“Another nightmare?” Her voice is as soft as a whisper. I grab the toast, placing butter on it, nodding, feeling Malachi take the seat opposite, next to Marcus.
I don’t need to tell her any more, because we both know the men that haunt us. The monsters of our nightmares are the same, and I wonder if the other girls are the same.
“What happened to the other girls?” I ask, the question falling from my lips before I can stop it.
Malachi and Marcus both look up at me, staring as if they can’t believe I’ve spoken. In the weeks I’ve been back, just a few words have past my lips, scared the truth will unravel.
They look at each other, and Marcus looks as if he’s asking Malachi for permission to speak. “The warehouse is burnt to the ground. All the girls were either returned home or have gone to a safe place.” I watch as his eyes shine, knowing he knew where we were kept, the conditions. My face flames, not knowing just how much he knew. Tara reaches for my hand. I grab it, squeezing, knowing she’s feeling the same shame crawling against her skin, like a thousand fire ants.
“The guards have all been taken care of.” Anger swirls around Malachi’s words, with the force of a dagger and just as sharp. My eyes snap to his, to see him studying me, watching for my reaction. I nod, as if I’m agreeing with the weather, not that he had just told me he killed a bunch of men, in my honour. The evil thought brings my body alive, picturing him standing above them, covered in their blood, dripping in their blood. Hearing their pleas, begging for mercy, to take away their pain. I’m jealous that I didn’t get to see it, witness their last breath as I smiled at them.
I hate the thoughts that creep in, that want to bury deep inside, where no can see them. I’m a good person! I’m the sort of person who picks up stray cats, who feeds them even though my stomach hurts from hunger. I used to save lives, do anything to make sure families didn't receive the same news I had when I learned of Hayden's death. Now it’s all different. I’m different!
I stand abruptly, sending the chair behind me backwards to the floor, causing a whimper from Tara and both men to stand.
My whole-body shakes with an emotion I can't even name. It’s building like a force, swirling around inside, looking for an escape. I take another step back, scared of the feeling that's now dominating me, holding me prisoner. My eyes flick to them all, seeing Marcus push Tara behind him. He sees it. Then I look to Malachi, tears falling down my cheeks as I stare at him, begging him without a sound to help me. To hear my silent screams.
“I don’t know what's happening,” I whisper, and then Malachi is in front of me, gripping my chin to look in my eyes. What does he see? Death?
I pull my chin out of his grip, scared of what I’ll do, what the emotion means. “Stay away. You need to stay away.” I back up until my back hits the wall, and he matches my every step.
I think I hear the door closing over the frantic beat of my heart. “Let it go, Lilliana.” I shake my head. He doesn’t know what he’s asking.
“You don’t know the things buried in here.” I tap my head, trying to make him see. Instead, his lips curl as he leans in, brushing them against my temple.
“They hurt you, degraded you, and made you suffer every day; barely fed you, kept you vulnerable. They deserved to die, each one of them. It's okay to want that, to want them to suffer the same way you did.”
My mouth drops open at his words. It’s as if he can see every messed-up thought.
“I am messed up, because I know you killed them, and instead of being scared, sick to my stomach, I was turned on, jealous it wasn’t me.” Shame covers each of my words, making me bow my head.
His hand curls around my nape, squeezing, making my head lift. His lips come down on mine, nothing but a whisper, a tease, before he traces the edges with his tongue. I lean in closer, just like a moth to a flame, unable to stop myself from pressing my lips harder against his. The grip on my neck tightens, causing a moan to fall from my lips as he crushes our bodies together.
Taking my mouth the way he wants, under his control, each sweep of his tongue, bite of his teeth, makes everything else disappear. I do what he always wanted: I submit to the kiss, to him.
I know he feels the change in me because the kiss morphs into something else; hot, heavy, sensual, as if he’s fucking my mouth. My lungs burn for oxygen. He’s in control, even of my breathing. My nails rake across his scalp, digging into his hair, and his chest vibrates from the growl that escapes him.
We both become frantic, nails, teeth, and pain all smashing together with passion, waiting for the euphoria that awaits us, the feeling that only comes when he’s inside of me, as our bodies come together.
Malachi walks me backwards, never removing his lips from mine. When my back hits the table, he lifts me, spreading my legs so he can fit between them. I feel his hardness brush against me, causing me to push back, wanting to feel him. Threading his fingers through my hair, making me hiss when his grip tightens, he kisses me like he will never have a chance again, bruising my lips.
I find the bottom of his shirt and pull, sending buttons flying in every direction. As the shirt parts, my fingers run across the deep grooves of his muscles, feeling his warmth under my hands as I drag my nails down his chest, across his nipple, making him release my lips on a hiss.
His eyes pin me, full of power, strength and heat. Breathing harsh, lips swollen, chest bare, with red streaks from my nails, he looks like pure, raw male, red-hot blood pumping through his body, ready to mate, to claim. He rips my top off, leaving my breasts bare to him, aching just from his look, needy and wanting.
I throw my head back as his fingers circle my nipple, wanting him to touch me. Opening my eyes, I see that smirk on his lips, hair ruffled from my fingers. The ache between my legs grows as I lift my hips to grind against him. But as if he knows my movements, he pulls back, just out of reach, driving me crazy with lust, becoming drunk off it.
I cry out as he bends his head, licking the tip of my nipple before doing the same to the other. His hands join in roughly, squeezing, and pleasure erupts through my body as I arch toward him, offering him more. I feel his smile against my skin.
“Pull me out.” Shamelessly, I move straightway, pulling at his belt buckle, undoing it before pulling the zip down. I wrap my hand around him, hot and heavy. He watches me through heavy eyes, showing me what I do to him, the raw, unadulterated passion that's running through his veins and something else, just below the surface, strong and powerful as the man itself.
“Tighter. Ah fuck! Yeah, that’s right, beauty, so good.” His breathing turns as heavy as mine as his fingers slips into my pyjama bottoms, running across the inside of my thigh before snaking under my knickers. He runs his fingers through my wetness, pushing inside of me, and my hips buck forwards. His thumb circles my clit as his fingers stroke inside of me, hitting that spot that make me see stars.
“That’s it, beauty, ride my hand.”
Everything in me climbs. That feeling only he can cause begins to twist in my stomach as I squeeze around him.
“Eyes on me.” My eyes open, and I’m unsure when I closed them, just as I break in his arms. He covers my mouth with his, as if he wants to capture my cries, claim them as his.
I feel him at my entrance. “Condom,” I gasp out.