Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Malcolm
I pushed the door open with one hand while holding Summer securely in the other.
She was dead weight in my arms, her body warm, soft, and completely pliant against me.
The apartment smelled like her—vanilla, something floral, something faintly sweet.
It was smaller than I expected, but it had that lived-in feeling, that quiet warmth that made it obvious this was home to her.
I stepped inside, nudging the door shut behind me with my foot before walking toward the couch, lowering her carefully onto the cushions.
She stirred slightly as I settled her down, a sleepy hum escaping her lips as her fingers curled weakly into my jacket.
I carefully pried them off, making sure she was comfortable, and took a step back.
I should leave. She was safe, home, fine.
There was nothing more for me to do. I should walk out, shut the door, and forget this night ever happened.
But then she blinked, groggy and unfocused, her lashes fluttering as she looked at me.
"Malcolm?"
I froze, my name tumbling from her lips hitting me like a gut punch. I had no idea if she actually knew what she was saying or if her drunken mind was simply repeating a name buried in the depths of her memories. I forced myself to keep my voice steady, neutral, detached. "So now you recognize me?"
She giggled, eyes hazy, her lips curving into a slow, lazy smile. "You’re not real," she murmured. "You’re too handsome to be real."
I huffed out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair, willing myself to stay in control.
She sighed, stretching her arms above her head, her oversized sweater riding up just enough to expose a sliver of smooth skin.
I clenched my jaw, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.
I needed to get out of here. I turned toward the door, but before I could take a step, I felt a sharp tug on my tie.
She yanked me downward so suddenly I had to brace myself with one hand on the couch armrest, our faces inches apart. My breath caught, my body going rigid as her fingers toyed with my tie, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that was anything but drunk.
"If you were real, I’d kiss you again," she whispered, her lips parting slightly, her breath warm against my mouth.
I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening against the couch, my other hand resting dangerously close to her hip. "Summer," I warned, my voice rough, strained, barely holding on.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me like she was memorizing my face, like she wasn’t sure if I was an illusion or flesh and blood.
Then she smirked, slow and lazy. "What?" she teased, her fingers skimming the collar of my shirt, her nails dragging lightly against my skin. "Are you scared of me?"
I gritted my teeth, swallowing hard, forcing myself to remember she was drunk, hazy, unaware of what she was doing.
But then she pressed her body against mine, her chest molding into my front, her breath hot against my skin.
My jaw clenched as every rational thought in my head screamed at me to walk away, to stop this before it got out of hand.
But then she whispered something that shattered every last shred of my restraint.
"Tell me you don’t want me," she murmured, her voice soft, teasing, dangerous.
And I couldn’t.
Because it would have been a lie.
Instead of answering, I did what I knew was a bad decision, a mistake, a choice I could never take back. I kissed her.
The moment our lips met, something inside me snapped.
She sighed into my mouth, her body melting against mine, her arms wrapping around my neck.
I groaned, deepening the kiss, my tongue slipping between her lips, tasting the remnants of whiskey and something addictively sweet.
My hands found her waist, sliding beneath her sweater, feeling the heat of her skin, memorizing every curve, every dip, every inch of her.
She moaned softly, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me closer.
I lifted her, shifting her fully onto my lap as she straddled me, her knees pressing into the couch, her thighs caging me in.
My hands roamed, skimming up her back, tracing the ridges of her spine, gripping her hips as she rolled against me.
"God, Summer," I breathed against her lips. "You’re going to drive me insane."
She laughed, low, breathy, teasing, before biting down on my bottom lip, sucking it slightly before letting go. "Then lose your mind," she whispered.
I groaned, flipping her onto her back, pressing her into the couch as my mouth moved down her throat, sucking, biting, tasting. She arched beneath me, her back bowing as my hands slipped beneath her sweater, pushing it up inch by inch until it was over her head, discarded on the floor.
I froze for half a second, taking her in—the way her skin flushed, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, the way her lips were swollen and parted, waiting.
And then I was kissing her again, harder, hungrier, like years of longing were pouring into this moment.
My hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened peaks, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.
My mouth followed, trailing down, closing around one sensitive bud, sucking lightly, making her writhe beneath me.
"Malcolm," she gasped, her hands fisting in my hair, her nails scraping my scalp.
I growled against her skin, the sound low, primal, filled with years of restrained want. I shifted, nudging her thighs apart, settling between them. I felt her heat, her need, the way she trembled as I dragged my fingers down her stomach, past the waistband of her shorts.
She gasped, her breath hitching, her body arching as my fingers dipped lower, teasing, exploring, sliding beneath the last barrier between us. I groaned at how wet she was, how ready, how soft and perfect she felt against my touch.
"God, Summer," I rasped, my forehead resting against hers. "You feel so fucking good."
She whimpered, rocking into my touch, desperate, impatient, needing more. "Malcolm, please," she breathed, her nails dragging down my back, pulling me closer.
I couldn't stop. I didn't want to. She was everything I had wanted, everything I had pushed away for so long, everything that felt like coming home and losing control at the same time.
I kissed her again, deeper, rougher, filled with every unsaid thing between us. Then, with one last look into her eyes—those same eyes that had once been my entire world—I pushed into her.
She gasped sharply, her hands gripping my arms, her head tilting back as she adjusted, her breath shaky and uneven.
I stilled, letting her adjust, watching her, waiting, needing her to be okay.
Then she looked at me, her eyes dark with something undeniable, something dangerous, something I knew would ruin me completely.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
And I didn’t.