breathing. I shudder and feel my breath catching in my throat.
Fucking hell.
He presses another kiss there, slower this time, lingering, like he can’t get enough of me and needs to feel me against him. His hand moves, sliding over my hip, up my ribs, careful but possessive while mapping my skin with deliberate strokes.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating how fucking easy it is to melt into him.
“Mornin’, Babyface,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice thick with sleep.
I swallow hard, willing my voice to stay steady. “You weren’t here when I went to sleep.”
He chuckles, and a shiver shoots up my spine when his lips ghost against my skin. “Couldn’t stay away.”
I turn in his arms and try to snuggle into his embrace, but then I wince as my ribs protest the movement. Connor immediately stills, his fingers pressing just a little firmer against my side.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at me. “Still bad?”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “What do you think?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches me, his thumb moving in slow, soothing circles against my skin. Then, finally, he sighs and mutters, “It wasn’t my Da.”
I blink, and my breath catches. “What?”
Connor props himself up on one elbow, his other hand still resting on my waist. “I spoke to him,” he says, voice tight. “He didn’t order it, but he found out who it was.”
The look on his face makes my stomach drop and I watch as his jaw tics, his green eyes burning. “I handled it, don’t worry.”
I swallow hard, my chest tightening as I hold his gaze. I handled it. I don’t even want to know what that means. He looks furious, his body practically vibrating with restrained rage, and for a second, I wonder just how much blood he’s willing to spill because of me.
Too much.
I shake my head, looking away, my fingers curling against the sheets. “Connor, I—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off and cups my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
I let out a shaky breath. “You can’t go starting wars over me.”
“The fuck I can’t.” He scoffs as if it’s the most obvious thing he’s going to do.
I glare at him, even as my heart pounds at how fucking serious he is. “That’s not how this works.”
Connor’s smirk is humorless, his fingers tracing the outline of my jaw, his voice dipping lower. “Babyface, I don’t give a single fuck how this is supposed to work.”
I grit my teeth, but before I can argue, his lips are on mine—firm, possessive, cutting off whatever stupid fucking thing I was about to say.
And just like that, I lose.
I always fucking lose with him.
Because this isn’t fair. I shouldn’t feel safe in his arms, but I do. I shouldn’t be in love with him, but I am. I shouldn’t want him to fight for me, but fuck—I do.
I don’t get the chance to push him away again—not that I really fucking want to—because his kiss is making me lose my fucking mind. It’s deep and slow, his lips warm, his hand still firm on my jaw, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
My heart stutters, my body betraying me like it always does when it comes to him. His thumb brushes against my cheek, tilting my head slightly so he can deepen the kiss more, and I let him.
His other hand slips under the blankets, over my waist, tracing the bruises on my ribs like he’s grounding himself in the fact that I’m still here. Still breathing. I shift slightly, wincing when the movement pulls at my injuries, and immediately, he pulls back just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking over my hip.
I roll my eyes, even as my pulse races. “Maybe you should be careful.”
His smirk is pure fucking sin, but there’s something softer in his gaze, something dangerous in a different way. “Never.”
Then he kisses me again, stealing the breath from my lungs. I sigh against his lips, letting him pull me into his gravity, into his warmth, into the sheer fucking need of it all. My fingers slide up his bare chest, tracing over inked muscle, feeling the way he shivers beneath my touch.
He likes this. He wants me.
It’s not just about the chase, the fight, the push and pull. It’s not just about breaking me down until I finally fucking give in.
He wants me. It should have been obvious since I’m wearing his ring, but it still hasn’t sunk in.
His hips roll forward, slow, teasing, with just enough friction to make me bite back a moan. “Fuck,” he mutters, his mouth trailing down my jaw, his teeth grazing my pulse. “You feel so fuckin’ good, Babyface.”
His grip on my waist tightens, his breathing heavier, his hips pressing ever so slightly against mine, and I feel him—hard and warm through his boxers. My stomach clenches, heat flooding through me as my fingers curl against his skin.
“Connor,” I breathe, and he groans, his lips brushing against my throat.
“Love when you say my name like that,” he mutters, dragging his tongue along my pulse. “Like you fuckin’ need me.”
I do. God fucking help me, I do.
His hand slides down over my hip, teasing the waistband of my sweats, and I arch into him slightly, my body moving on instinct, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
My breath stutters and my fingers dig into his shoulders as he keeps going, his lips and tongue tracing a path down my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against my skin. He moves with intention, like he’s learning every reaction, every sound, every place that makes me shiver.
His mouth trails along my throat, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there, and I know what he’s doing. He’s marking me. He’s branding me in the only way he can right now, given the state I’m in. And I fucking let him, tilting my head slightly to give him better access.
And then he bites.
Not hard, not enough to really hurt, but just enough to make me gasp, to make heat pool low in my stomach, to make me feel fucking desperate.
Connor chuckles against my skin, the sound rough and smug, like he knows. “Give me that sound again, gorgeous,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the spot he just bit.
I want to say something back—something smart, something bratty—but my brain is too foggy with need to work properly. I arch into him instead, silently demanding more, and he fucking delivers.
“See what you do to me, mo stóirín ?” he murmurs, brushing his lips along the curve of my jaw. “Every time you look at me with those big blue eyes, every time you argue, every time you fuckin’ breathe—you make me lose my goddamn mind.”
His hands move, slipping beneath my shirt, pushing it up inch by inch, his thumbs brushing against my ribs, my stomach. His fingers spread wide, covering my skin like he owns it, like he’s claiming me with his touch alone.
He’s so fucking careful.
So fucking gentle.
And it makes me feel like I’m going to break.
“Connor,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
He groans, leaning back just enough to gently pull my shirt over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His green eyes darken as they roam over me, his jaw clenching like he’s holding himself back.
From need because of me, or from anger because of the bruises all over my torso. I’m not sure.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”
His hands return, skimming over my bare skin, tracing every bruise, every scar, every fucking part of me that’s his to touch. He leans down again, his mouth finding mine, and just as I start to lose myself in it—
His fucking phone rings.
Connor growls against my lips, ignoring it, his hands tightening on my hips as if that’s what’s important right now.
I pull back just enough to glare at him. “Maybe you should get that.”
He groans, dropping his head against my shoulder. “Maybe they should fuck off.”
The phone keeps ringing and I sigh, shoving at his chest. “Connor.”
He mutters a curse, reaching for the phone, still hovering over me. He barely glances at the screen before frowning. “Sofia?” he whispers.
My stomach plummets.
Who the fuck is Sofia?
Before I can even process the sudden burst of cold jealousy, Connor presses the phone to his ear, irritation lacing his voice as he listens to the person on the other end. “What do you mean you’re outside?”
My blood turns to ice.
I sit up slightly, wincing as pain lances through my ribs, but I don’t take my eyes off of him. He’s frowning now, running a hand through his hair, tension rolling off of him in waves.
“Fuck me sideways,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there now.”
He ends the call, tossing the phone onto the nightstand while looking confused as fuck. I swallow hard, my throat tight, trying not to let my emotions show, trying not to care, but he fucking notices.
His gaze softens slightly as he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “Duty calls.”
I force myself to smirk. “Didn’t know you were on call for random women.”
His lips twitch, but there’s something unreadable in his expression as he brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “It’s not what you think, Babyface.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because no matter how much I pretend, no matter how much I want to act like it doesn’t bother me, it fucking does.
Connor watches me for a second longer like he’s trying to read my mind, like he knows I’m spiraling. But instead of saying anything, instead of reassuring me, instead of staying—
He leaves.
And just like that, the warmth, the safety, the certainty of him is gone.