Chapter 15 Willow #2
But he’s right. That’s exactly what it feels like.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It is.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then he glances over at me. “Have you eaten today?”
“What?”
The sudden change of topic catches me by surprise, and he raises an eyebrow as he repeats the question. “Eaten. Have you eaten anything today?”
Have I?
It takes me a few seconds to remember. The past couple days have been a whirlwind, as I tried to pay rent and realized that my account had been zeroed out, then went to my mom’s place to confront her, only to have to go back to my landlord and beg him for an extension.
Of course the asshole said no, so I scraped together some boxes and started packing early this morning, skipping classes so I could get it done.
I ate some leftovers over the sink last night, but other than that…
“No,” I whisper tiredly, shaking my head. “I’ll get something at home.”
Malice doesn’t respond. But a few blocks later, he flips his blinker on and turns into the parking lot of a little Mexican food place. When he pulls into a parking place and stops the car, I stare at him in surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he grunts. “You need to eat, or you’re gonna pass out. Your face is white as a damn sheet.”
He throws open his car door and gets out, and I manage to rouse myself enough to do the same, following him into the restaurant. There’s a counter up front with a giant menu board above it, and Malice gestures to it. “What do you want?”
“Um…” I’m still reeling a little from the fact that he’s offering to buy me lunch, especially after getting back the money my mom took from me—or a big chunk of it, anyway. It feels weird, so I glance quickly at the menu before muttering, “A beef taco.”
He narrows his eyes at me, then turns to the round-faced woman behind the counter. “Three beef tacos and a chicken taco.” He glances back at me. “Do you eat fish?”
“Uh, yes.”
“And a fish taco,” he tells the woman, rattling off a few sides, drinks, and a vegetarian burrito before digging out his wallet to pay.
I watch in stunned silence as she puts in the order, telling him it’ll be ready in a few minutes. Malice stands like a statue beside me as we wait, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on the kitchen in the back where they’re preparing our food.
When the woman at the front counter finally hands him a large plastic bag full of Styrofoam containers, I expect him to head back out to the car.
But instead, he walks over to one of the rickety looking tables set against the front window, yanking out a chair and sinking into it as he sets the bag down.
He starts digging out containers of food, and I tentatively take the seat opposite him.
Almost every single container gets placed in front of me, with the exception of the foil wrapped burrito, which he takes for himself.
“I…” I swallow, glancing from the food to him. “I just asked for a taco.”
He shoots me a look, his elbows resting on the table. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his muscled arms, and a multitude of tattoos swoop and curl over his exposed skin. “Was that all you wanted?”
No.
My stomach is starting to grumble just from the spicy scent of the food. Now that some of the nerves twisting my stomach are starting to fade away, I’m realizing how hungry I am.
I don’t say that out loud, but Malice can clearly read it on my face—either that, or he hears my stomach, which lets out an audible gurgle.
“Eat.” He jerks his chin at the food.
Too hungry to resist any longer, I tear into the containers, polishing off two of the beef tacos so fast it’s like they never existed.
I move on to the chicken one next, following that with some rice and beans, and I glance up to see Malice watching me, his gray eyes glittering.
He’s only gotten through a few bites of his burrito, which makes me think he’s probably spent the last few minutes just watching me stuff my face.
A flush creeps up my cheeks, and I glance back down. I’m still a little hungry, but it’s starting to fade, so I pick up the soda he got me and take a long sip. When I look back up at him through my eyelashes, he’s still watching me.
“Do you not eat meat?” I ask, mostly just to fill the silence.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m a vegetarian.”
That surprises the hell out of me, to be honest. Everything about Malice reminds me so much of a predator that I can easily imagine him as a lion or something, stalking some poor antelope before devouring it whole.
I always figured he was the kind of guy who ordered his steaks and hamburgers rare and dripping with blood.
It’s just a reminder that there’s so much I don’t know about this man, so many things I can’t predict about him.
“Oh,” I murmur lamely, not sure what else to say. “Have you always been a vegetarian?”
“No.” His one-word answer is curt, and at first, I don’t think he’ll say anything else. But then he adds, “A while ago, I had a lot of choices taken away from me. This is one choice I get to make for myself.”
