Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INDIGO
The glow of the streetlights bathes my house in a haze as I slide my key into the lock. The click of the deadbolt giving way is a whispered invitation, one that Malik follows, trailing just behind me.
I shrug off my coat and toss it over a chair, then turn to him. His eyes track my movements, watching me the way he did at the bar—like he’s memorizing me, cataloging every shift of muscle, every breath. It should unnerve me. Instead, it makes my skin prickle with something dark and electric.
"Make yourself comfortable," I murmur, voice dipping low, lazy with satisfaction.
But Malik doesn’t move. His gaze flicks to the floor, then the couch, then back to me. His shoulders tighten, his jaw sets.
Something’s wrong.
My spine straightens, instincts sharpening. "What?"
"It's just... Elle."
I hate hearing her name on his lips.
It drips like poison, infecting the air between us, tainting this—this thing we’re building, whatever the fuck it is.
Malik exhales, heavy, like the weight of Elle is still pressing on his chest. Like she still has her claws in him, buried deep, making him doubt himself.
Not on my fucking watch.
I feel it in my teeth, in my bones, in the dark, this coiling thing inside me that doesn’t like to be threatened. Because that’s what she is. Not just some ghost from his past. No. A threat.
And I eliminate threats.
I tip my head, watching him closely. He looks like prey. My big, broad, beautiful man, standing there like he’s waiting for the next hit, like he expects me to say something cruel, to make him feel smaller.
No, baby. I’m not her.
" What about her?" My voice is calm, even, but there's something sharp curling under it, something deadly.
Malik shifts, uneasy. His gaze flicks to the floor.
"She made me feel… less."
Less.
The word lands like a blade in my ribs. Malik, who carries entire buildings on his back. Malik, who moves through the world like he belongs, like everything belongs to him. Malik, who belongs to me.
And this bitch made him feel less?
Oh.
Oh, I’ll kill her for this.
"Elle doesn’t know you," I tell him, stepping closer. My fingers graze his forearm, gentle, coaxing. "She has no idea what you’re capable of—what you’ve built for yourself."
Because I know how men like Malik work. He says he knows, but the damage is already done.
The seed has been planted.
And seeds?
They grow.
Unless I rip them out by the fucking roots.
His eyes stay downcast. He still doubts. And I? I want to burn the world for him.
So I do the only thing I know how to do. I get close, press my body against his, let him feel me. Let him feel what’s real, what’s his .
"Let me show you just how good enough you are."
His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides. His eyes finally lift to mine, and there it is— hunger .
Good. That’s my Malik.
I trail my fingers along his jaw, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. My touch moves lower, skimming his throat, pressing lightly over his pulse.
Then I kiss him, hard.
The impact is a collision of mine, mine, mine . A brand. A claim.
And he takes it.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me in, his grip firm, his mouth devouring. He kisses like he wants to drown in me, and fuck if I don’t want to let him. My fingers dig into his broad shoulders, feeling the heat of him, the power of him, and still— still —all I can think about is her.
Elle.
I pull away just enough to bite at his lower lip, to whisper against his mouth, "She’s wrong, you know."
Malik groans, deep and low, his forehead pressing against mine. "I know."
But does he?
Does he know that if Elle was still trying to dig her nails into him, I’d rip them out one by one? That if she so much as looked at him the wrong way, I’d make sure she never looked at anything again?
Because that’s the thing about me, baby.
I don’t just protect what’s mine.
I destroy what threatens it.
I kiss him again, this time slower, deeper, like I’m trying to taste every inch of him, like I’m trying to drown in the warmth of his mouth. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against my lips. He responds instantly, hands gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him as his tongue sweeps against mine.
This isn’t rushed.
This isn’t frantic.
This is something else. Something that coils hot and low in my stomach, something that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t know how to name.
Malik kisses me like he has all the time in the world to memorize me. Like he’s savoring every second, every breath, every little sound that escapes my throat. And fuck, it makes my head spin.
I break away just long enough to whisper, “You’re mine.”
A statement, not a question. A fact written in stone, in blood, in the way our bodies fit together like we were carved for this moment.
His grip tightens, his lips ghosting over my jaw, down my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice thick and wrecked. “Yours.”
And then he proves it.
The outside world vanishes, swallowed by the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. I kiss him again, slower this time, letting the moment stretch, savoring the feel of his lips moving against mine. There’s nothing hurried, nothing frantic—just heat lingering between us, deepening with every touch.
Malik’s grip tightens, fingers sinking into my hips like he’s anchoring himself to me, like he needs this as much as I do. The way he moves is deliberate, controlled, but I can feel the tension in him, the way he holds himself back.
I want him to let go. I want him to give in.
His hands roam my body, leaving fire in their wake. I press into him, chasing the friction, the feeling of being completely consumed. He groans against my lips, and I smirk, loving the way he sounds when he’s losing himself in me.
His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with something primal. Hunger. Possession.
Mine.
I reach up, threading my fingers through his beard, tugging just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. He likes that. I like that he likes it.
