Page 38 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)
I sit up slowly, forcing her to adjust, straddling me even tighter now. My hands slide up her spine, slow and firm, until I’m holding her the way you hold something breakable. She doesn’t pull away. Just lets me hold her, clinging to a lifeline she’s too stubborn to ask for.
“I don’t care if you hate me,” I say against her throat. “As long as you don’t lie about wanting me.” She shivers. “Tell me the truth, Candace.”
Her breath fans hot across my collarbone, and her fingers twitch against my shoulders, bracing for impact. Her mouth trembles. Then she kisses me. Hard. Desperate. It isn’t soft. It’s a collision. A detonation.
No finesse, no lead-up. Just the raw heat of two people trying to set fire to the thing eating them alive. Her lips crush mine, all teeth and need. And still , it’s not enough.
Her fingers fist in my shirt as I grip her hips and pull her tighter against me. Her tongue slides against mine, frantic and messy, then she moans—she fucking moans—making me lose whatever thread of patience I have left. The sound wrecks me. Not because it’s sexy. Because it’s real.
We hit the mat again. I roll her underneath me, and this time, she doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t run. The air pulses hot between us. Our bodies already know the steps. We just haven’t named the music.
She arches up, biting my lip, breathing into my mouth with the desperation of someone who needs it more than air. Her legs wrap around my waist, and we aren’t sparring anymore. This is surrender. War. It’s both.
Getting here? That was war. And she’s surrendering in the most dangerous way. I want every second of it. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Her nails drag down my back. Short, sharp, claiming. My skin stings where she touches me, and I want her to mark me deeper.
Her mouth tastes of heat and fury, her breath catching in those tiny, choked-off sounds that drive me fucking insane. Every breath a lyric she doesn’t know she’s singing.
She moves against me without hesitation.
Hips grinding, legs wrapped tight, trying to get closer, deeper, more.
I give her more. All of it. Every ounce I’ve been holding back.
And I want to give it to her. Right there.
On the mat. In the middle of the fucking gym.
Right where she took control. Right where she let me have it.
My hand slips under her sports bra, finger swirling around her puckered nipple, and she gasps against my mouth. Then bites down on my lower lip in punishment. A warning. The sting is electric. I fucking welcome it.
I don’t care. I need to feel her. Need her wrecked and desperate. Mine in a way she can’t deny or walk away from. Because I’ve already given her every piece of me. Even the ones I don’t show anyone else.
Suddenly, a door slams in the back. Voices. Coach Tompkins laughing with someone. My body goes still. Cold rushes in, water down my spine. Reality cuts in.
Candace blinks up at me, dazed and flushed, lips kiss-bruised and eyes heavy-lidded with lust. I mutter a curse, half growl, half plea.
“Get up.”
“What—”
I grab her hand, yank her to her feet before she can argue. The press of her palm in mine sends a jolt up my arm. I don’t let go.
She stumbles, breathless. “Malachi—”
“Locker room.” My voice is gravel. “Now.” I’m barely holding it together. I need her more than air.
Her eyes darken—half challenge, half thrill. But she doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hesitate. She wants this. Maybe more than I do. And that’s saying something.
We move fast, half-dressed and wrecked, shoving through the hallway, hunted by something we can’t name. The air hums with adrenaline and sweat. Her scent clings to me, smoke and sin wrapped in heat.
I push open the locker room door and drag her inside, slamming it shut behind us before twisting the lock. No interruptions. Not this time.
She stands in the middle of the room, breathless, chest rising fast, lips parted. She looks wrecked already—hair a mess, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with something feral.
I stalk toward her. “Take it off.” My voice sounds scorched, scraped raw by fire.
She holds my stare, defiantly silent. Then slowly, issuing a challenge, she peels off her sports bra and lets it fall to the floor. Her nipples pebble in the cool air, but her eyes burn hotter than hell.
Her skin gleams, dotted with sweat and power, and I fucking swear under my breath.
“You’re gonna kill me,” I mutter.
She tilts her head. “You going soft on me now?”
I let out a dark laugh, and drop to my knees, a man ready to worship. Fuck, it feels holy. She’s a hymn I’ve been aching to sing.
The first time I tried this with her—months ago, back when she was still full of walls and venom—she’d shoved me off with a snarl. Said it was just sex. She didn’t want to be seen then. Not the way I see her now.
But this time? She doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop me. Just stares down, caught between fear and need, wanting whatever this is to become.
Victory. My palms slide up her thighs, slow and reverent, feeling the tremble just beneath her skin. She’s soaked. Even now, she’s unraveling, and I haven’t even touched her right.
Her shorts are drenched, heat pouring off her, furnace-hot and unrelenting. I kiss the inside of her knee, then her thigh, tongue dragging over soft skin as I nose higher, breathing her in. Her taste lives in the air between us—salt and sweetness, hunger and heaven.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “You smell of sin.” And I want to live in it.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and peel them down slowly. She steps out of them, bare now, trembling, waiting.
When I press my mouth to her, she gasps, high and startled, hand flying to grip the edge of the locker behind her.
I groan against her. She tastes of heat, sweat, and the kind of hunger that breaks men.
I lick her slowly, deliberately, savoring every flick of my tongue, every tiny shake of her hips, every soft, strangled sound she makes when I suck on her clit and slide two fingers inside her.
She’s tight. Hot. Dripping for me.
Her thighs start to shake, and her other hand tangles in my hair, yanking hard. “Malachi—”
“You didn’t let me do this last time,” I rasp against her, voice guttural. “You pulled away.”
She moans.
“But now you’re letting me… fuck, you’re letting me—” I growl and suck her clit between my lips again, tongue circling viciously as she writhes.
“God… god, I’m gonna—”
“Do it.”
I wrap an arm around her hip, hold her steady as she shatters. She comes with a broken sound, thighs squeezing my head, hips grinding against my mouth with a rhythm she can’t stop.
I don’t stop either. Not until she’s twitching from the aftershocks, eyes unfocused, whole body slack against the lockers.
When I stand, her legs give out. I catch her, then lift her into my arms, weightless in my hold. Her bare skin against mine, her scent all over my mouth, her lips swollen and pink and begging.
I lay her down on the bench, climb over her, and kiss her hard. Letting her taste exactly what she gave me. Then I pull back, eyes dark.
“You want me to stop, say it now.”
She looks up at me. No hesitation. “Don’t you dare.”
I shove down my sweats and grip myself, already painfully hard.
She reaches between us to wrap her hand around me, and fuck , my head drops back. Then she guides me into her. Hot. Slick. Perfect.
I hiss through my teeth, nearly losing it at the feel of her pulling me in. I thrust deep and hard, pinning her to the bench with one hand under her ass, the other braced above her head. Her mouth opens in a gasp as I start to move in slow, grinding strokes that make her eyes roll back.
“Say my name,” I growl.
She does. Over and over. Choking on it. Letting it fall from her lips as the only word she remembers.
I fuck her with hunger meant to ruin her for anyone else. Because I already am.
She comes again, harder this time, back arching, nails raking down my chest, and I don’t hold back. I chase that release with the desperation of a dying man. Then I slam into her once, twice more before I let go and pour every ounce of want into her body.
We don’t speak after. Just lay there. Sweat-slick and panting, my arms still locked around her, our hearts racing in time.
For one breathless moment… I don’t feel hated. I feel at home.