Chapter 30
Malachai
I discreetly watched from the black SUV parked across the street as Indigo walked out of the studio with company.
Cooly and Diamond. Indigo had told me about her, and I’d already had her investigated.
She was a stripper, no criminal record, a few years of college—infinitely less harmful than Maya. I was okay with them being friends.
But Cooly, not so much. I had explicitly told her to stay away from him.
Now he had his hand resting on her lower back.
I knew she wouldn’t listen; I’d followed her for a few days waiting for him to show up.
I knew he would. I had seen the way he looked at her that night at the rooftop venue.
He wanted her. My grip tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked beneath my knuckles.
Diamond was laughing, pulling Indigo into the passenger side of a rented convertible. The three of them looked… comfortable. Like old friends. New York had followed her home.
The old Malachai would’ve already been out of the car, putting a bullet in Cooly’s skull and dragging Indigo home by her throat. But I was trying. For her. I was fucking trying.
I followed them, keeping a safe distance as they headed down Gulf to Bay.
Cooly pulled into a small boutique shop right on the beachfront strip—one of those overpriced places that sold tiny bikinis and sunscreen that cost fifty dollars a bottle. I parked farther down and watched through the boutique windows as the three of them went inside.
Diamond dragged Indigo toward the clothing racks, holding up scraps of fabric that barely deserved to be called clothing.
She picked out two bathing suits and showed them to her.
Indigo laughed, and they disappeared into a dressing room.
When she finally came out in a black string bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination, Cooly’s eyes completely devoured her.
He said something that made her smile and spin for him.
My jaw clenched so hard I tasted copper in the back of my throat.
She’s mine. That body is mine.
They bought the suits. Cooly paid.
By the time they made it to Clearwater Beach, the sun was high and vicious.
I left the SUV and walked out onto the concrete pier like a normal man enjoying the view. I stayed far enough back to remain invisible, but close enough to see everything. I leaned against the railing, my eyes locked on them through the distance.
Indigo looked like pure sin in that new black bikini.
The saltwater and sunlight made her dark skin glow.
Diamond was splashing her, both of them laughing like idiots in the surf.
Cooly stayed close—entirely too close. He handed her drinks, grabbed her by her waist when she stumbled in the breaking waves, and whispered shit in her ear that made her throw her head back and laugh again.
But other than that, they looked like friends. Just friends.
I stayed until I couldn’t take the pressure in my chest anymore. Then I tossed an untouched water bottle into the backseat, got in the car, and drove home.
I had called her phone, but I didn't interrupt her day. Progress.
Even if it tasted like pure acid in my throat.
Indigo came home a little after ten o'clock, heavily drunk.
Sand clung to her bare legs. Her hair was wild and tangled from the ocean wind. The new black bikini was entirely visible under a sheer cover-up, and she smelled like saltwater, cheap tequila, and coconut oil.
I was waiting for her in the living room, the lights dimmed low, a glass of whiskey in my hand.
“Where have you been? How did you get home drunk?” I asked, keeping my voice entirely even.
She swayed over to me with that dangerous, lopsided little smile. “With some friends. And an Uber.”
“Which friends?”
Instead of answering, she climbed straight into my lap, straddling me on the couch. Her thick, sandy thighs pressed hard against my jeans as she reached between us and pulled her bikini bottoms to the side.
“Not tonight, Malachai,” she breathed against my neck. “Just fuck me.”
She reached between our bodies, freeing my dick from my gym shorts.
She rose slightly, tugging her bikini bottoms to the side with zero shame.
I was already hard—had been since I watched her on that beach hours ago.
She didn’t wait. She sank down on me in one slow, wet glide, gasping loudly as I stretched her open.
“God, this dick is so fucking good… baby,” she moaned into my shoulder. “So thick… so deep. I love this shit.”
Her hips rolled in those perfect, practiced dancer circles, taking every single inch of me while the loose sand on her skin rubbed against my clothes. She was sweaty, sun-drunk, and desperate, using my weight to burn off whatever guilt or taste of freedom she’d experienced today.
I gripped her ass hard enough to bruise, but I let her stay in control of the rhythm.
She came with my name on her tongue like a desperate prayer, her body trembling and clenching violently around my length. I followed right after her, spilling deep inside her core while she kept whispering how perfect my dick was.
Afterward, she collapsed heavily against my chest, still full of me, her breathing ragged and hard.
I slowly brushed the loose sand from her bare back and held her tight against me. I didn’t ask about Cooly like I wanted to. Instead, I remembered all the times I had told her to ignore Sasha.
She had come home to me. So in the end, did it really matter?