Chapter 17
Indigo
The wine I drank had my feelings sitting heavy in my chest, making everything feel loose and stupid.
Making me feel petty. I’d had too much at dinner on purpose.
Because sitting across from him at breakfast, listening to him talk about how he let me stab him just so I could feel better, left me feeling like I needed something to take the edge off the guilt crawling up my throat.
We were in bed, side by side, not touching. The silence between us felt louder than the city outside.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, his voice low and flat.
“I’m not thinking.”
“You’re lying.”
I turned my head. His profile was sharp in the dark—all hard lines and shadows. A beautiful statue that could kill you without blinking.
“You were right,” I whispered. “About Dame.”
He didn’t move. He just kept staring at the ceiling like I hadn’t said anything at all.
“I spent three years hating you for something you didn’t even do.”
“Longer than that,” he replied quietly.
A dry, bitter laugh slipped out of me. “Yeah… longer than that.”
The silence took over again. I could hear every slow, measured breath he took.
“I almost called you,” I said.
That got his attention. His head turned, and those gray eyes pinned me to the mattress.
“When?”
I swallowed hard. “Pick a night. Any night in the last three years. The first week I was gone. The night I sold my wedding ring. The night some drunk asshole grabbed me in the club and I had to break his wrist. I typed your number so many times the screen started to feel warm.”
His jaw flexed. “But you never pressed call. So why even say it?”
“Because I knew what would happen,” I said.
“You’d answer. You’d say my name. And I’d come back if you asked me.
I was too comfortable with you back then.
I accused you of romanticizing our forced marriage, but I had started to, too.
You were the beast who turned human for a little while.
” I took a breath. “I felt safe with you, even though you’re the antithesis of safe. ”
“You should have called before you had to because you needed me.”
“No, I shouldn’t have. Because you used the excuse of being ‘born indifferent’ to disregard my feelings when it involved Sasha. And look what happened. You deserved to be left the fuck alone.” I didn’t feel guilty enough to bite my tongue.
He shifted closer, not touching me yet, but close enough that I felt the heat of his body.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. The words felt foreign in my mouth. “For hating you for the wrong things. I still hate you a little for the right reasons, though,” I mumbled into his skin.
He moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. His teeth sank into the side of my neck, hard enough to bruise. I gasped, my hand flying up to push at his chest, but he was already there, pressing me down with his weight, pinning me exactly where he wanted me.
“What the fuck, Malachai? Are you a fucking dog?”
“You said you hate me.”
“So? I can say what the fuck I want to say.” The pain pushed the guilt further down.
“That is true, and I would let you—if it were true,” he continued, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t hate me. You react to me. You resist me. You try to create distance where there shouldn’t be any.”
I swallowed, my pulse still racing from the bite. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I do,” he said simply.
His fingers wrapped around my throat, his thumb pressing against my pulse like he was checking whether it still belonged to him.
“If you hate me, why are you here?” He leaned in closer. “If you hate me, why the guilt? You’ve been walking around all day like a kicked puppy, avoiding my eyes, chewing on your bottom lip every time I look at you. Guilty little bird.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Without warning, he snatched the thin silk of my panties and ripped them clean off in one brutal tug.
The fabric tore with a sound that made my stomach flip.
Cool air hit my bare skin a second before his hand did—two thick fingers sliding roughly through my folds, spreading the slickness that had no business being there.
“If you hate me, why is your pussy so wet?”
“Okay, I’m wet. Now what? I’m going to keep telling you I hate you when I feel like it. I’ve already apologized. What do you want me to do? Stab myself? You want to stab me, Malachai?”
“I want you to apologize,” he said, his voice flat and low. “In a way I actually give a fuck about. Your words don’t mean shit because you don’t even know how to use them to tell the truth. You use them to hide. Use your body to tell me the truth instead.”
“Malachai—”
He pushed two fingers inside me without warning, deep and sudden. My back arched hard.
“Try again.”
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, hips twitching against his hand.
“Not good enough.” He curled his fingers, stroking that spot that made my toes curl while his palm ground against my clit. “You hated me for three years over the wrong shit. You ran. You let other men look at what’s mine. Say it like you mean it.”
He withdrew his fingers, leaving me clenching around nothing. Then he shoved my thighs wider, lined up, and slammed into me in one thrust. If I hadn’t been so wet, he might have ripped something. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders.
“I’m sorry—” The words broke on a moan as he started fucking me with hard, deep, punishing strokes that made the bed creak. “I’m sorry I blamed you for Dame. I’m sorry I ran.”
His hand tightened slightly around my throat, just enough to make my head swim.
“More.”
“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” I whimpered, legs locking around his waist. “I’m sorry I left you bleeding on the floor—”
He groaned, low and dark, hips snapping harder. The wet slap of skin filled the room.
“Keep going, little bird.”
“I’m sorry I let other men see me dance,” I breathed, my voice shaking. “I’m sorry I made you wait three years. I’m sorry—” I would have said anything at that moment.
He suddenly pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach like I weighed nothing, and yanked my hips up. He shoved back inside me from behind in one vicious stroke, deeper than before. His chest pressed against my back, his hand snaking around to grip my throat again from behind.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded, his voice still terrifyingly calm even as he fucked me like he was trying to break me.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to give it to him that easily. “Fuck you.”
The sharp crack of his palm against my ass echoed through the room. Hard. Stinging. He didn’t slow his thrusts for a second.
“I said, tell me.”
Another hard slap landed on the same spot, making me cry out.
“You—” Slap. “—belong—” Slap. “—to me.”
“I’m sorry—” I moaned, tears pricking my eyes from the mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure. “I belong to you. I’ve always belonged to you—”
“Good girl.”
He reached under me and rubbed my clit in tight, ruthless circles. My next orgasm hit me like a freight train—violent, shattering, my walls clamping down around his thick cock as I screamed into the mattress.
He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, chasing his own release with short, brutal thrusts until he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural sound, flooding me.
For a long moment, the only sounds were our ragged breathing.
He stayed inside me, softening slowly, his hand still loosely around my throat. His lips brushed the shell of my ear.
“Next time you feel guilty, this is how you apologize. Not with words. With this pussy. Understand?”
I nodded weakly, still trembling around him.
“Yes.”
He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck—almost gentle, except it was right over the fresh bruise he’d left.
“Good. Now say it one more time while my cum is still dripping out of you.