Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
INDIGO
Malik and I stroll hand in hand through the carnival; warmth spreads from his fingers to mine, and I smile. The colored lights from the stalls bounce off his face, making him look even more handsome than usual. I can see him taking it all in—the laughing kids, the cotton candy stands, the games that promise prizes they never deliver. But behind his smile, I sense the tiniest bit of pain. I don’t like that. No one should make my man feel bad about himself. He’s perfect. Perfect for me.
I tighten my grip on his hand and think about ways I can show him exactly what I think of him, to make sure he knows. As we pass a row of stalls, my eyes land on a familiar structure in the distance. The funhouse towers above the crowd, and suddenly, a wicked idea takes root in my mind. I glance over at Malik, biting my bottom lip to hide my grin.
"Let's go through the funhouse!" I suggest, my voice teasing and mischievous.
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You sure? Those things are always kinda… boring, aren’t they?"
I smirk, giving him a quick wink. "Not with me, they’re not."
Without waiting for his reply, I tug him forward, weaving through the crowd until we’re standing in front of the entrance. There’s a teenager at the door, hardly glancing up from her phone. I hand over four tickets, and she barely acknowledges us, muttering, "Enjoy the house."
The moment we step inside, the light dims, casting the whole space in a soft, eerie glow. The floor beneath us is slightly tilted, making us sway as we walk forward. Mirrors line the walls on either side, stretching and twisting our reflections into strange shapes. I catch Malik’s eye in one of them, and he laughs, his reflection showing him with a massive head and tiny legs.
"I think this mirror’s broken," he jokes, giving me a lopsided grin that melts my heart.
"Or maybe it’s just showing you a different kind of perfect," I reply, sliding my hand up his arm. "Either way, it’s a keeper."
We move deeper into the funhouse, passing through hallways that narrow and twist, decorated with neon paint splashes that glow under black lights. The further we go, the quieter it becomes, the carnival noise fading into a distant hum. I lead him around a corner, and we come to a long, dark hallway. There’s a red message painted on the wall in loopy handwriting:
The dark is full of tricks and lies, but trust your steps, and win the prize.
I read it aloud, laughing softly. "Sounds like we’ve got to make our own way through this one."
Malik chuckles but looks around, still not entirely convinced. "What do you think the prize is?"
"Oh, you’ll see," I say, giving him a wink. And before he can say anything else, I shove him gently against the wall to our right, pressing my body against his as I jump up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He catches me instinctively, his hands finding their place on my ass, his fingers pressing against me.
"Baby," he says, a hint of scolding in his voice, but it’s softened by the smile I see playing on his lips.
"I told you to wear something easily removed," I purr, running my hands up his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. Slowly, I bring my lips to his, and our mouths meet in a soft, teasing kiss that quickly deepens. His hands hold me tightly, pressing me closer to him as my fingers slide into his hair. I kiss him deeply, our tongues exploring, each kiss pulling me further into the heat building between us.
He pulls back, breathless, his eyes dark with desire. "You’re pushing me to not be a gentleman, Indigo."
I smirk, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Threats… I like that." I giggle softly, sliding down from his hold, watching the way his gaze follows me with a hunger that makes my skin tingle.
Dropping to my knees in front of him, I look up through my lashes, and run my hands up his thighs, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his joggers. His breathing grows heavier, his eyes intent on me.
I tug his joggers down, my eyes never leaving his. He sucks in a breath, his hands moving to steady himself against the wall. I savor the moment, dragging it out, letting the tension build as I take in every detail of him—the way his jaw clenches, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes seem to darken with each passing second.
Finally, my prize is before me, thick and ready, and I can't resist the thrill that courses through me. Starting at the base, I lean forward, my tongue darting out to trace a line up his length, feeling the warmth of him under my touch. I hear a low growl escape his throat and my pussy dampens. The sound of it is intoxicating, and I can’t help but smile, knowing I’m the one bringing him to this point.
When I reach the tip, I swirl my tongue around it slowly, savoring every reaction. His breathing is ragged, and I can feel his body tense under my touch. His hands find their way into my hair, his fingers threading through it, holding on tightly as if he’s grounding himself.
“Indigo…” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper. The need in his tone sends warmth flooding through me, a heady rush that only makes me want him more. I look up at him, locking eyes, and there’s an intensity there that makes everything else—the funhouse, the carnival, the world outside—fade into nothing. Right now, it’s just us, lost in this perfect, private moment.
I wrap my lips around his thick cock and take him deeper, working him slowly, savoring every reaction, every groan, every tensed muscle. His fingers tighten in my hair, and I know he’s trying to hold back, to keep control, but I’m not about to make it easy for him. I pick up my pace, letting him feel exactly what he does to me, showing him just how much I want him.
