I chewed on my lip as a round of Yes, bosses rang out on the intercom. "What level of threat is the bomb?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Do you think I’m safe to fuck my girl in my own home, or should we leave?"
I wanted to claw his eyes out. Malice grinned. "It’s fairly small, sir. About thirty yards from the home. It looks to be more of a diversion than anything. However, I suggest you leave for your safety—"
Malice ended the communication, let out a huff, and started walking me down the hall toward a room at the end.
I chewed on my lip again as he set me down on a plush bed. Fuck. I probably shouldn't be telling the terrifying, angry mob boss I told you so. "I had a plan. I had it all fucking under control!" he screamed before pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing. I found a spare blanket and wrapped it around my body, but Malice marched up to me and yanked it away from me. Fucking dick.
"Cancel the diversion. Hale is dead," Malice said whenever the other person on the line picked up. I looked around the room. Dark furniture. Black walls. Black bedding. Black and white abstract paintings filled the wall. Dark curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows too. It was a moody bedroom that fit Malice's personality perfectly. I had no idea he slept so close to where I was staying.
"As in fucking dead, William," Malice continued. "I shoved a hot curling iron up his ass. He's currently lying on Juliet's bedroom floor, cooking like a spit roast."
The image made me press my hand to my mouth. Vomit traveled up my throat, but I swallowed it. I refused to be distressed by what we'd done. It was either him or me, and once again I chose me.
"Must have figured out that we let him go on purpose. Guards found a bomb on the south lawn, and the fucker disabled the alarm. He thought he'd get one last fuck before fleeing. And of course he picked a time when he thought I'd be gone for the day. I just so happened to come back to grab my wallet when I heard Juliet scream."
Thank fuck Malice had come back. He looked me up and down. "Yeah…," he said to William. "She's fine." William must have been yelling on the other line, because Malice pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. Not once did he take his eyes off me. "William?" He paused. "William!" More pausing. I felt my chest begin to rise and fall. The tension was thick between us. We obviously had unfinished business. "Goddamn it, William. Goodbye. I've got something very important I need to do."
He hung up his cell and tossed it on the floor. "Open your legs, Little Fighter."
I didn't obey him. "Don't you have work to do? A possible bomb to deal with and a dead body in your guest room?" I taunted him. For some reason, I felt this inexplicable urge to deny this man of the control he so desperately craved. I wanted to be in charge.
"Spread your fucking thighs," he demanded.
I slammed them together even harder. "What are you trying to prove?" I asked.
He licked his lips, as if he was savoring the taste of my mouth on his. I might have had a moment of weakness back in the guest room, but I wasn't about to give in again. I'd gotten my orgasm, I didn't need Malice's twisted back and forth.
Malice walked over to me and dropped to his knees. He lightly kissed both my knees. Softly. Tenderly. Briefly. Then, with his tattooed hands, he ripped my thighs apart and bent over to breathe me in. I wanted to resist him and hide. It was so bold of him to expose me like this.
But Malice's eyes rolled back in his head. He moaned and rubbed his face along pussy. He delighted himself with my scent, my heat, my lust. "I have nothing to prove, Little Fighter. Right now I want you. Tomorrow, I might kill you. Yesterday, I hated you. Monsters operate on their base needs."
He licked a slow line up my slit, and I nearly jumped off the bed. "So this is just about getting off?" I asked, my voice shaky.
"It's about how good you taste." He paused before licking me again. I squirmed on the mattress. "It's about making you scream." He dug his fingers into my flesh, likely leaving behind little bruises in the shape of his fingertips.
I threaded my hands in his hair and forced him to look up at me. "You just want to feel like the hero for a bit longer," I whispered. I knew his past. I knew he was driven by building and protecting his empire, just as I was driven by protecting myself and finding answers.
Malice growled, and I knew I had hit him where it hurt. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and removed my hand from his head. Then, he got up and shoved me on my back on the bed so that he wouldn't have to look me in the eye. Something told me that Malice struggled with the reality in my gaze.
"Shut up and feel me, Little Fighter," he whispered before kissing my stomach, my chest, my jaw.
I moved to lift his chin up, once more challenging him to look me in the eye. "Thank you for saving me, Malice," I replied.
My words spurred him on. Malice frantically took off his belt, his shirt, his pants. He kept his emerald eyes on me as he worked his clothes from his body.
And oh, what a beautiful body he had. The intricate ink covered every inch of his skin. Beautiful, striking art designed by a genuine artist. The lines were impeccable. They healed perfectly and flowed seamlessly with every line of his body. On his chest was an angry owl with a snarling expression and beautiful wings stretched wide over his pecs. I wondered if the symbolism spoke to Malice's quiet wisdom.
On his neck was a black and white lotus with cursive script wrapped around it. I read it and bit my lip.
Civella.
He was literally branded with his family name.
When he slipped down his black briefs, I gasped at the shiny metal piercing his hard, long cock. I debated on asking if the barbells lining his shaft had hurt, but I got the impression nothing hurt him. Malice was invincible. Brutal. Hardened by the deadly organization he was raised to lead.
He crawled over me, his muscles tense and defined. I reached out and ran my hand over a bold year tattooed across his abs. 2018. "What's this mean?" I asked. I wanted to understand him. Malice let out a little gasp as I sensually traced the bold numbers.
"It's the year I watched both my parents get murdered," he admitted before gently pushing my hand away. I wasn't expecting that answer, and my heart broke for him. What kind of life did he live? "It reminds me to never be complacent. Trust no one. Let no one in."
I understood it. I myself had built a wall around myself so high that even my best friend was barely looking over the edge. This man had lived a life of bloodshed. He'd watched the people closest to him suffer and die.
"Fuck me, Malice," I whispered. This was reckless, wrong, and so fucked up. This man had forced me to kill a man. He wouldn't protect my heart. He wouldn’t care for me. He was dangerous and unpredictable.
But I wanted to feel him just once. I wanted to be reckless. Malice was right, this was about base needs and nothing more. I wanted to understand the most raw, physical parts of him. If I was going to hell, then I'd ride the devil's lap on the way down.
Malice pinned my hands over my head and settled between my shaking thighs. I jerked up at the harsh invasion of his cock. He pressed against my entrance, teasing and taunting me. "I can't control myself when I'm with you," he rasped. I didn't want his control. I wanted his cock. I wanted his wild.