Page 58 of Malachai
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?
Chapter 31
Malachai
I went to his hotel room alone. I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t stop myself. It was easy to hand the front desk clerk a few hundred dollars in exchange for his room number. He was too confident for a man who had a father with so many enemies.
He was in the Hard Rock's penthouse in Tampa. Top floor.
I knocked.
Cooly opened the door himself. His shirt was half-open, and a glass of dark liquor dangled from his fingers. He didn't look surprised. He looked pleased. He leaned against the doorframe, taking a slow sip before stepping aside.
"Malachai," he drawled. "Come to bark at me about your wife?"
I stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind me. I didn't sit.
"I came because I need you to stay the fuck away from Indigo."
Cooly chuckled, low and amused. He turned his back to me and walked toward the wet bar—an insult in my world. Men didn't turn their backs on me. should have taught him a lesson by putting a bullet in the back of his head.
"I don't want to, Mr. Hand of God. And I ain't accustomed to doing shit I don't want to." He refilled his glass, not looking at me. "I'm going to keep applying pressure until she's mine. I almost had her in New York. A few more months and you would've never gotten your wife back. She was starting to fall forme, Malachai." He turned, leaning against the bar and crossing his ankles. "Starting to forget you existed."