I nip at his bottom lip, dragging my nails down his back, and he groans, his breath hitching. "That all you got, big guy?" I murmur against his mouth, teasing. "I was expecting a little more… ruin."
He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against mine, his eyes dark with something raw. "Indigo," he growls, and fuck, I like the way he says my name. Low, rough, like a prayer or a curse.
I smirk. "Say it again."
"Indigo."
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. He just gives me what I want, like he already knows resistance is useless.
Malik kisses down my throat, slow and thorough, like he’s making a map of me with his mouth. My skin burns under his touch, anticipation coiling tight in my belly. I’m buzzing, electric, ready to push, to provoke, to see how far I can take this before he snaps.
"Malik," I breathe, sliding my hand up his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. My fingers curl lightly around the fabric of his shirt, giving the faintest tug. "You planning on keeping me waiting all night?"
Malik’s lips curve into a small smile, his eyes searching mine as if trying to decipher my thoughts. “I like the way you say my name,” he whispers, his voice sending shivers down my spine.
I give a soft laugh, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “It’s a good name.”
He presses a tender kiss against my forehead before pulling back slightly, his gaze still locked on mine. “You said something earlier,” he says, his tone serious now. “About me being yours.”
My heart skips a beat at the reminder, and I nod slowly, wondering where he’s going with this.
“What does that mean to you?” he asks, his hand trailing down my arm in gentle caresses.
I bite my lip as I consider his question. It’s not something I’ve ever really thought about before. In the past, relationships were always about control and possession—about owning someone else. But with Malik, it feels different.
“To me,” I begin carefully, “it means that you are someone I want to protect and keep safe.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “But it also means that I trust you enough to let you see all of me—the good and the bad—and still choose to be with me.”
His eyes soften at my words, and I can tell they mean something to him. “I feel the same way about you,” he says quietly. “You’re mine too.”
There’s an unspoken understanding between us now—a mutual declaration of love and commitment without actually saying the words out loud.
His gaze deepens, and I can feel the air around us thickening with something electric. The weight of our confessions hangs in the space, a tangible bond that draws us closer. I tilt my head slightly, closing the distance between us as I press my lips to his.
I can taste the faint remnants of whiskey on his tongue. I deepen the kiss, sliding my hands up his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. My nails skim lightly along the back of his head, and he responds with a low growl that vibrates through me, awakening something primal within. Our breaths mingle as we lose ourselves in each other.
I whisper, feeling bold yet vulnerable all at once. “I want you.”
He nods slowly, his expression shifting to one of hunger mixed with reverence. “Then let’s take our time,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across my cheek as if memorizing every detail of my face.
With deliberate slowness, he leads me to my room and lays me back against the plush sheets of my bed, his body hovering above mine like an ancient protector. The way he looks at me makes my heart race—there's no judgment in those eyes, only an invitation to explore each other.
He kisses me again; this time deeper, more languid as he takes his time tracing every curve of my mouth with his tongue. My skin begins to tingle under his touch as he moves down my neck, planting soft kisses along my collarbone that send waves of pleasure coursing through me.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against my skin, his voice thick with need.
“I want you to make love to me,” I reply breathily, feeling emboldened by the raw honesty between us.
His gaze darkens, and he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes before reaching for the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he tugs it over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest. My fingers instinctively reach for him, tracing the warmth of his skin. His belt follows, then his jeans, each movement deliberate as he undresses, never breaking eye contact.
Only when there’s nothing left between us does he trail his mouth further down, exploring every inch of my body with reverent kisses. He takes his time peeling away layers of clothing until I’m bare beneath him—vulnerable yet safe in this cocoon we’ve created.
His hands are warm as they glide over my skin; every touch is deliberate and tender. The way he worships my body feels foreign, yet exhilarating—it’s not just about lust, but an unspoken promise shared between us.
As he slowly enters me, I gasp softly at the sensation, the fullness mixed with a delicious ache. He pauses for a moment to let me adjust before moving gently inside me in a slow rhythm that builds gradually. Each thrust is deliberate and measured; it feels like a dance—one only we know.
I meet him stroke for stroke, my body responding eagerly to his movements as our bodies become one. Every touch, every caress ignites a fire within me that spreads through my veins like wildfire.
Malik’s breath becomes ragged as he picks up the pace, his hips meeting mine with increasing urgency. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer as we move together in perfect harmony.
Our moans mingle in the air as pleasure ripples through us, taking us higher and higher until we reach an ecstatic crescendo together. Malik collapses beside me, his body flush against mine, our limbs tangled in the sheets, slick with sweat and satisfaction.
For a few moments, we’re both silent—our chests rising and falling in unison as we catch our breath. Malik rolls off of me, pulling me into his embrace with an arm around my waist.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.
I smirk, pressing a slow kiss to his jaw. "More than okay."
He hums in response, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go."
The words settle deep in my bones, in a place I didn’t know was empty until now. I don’t say anything, just curl into him, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me into something dangerously close to peace.
But even as sleep starts to pull me under, a thought lingers, dark and possessive.
Elle tried to make him feel small.
She won’t get the chance to do it again.