Page 72 of Malachi (Outsiders MC #1)

Her scent hits me—wild, clean, edged with salt and something so uniquely hers it knocks the air from my lungs.

I want to drown in it, memorize it, wear it as a second skin.

When my tongue meets her heat, she jerks, a gasp tearing from her lips as her fingers tangle in my hair, frantic and firm.

Her taste floods my senses. It’s sweet, intoxicating, threaded with need that surges straight through me.

Groaning against her, I drag a slow, deliberate stripe with my tongue, and her whole body shudders beneath my hands.

I shift, lifting one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her wider, giving myself deeper access to the fire she’s offering.

Candace writhes over my mouth, alive and trembling, and I devour her, starving and finally allowed to feast.

I tease her, slow at first, light flicks and deep strokes. When her hips jerk, I pause; not to catch my breath, but to press my mouth to the soft skin of her inner thigh. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” I murmur, voice thick with hunger. “Taste like sin, baby. Built for this.”

Her gasp breaks on a moan, thighs trembling around my head. I dive back in, relentless, my tongue working her over until she’s shaking again.

I pause once more, just long enough to drag my lips over the pulse in her hip and growl, “I’m the only one who’ll ever make you fall apart this way.

You’re mine.” The sound she makes is wrecked, desperate.

Her hands clench in my hair. I press her harder into the wall, anchoring her, and take her apart all over again. She tastes like fire and surrender.

“Please,” she whispers, breathless and trembling. “Please, Malachi.”

That word wrecks me. I double down, sucking and swirling until her cries crack open something deep in my chest. Candace shatters against my mouth, slick and shaking, her whole body pulsing around my tongue.

Her nails scrape down my back, the sting only spurring me on.

I don’t stop until I feel her go limp, boneless and undone, her thighs twitching with aftershocks.

I rise slowly, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand as I scoop her into my arms, her breath hot against my throat. Her skin glows, flushed and damp, and I feel her heart pounding through every point where we touch.

“That’s one,” I murmur as I carry her to the bed, her body still trembling from release. “I promised you worship, baby. And I’m just getting started.”

I lay her out gently, reverently, a sacred thing, arms stretched above her head, hair fanned across the pillow, her skin kissed pink and glowing in the soft moonlight filtering through the window. She looks up at me, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed with pleasure, but still hungry.

The moonlight stretches across her collarbone, catching on the bruise at her jaw that hasn’t fully faded.

I know it’s from training. She started sparring again with Coach Tompkins, but it still makes something tighten inside me.

I want to erase every mark life left on her that wasn’t made by pleasure or choice.

I crawl over her slowly, trailing kisses from her collarbone to the curve of her breast, nipping gently, tasting the salt of her skin. She arches into me, hands threading through my hair as I worship every inch of her, just the way I promised.

“I want you to feel how much I need you,” I whisper against her neck. “How much I want you. How fucking good you are.”

Candace whimpers when I slide into her, slow and deep, and I swear it nearly undoes me.

Her body wraps around me, perfectly fitted for this, for me.

Tight, slick, and pulsing with heat that drags a groan straight from my chest. She’s so warm, so impossibly perfect, and the way she clutches at me, holding on as if I’m the only thing keeping her grounded? It wrecks me.

I move with patience, but inside, I’m unraveling. Every slow thrust is a war between restraint and the primal need to lose myself in her. Her breath stutters, lashes flutter, and her nails scrape across my back, leaving marks of possession. It’s not about rushing. It’s about worship .

It’s about a promise I made earlier tonight, to strip her down, kiss her until she forgot everything, and make her come so hard she forgot her name. Right now, I’m keeping that vow with every slow roll of my hips, every whispered curse against her skin.

Candace grips me tighter, her legs locked around me, drawing me deeper. When my name falls from her lips in that raw, trembling moan, something inside me shatters and reforms.

I make love to her like she’s the only truth I’ve ever known, slow, aching, reverent. Each thrust a declaration, each breath a benediction. I memorize the shape of her mouth when she gasps, the tremor in her thighs, the way her body reaches for mine, unable to bear even the smallest distance.

She trembles beneath me again, her hands clawing at my back, her voice breaking as she pleads for more.

Her walls flutter around me, hot and tight, milking me as she comes, and it undoes me.

My release hits with the force of a thunderclap, ripped from somewhere deep in my gut.

Hot, hard, all-consuming. I groan her name into her neck, body shuddering as I pour into her, every muscle taut from the strength of it.

I kiss her through it, holding her close, anchoring us both in the storm we’ve made together. It’s not just physical. It’s soul-deep. And I know right then, I’ll never get enough of her.

The room hums with the silence that follows ruin.

The kind of quiet that only comes after something breaks open and remakes itself.

I don’t move. Not right away. I stay inside her, my forehead pressed to hers, both of us breathing as if we just survived a war.

Maybe we did. Her fingers curl in the back of my hair, and she doesn’t let go.

I draw back just enough to see her face.

Her lips are kiss-swollen, her cheeks flushed, hair stuck to her temple in damp strands.

But her eyes, those damn eyes, they’re open.

Watching me. Holding me still. She looks raw.

Open. A girl who burned down everything she once called home and still showed up here.

I brush a knuckle down her jaw, slow and reverent. “You okay?”

A breath escapes her lips, shaky and soft. She nods. Not fast. Not strong. But real. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. “I feel like my body’s still moving.”

My chest tightens. “That’s just your heartbeat syncing with mine.”

I groan low in my throat as I slowly pull out of her, the separation a shock to both our systems. She whimpers at the loss, her body instinctively curling into mine, aching for the connection again.

I kiss her softly, then shift to my side, keeping her close, our legs tangled.

I pull the blanket over us and settle her against my chest, one hand splayed wide across her back, refusing to let go.

She doesn’t speak again. But her breathing evens out against me.

Her fingers tap against my chest. It’s soft, rhythmic, almost forming a beat.

I glance down and catch it. Four slow taps.

A pause. Then four again. A song. Maybe not yet.

But the bones of one. She’s writing again.

Even if she doesn’t realize it. This time, I’ll be the one who makes sure no one steals it from her.

I press a kiss to the top of her head. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Just lets me hold her.

"I love you," I murmur into her hair, quiet but unflinching. It’s not a confession. It’s a vow.

She lifts her head, just enough to meet my eyes. Her voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. "I love you too," she whispers. It’s soft. Unshaken. It floors me more than any shouted declaration ever could.

I’ve buried too many things in my life. Names. Memories. Pieces of myself. But this? This is the one thing I won’t bury. Candace Giles. Mine.