He lets out a low, shuddering breath, and I know he’s close. His hand tightens in my hair and I hum around him from the sting of him pulling at the roots.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
I pull off his cock so I can reply. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Using my front teeth, I graze his swollen mushroom head. He hisses, but I quickly kiss away the pain and take him into the back of my throat.
I bob up and down on his shaft, letting him slide to the back of my throat until my nose touches his groin. Holding him there, I cup his balls with my right hand and squeeze.
With a loud groan, Malik’s dick twitches, and I know he’s going to come. I pull back and lap at his tip, while stroking him quickly with my other hand.
“Fuck, baby,” he sighs and his whole body quakes as rope after rope of his hot cum covers my tongue and lips.
I savor the taste of him, sharp and slightly bitter, before I swallow every drop he gives me.
His hand moves from my hair to my shoulder, pulling me up gently, his eyes burning with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
“You’re not a good girl,” he whispers, his voice rough as he pulls me to him, capturing my mouth in a kiss.
I smile against his lips, whispering, “Never claimed to be. Now let's go win something squishy and then I want to ride that cock.”
Malik pulls up his pants, and this time it’s him who’s practically dragging me through the last part of the funhouse.
The exit looms ahead, a flashing sign above us blinking wildly in the dim light as we step out. The disorienting funhouse mirrors and the dizzying maze of colors finally fade, and the cool night breeze hits me like a breath of fresh air.
"Tell me what you want me to win," he demands, his voice clear and firm.
I scan the carnival booths, all the colorful prizes hanging from ropes and stacked behind the counters. A sea of stuffed animals and inflatable toys surrounds me. But one catches my eye—small and unique. A cute little plague doctor stuffed toy, its tiny mask and long beak drawing me in. I need it.
"That one!" I point.
Malik smirks, nodding. "Done."
We make our way toward the game. It's one of those carnival booths with a ring toss—a flimsy plastic hoop, and a stack of glass bottles lined up on a counter. The kind where winning feels like a complete fluke. The game operator, a man with a few missing teeth, flashes us a crooked grin.
"Two tries for five bucks," he tells us, his voice raspy. "You gotta land that ring on one of the bottles. It's harder than it looks."
Malik hands over the five-dollar bill without hesitation, rolling up his sleeves. He takes the first ring and flicks his wrist, sending it flying toward a bottle. It misses by a good few inches, landing on the counter with a soft thud.
The second ring arcs through the air—closer, but still no cigar.
“Better luck next time,” the operator says, barely concealing a grin.
Malik doesn’t flinch. He pulls out another five, hands it over, and gets ready for the next round.
A third try. Then a fourth. Finally, the ring lands on a bottle, the glass clinking sharply as it stays put.
The operator lifts his eyebrows, impressed. “Pick a prize, my man.”
Malik doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll take the plague doctor,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Whatever you say,” the guy mutters, grabbing the toy and handing it over.
I take it, feeling its soft, squishy body in my hands. The little plague doctor is mine now, and it makes me smile.
"Time to go," Malik purrs, and I follow him, feeling his hand on my back, guiding me away from the carnival games. He moves with purpose, practically pushing me toward his truck.
We still have a few tickets left, but I can tell he's ready to leave. Malik spots a little girl sitting at a picnic table with her parents, cotton candy in hand.
He heads their way, handing the leftover tickets to her. "Here ya go, sweetie. We're leaving and have all these tickets left. Think you could use 'em for us?"
The little girl’s eyes light up, her face breaking into a huge smile. "For real, mister?"
"For real." He laughs, looking at her parents. "As long as it’s okay with your mom and dad."
The dad gives a nod of approval.
"Now I can ride things! Mommy said we could only get cotton candy ‘cause we're broke."
The mom's cheeks flush red as she looks away, clearly embarrassed.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a hundred-dollar bill, handing it to her. "Get yourselves a real meal while you're here and play some games. Enjoy tonight. Don't ever be embarrassed for struggling—it makes you who you are, and your little girl will appreciate life more."
"Thank you," the woman says, her voice trembling as tears well in her eyes.
We turn and walk away, heading toward the truck, neither of us saying a word about what just happened. We don’t need to; it wasn’t about gratification or praise. It was just the right thing to do.
When we reach the vehicle, Malik opens the door for me, making sure I’m settled in the seat before climbing in after me. He starts the engine, and the roar of the truck cuts through the quiet night. The ride is peaceful, the sounds of the road and the soft tapping of Malik’s fingers on the steering wheel the only noise breaking the silence.
I can't wait to get home. I've worked him all up and he's frustrated to the max even though he came. I can't wait to see what happens when we get there. I hope I'm sore tomorrow.