16. malakai #2
“I never said I was reasonable.” I curled my fingers around her wrist when she increased the pressure, holding her exactly where she had put herself.
“I said I’m not going to lie to you about it.
If you want to know whether I’ll try to think before I move next time, yes.
If you want me to promise I’ll watch somebody hurt you because you’d rather handle it yourself, I’m not giving you that. ”
She studied me for several seconds, close enough that I could see the tiny shift in her pupils when her attention dropped to my mouth.
Her anger had not disappeared. Neither had mine.
I was irritated with her for demanding certainty where none existed and more irritated with myself because she had every right to demand it.
She had spent too much of her life having people make decisions around her for me to pretend intent erased the effect.
“I can give you one thing,” I said. “If I interfere and you had it handled, you get to tell me I was an asshole. You don’t get an apology just because you wanted one.”
Echo’s mouth twitched before she stopped it. “That was almost cute.”
I tightened my grip on her wrist. “Careful.”
The faint amusement vanished under something warmer.
She shifted closer until her knee brushed mine, and the hand at my throat became less threat than deliberate contact.
“There it is. I was wondering how long you were going to manage all this calm bullshit before you started acting like yourself again.”
I turned us before she could push farther, guiding her back against the wall beside the landing without slamming her into it.
She let me move her, which mattered more than the fact that she immediately hooked two fingers into the front of my shirt and pulled me closer again.
Her chin lifted, eyes fixed on mine, waiting to see whether I would turn the argument into exactly what she had been baiting me toward.
I stayed close without kissing her, and after another beat Echo narrowed her eyes. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Asshole.”
Her fingers tightened in my shirt, and I caught the other wrist when she reached for me. I held both loosely enough that she could pull free if she wanted, then lowered my head until my mouth was near her ear. “You’re still trying to make me react on your timing.”
“You reacted pretty fucking fast upstairs.”
“That’s the problem we were discussing.”
She pulled one hand free and shoved at my shoulder, not hard enough to move me this time.
The argument stayed between us even as the tension shifted, because neither of us had forgotten what started it.
She wanted proof that my instinct did not become authority.
I wanted her to understand that refusing authority did not mean I could switch off concern whenever it became inconvenient.
Echo caught my jaw and kissed me before I decided whether I was finished thinking about it.
There was nothing hesitant in the contact.
She kissed the way she argued, directly and without leaving much room for misunderstanding, and I let her set the first pace before taking control of it.
When she tried to turn the kiss rougher, I slowed it instead, one hand settling at the back of her neck while the other stayed at her waist. The sound she made against my mouth was annoyed enough that I nearly smiled.
She broke away first and narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t start that shit where you decide I’m moving too fast.”
“I’m deciding I don’t want to rush, and you know that isn’t the same thing.”
Echo stared at me, breathing harder now, and for once did not immediately answer. Her hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers tightening there as though she needed something to do with them while she decided whether she hated the distinction enough to keep fighting over it.
I kissed her again before she could choose.
This time she met me without trying to force the pace, and the difference was immediate. When she pulled my shirt free from my waistband, I caught her hand again and waited until she looked at me. “Still pissed?”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m enjoying you not walking away.”
She went still for a fraction of a second, and I saw the instinct to turn it into a joke before she thought better of it. Instead, she dragged me closer by the shirt and kissed me hard enough to end the conversation for a while.
Her hand stayed on my throat while she kissed me.
She shoved her mouth against mine like she was still arguing, teeth catching my lower lip hard enough to reopen the split from the classroom.
I tasted blood again and let her have it.
My back hit the wall of the landing; the cold cinderblock bit through my sweater.
She crowded in until there was nowhere left to go, one thigh forcing between mine, the hand on my throat tightening just enough to make my pulse thud against her palm.
“Still pissed,” she repeated against my mouth, and I felt the words more than heard them.
“I noticed.”
She bit me for that. I laughed into it and got both hands under her jacket, shoving the leather open so I could get at the thin shirt underneath.
She didn’t stop me. She just kept her grip on my throat and used the leverage to roll her hips against the front of my trousers until my cock was fully hard and straining.
The second I tried to take control of the kiss she squeezed harder and I went still long enough for her to decide she liked the compliance.
“Good,” she muttered, and then her free hand was at my belt.
She got it open faster than I expected. The zipper followed.
She shoved my trousers and underwear down just far enough for my cock to spring free, already thick and leaking at the tip, the metal of the piercing catching the dim stairwell light.
Her fingers closed around the shaft, thumb brushing the barbell once, twice, testing the way it shifted under her skin.
I hissed. She didn’t stroke. She just held me there, tight, while she looked down between us like she was deciding exactly how she wanted to use it.
“You’re going to stand there and take it,” she said, voice low and still edged with the earlier anger. “No deciding for me. No jumping in. You keep your fucking hands where I put them.”