His answer is cryptic, and I find myself wanting to know more, but I bite back the questions, focusing instead on the rest of my food. I don’t quite manage to finish it all, but I get pretty close by the time Malice finishes his burrito and jerks his chin at me.
“You done?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He grunts in response, scraping his chair back and throwing the containers away before leading me out of the restaurant.
We drive the rest of the way back to my place in silence, and I cling to the bag of money that he made my mom give me. Malice’s hands are tight on the steering wheel, and I can almost sense some new agitation brewing in him, although I have no idea what caused it this time.
When we reach my apartment building, he rolls to a stop by the curb, staring out the front windshield. I hesitate for a second, anxious to get back to the safety of my apartment and away from the storm that seems to be brewing inside this car. But I can’t seem to make myself move.
Turning toward him, I take a breath, then whisper the words that have been hovering on my lips ever since we left my mom’s place.
“Thank you.”
It leaves my mouth in a whisper that still somehow sounds loud in the car.
Malice’s head whips toward me, something flashing in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything in response, just shoves his door open and gets out. Before I can react to that, he’s yanking open the passenger door and hauling me out too.
Everything about him has turned cold and brutal again, any sign of the kindness from before completely gone.
He presses me up against the side of his car, his expression hard. He narrows his eyes, and his voice is edged with something harsh when he speaks.
“Don’t thank me. And don’t go thinking I’m a good man, Solnyshka. Spinning some kind of fucking fairy tale in your head.”
His hands are tight on my arms as he glares at me.
I don’t understand why what I said made him so angry.
It’s not the same kind of anger that radiated from him when he confronted my mother, but it’s just as overwhelming.
His nostrils flare, and he leans in even closer, looming over me and pinning me between the car and the hard lines of his body.
One of his legs is between mine, and I can’t help the shiver that rushes through me as my clit grazes against his thigh. My body reacts involuntarily, my blood heating and my pulse racing.
Malice freezes, breathing hard.
His jaw tightens, and he leans in more with that leg, grinding his thigh purposefully against my clit. The friction makes me gasp softly, and he grips my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye.
“You want to know what I really am?” he breathes, his face just inches from mine. “I’m not a fucking hero.”
His words are harsh, but he doesn’t stop leaning into me as he speaks. He shifts his position slightly, wedging his thigh higher between my legs so that it puts friction right where I’m most sensitive, and I whimper softly, biting down on my lip.
My hips roll a little, riding his thigh, and I don’t think I could stop the movement if I wanted to. Jolts of electric heat are lancing through my body, and my face flames from the fact that I’m so close to coming apart, just from his leg pressed against my clit.
Malice doesn’t let up. He keeps grinding against me, those strong fingers still pressed to my jaw.
“I’m nobody’s savior,” he bites out, his voice strained. “I’m a monster. And if you cross me, you’ll find out just what that means.”
I can feel the tide of pleasure growing and growing, and I don’t know if it’s from the movement of his leg or the situation or some fucked up combination of the two. Either way, when I come, it’s with a sharp gasp, my mouth open as I press my hands against the warm metal of the car behind me.
I forget how to breathe for a second, shaking and trembling through the sensations, and Malice watches the entire thing.
His eyes never stray from my face, and he doesn’t move away, making me ride it out against his leg.
As my muscles finally go lax, the tension of the orgasm draining from them, he drops his head, burying his face in my hair as he murmurs something in what sounds like Russian.
“Ty izdayesh’ samyye krasivyye zvuki, kogda konchayesh’.”
He’s breathing hard when he pulls back, his pupils blown wide and his eyes even darker than usual.
He doesn’t say anything else, just steps away from me so fast that I nearly fall over, then walks around the car and gets in.
I have just enough time to shove myself away from his sleek vehicle before he revs the engine and drives off.
I stand on the curb, staring after the car long after it’s driven off.
My knees are weak, and my clit is throbbing. I can feel the aftershocks of my orgasm coursing through me, and I’m still panting, so breathless from what just happened.
My head is spinning, and if I thought I was confused when Malice bought me lunch, that’s nothing compared to how I feel now.