Page 60 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)

I smile, then let go of his wrists as I kiss my way down his body. The second his hands are free, they come to my head, fingers threading into my hair. He tries to guide me, to control the rhythm, but I pull back and give him a warning look.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m in control tonight.”

His nostrils flare. His jaw locks. But he doesn’t stop me.

I take him into my mouth, inch by inch, letting him feel the full heat of my mouth, the drag of my tongue, the pressure at the back of my throat as I swallow him down.

His breath stutters, fingers gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled fist. A low curse spills from his mouth, wrecked and awestruck, his hips jerking beneath me as his abs tighten and twitch.

“Candace,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “You keep that up and I’m—”

I pull back just before he tips over the edge. My lips are slick, chin damp, chest rising fast with every shallow breath. His eyes are wild, ravenous, locked on me, the only thing tethering him to the moment.

I crawl back up his body, kiss the corner of his mouth, and whisper, “Not yet.”

He groans, low and guttural, body straining toward me, but I press a palm to his chest.

“Give me a second,” I murmur, breathless, kissing the underside of his jaw. “You’ll get everything. But not until you beg and mean it.”

I feel his pulse race beneath my fingertips, tension rolling off him in waves. His need is thick in the air—raw, electric—and mine is coiled just beneath my skin, hungry to drag him over the edge.

As I kiss down his chest, I bite him softly along the curve of his hip, then take him into my mouth again, deeper this time.

My tongue flicks along the underside, lips tight, slow and filthy, until I feel the tip presses against the back of my throat.

I don’t stop. I swallow around him, again and again. His moan shreds through the silence.

Malachi’s hands fly to my shoulders, trembling. His body bows. Every muscle flexes, the strain building to the breaking point. But I keep going, slick, relentless, sucking harder until his hips stutter and his voice turns to gravel.

That sound—ragged, worshipful, completely undone—makes heat roll through me. I pull off slow, dragging my tongue over the head, tasting him, breath hot against his skin.

Then I crawl up his body, deliberately slow, mouth still wet, voice low. “You ready to beg now?” I whisper.

He’s panting, trembling beneath me, voice ragged with desperation. “Please. Please, baby. I need to be inside you. I need to feel you. Let me in.”

I crawl up his body and guide him to where I want him. Then I sink down unhurriedly until he’s seated inside me and I’m full in every way. He gasps, head falling back, hands clutching my waist, the only anchor keeping him grounded.

For the first time, I feel it fully: the power and love. The control. The surrender. Mine. All of it.

“Fuck,” he groans, hands flying to my hips.

I start to move, rolling my hips with the kind of control that makes him gasp.

His hands tighten at my waist. Every nerve in me is lit.

Every inch of him buried so deep, I swear I can feel him in my throat.

I lean over him, press my mouth to his collarbone, and bite gently, just enough to make him groan beneath me.

His head tips back. I watch his throat work as he swallows hard, chest heaving, torn between losing control and begging me to keep going. I grind down harder, and his whole body jolts.

“You’re not in charge tonight,” I whisper, lips brushing his ear. “So don’t even try.”

He nods, eyes glazed. “Fuck, Candace… please.”

It’s not just a plea. It’s surrender.

I ride him harder, deeper, bracing my palms on his chest, watching the way his muscles tense beneath my hands. He moans low and broken. Every sound fueling my own desire until I’m trembling, teeth clenched, chasing the edge with him right beneath me.

When I feel his hips begin to thrust up, I slam mine down and hold. He cries out, loud and raw, shuddering beneath me, but I don’t let him come. Not yet.

“Not until I say,” I whisper, voice smooth and firm.

His hands tremble. His face is wrecked. I slow down again, rolling my hips in a teasing rhythm. Each thrust has purpose. Pressure. Fire. I clench around him, watching his jaw lock, sweat beading on his brow.

“Candace—please—I’m begging. I need to come. I need you.”

I lean forward, kiss the corner of his mouth, and murmur, “Then earn it.”

He groans again, and that’s when I give in. I ride him with everything I have, our skin slapping, sweat slicking every inch of contact. He’s holding on, but barely. I want him to break.

When I come—body shaking, head thrown back, fingers digging into his chest—I cry out his name, loud and breathless, and yell for him to come with me.

My voice is all hunger, all command, all desperate need.

And he does. He spills into me with a strangled moan, his body bowing up into mine, arms locking around me in desperation, holding on to everything we just became.

Afterward, I curl into his chest, heart still racing, skin still buzzing from everything we just gave and took. His breath is hot against my hair, his hands tracing lazy circles on my back even in his exhaustion.

“You ruin me, you know that?” he murmurs, voice rough and raw.

I lift my head, just enough to see the look in his eyes. Unguarded, tender, full.

“Good,” I whisper, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “Because I’m already yours.”

He leans in, kisses my forehead with intent. “I love you more than anything I’ve ever survived.”

My throat tightens. “You make me feel safe in a way I’ve never known. I know I never have to survive alone again.”

“Never.” His arms tighten around me, and I know we’re still healing, still learning how to let someone in without flinching. But this? This is a beginning.

There’s no shame in the power I took. No fear in the way he gave it. Just peace. And the feel of him holding me, everything in him saying I’m his whole damn world.