Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Summer
The air between us was charged, thick with something unspoken but undeniably real.
Malcolm’s fingers traced my jaw, his touch deliberate, slow, like he was memorizing me, as if he needed to feel every inch to believe this moment was happening.
His eyes, dark and burning with something more than just desire, held mine captive, waiting.
Waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to stop him.
Waiting for me to prove that this was real.
I didn’t stop him.
Instead, I leaned in, closed the space between us, and when my lips met his, it felt like the last missing piece finally fell into place.
The kiss was slow at first, a gentle press, a breath shared between two people who had spent years apart but never truly let go.
Then, as if something inside him snapped, Malcolm groaned into my mouth and deepened the kiss, his hands sliding around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
My body melted into his, and suddenly, it wasn’t slow anymore.
His lips moved against mine with a desperate hunger, years of longing unraveling all at once.
My hands tangled in his hair, fingers fisting at the strands as he pressed me back against the mattress, his weight warm and solid over me.
I could feel everything—his heat, his strength, the way his body trembled slightly as if he was barely holding himself together.
And maybe he wasn’t.
Maybe neither of us were.
His mouth left mine, trailing along my jaw, my throat, hot and teasing, his breath uneven as his lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear. I gasped, my back arching, and he chuckled against my skin, the sound low and dark and completely intoxicating.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his fingers skimming the hem of my shirt, tracing along the bare skin beneath.
“You talk too much,” I shot back, breathless, my nails digging into his shoulders.
Malcolm smirked, his lips pressing one last kiss just beneath my ear before he leaned back slightly, his hands gripping the fabric of my hoodie. “Then let’s stop talking.”
And just like that, he pulled it over my head, leaving me bare beneath him.
The air between us thickened, charged with something deeper than just physical desire.
His eyes roamed over me, slow and possessive, taking in every inch of exposed skin.
I should have felt vulnerable, but I didn’t.
Not with him. Not when his gaze softened, darkened with something that made my pulse race.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, reverent.
I reached for him, grabbing the hem of his shirt, and he let me tug it over his head, revealing warm skin, hard lines, and muscles that tensed beneath my touch. My fingers trailed over his chest, mapping the places I had never gotten to touch before, learning him in a way I never had the chance to.
Then his hands were on my waist, his grip firm as he rolled me beneath him, his lips finding mine again in a kiss that was all-consuming. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his hands everywhere at once, exploring, memorizing, worshipping.
I moaned into his mouth as his body settled between my thighs, the friction enough to have me arching against him, seeking more.
And he gave it to me.
His hands roamed lower, his lips never leaving mine as he pushed aside the last barriers between us, his movements slow, deliberate, like he wanted to drag this moment out as long as possible.
Then, finally, finally, he was there, pressing against me, waiting, his breath coming out in a harsh exhale. He rested his forehead against mine, his hands framing my face, his entire body tense with restraint.
“Tell me this is real,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost desperate. “Not just this. Us. Tell me we’re real now.”
My heart clenched, every ounce of doubt and fear melting away, leaving only the truth.
I cupped his face, my thumb brushing over his cheek. “It’s real, Malcolm,” I whispered, my lips brushing against his. “It’s always been real.”
Something dark flickered in his eyes—something certain, something final.
Then, with one slow, deliberate movement, he sank into me, filling me, stretching me, claiming me in a way that was both earth-shattering and inevitable.
His breath shuddered against my lips, his grip tightening on my waist as he buried himself completely, like he wanted to anchor himself to me, to us, to everything we were finally letting ourselves have.
I gasped, my body adjusting to the sudden, delicious fullness, to him.
His hands framed my face, his lips brushing over mine in the softest, most devastating kiss. “Mine,” he whispered, like it was a prayer.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, holding him to me, giving him everything I had left to give.
“Yours,” I breathed, and as he began to move, as he made me his in every possible way, I knew—this was forever.