Page 60 of Avidian
I hold his stare, my lips parting slightly, my breath caught somewhere between anticipation and defiance. His thumb pauses on my side, the heat of his touch penetrating through the thin fabric of my shirt. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, as if the world itself has stopped to hold its breath.
Then he shifts slightly, his hand sliding up my back as he leans in, his face mere inches from mine. I can feel his breath onmy lips, warm and teasing, and it sends a thrill racing through me. He hesitates, his eyes searching mine, like he’s giving me one last chance to pull away.
I don’t.
His lips brush against mine, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters. I sigh into the kiss, my hands sliding up to rest against his chest. He deepens it, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer, erasing the space between us entirely.
The kiss is slow and deliberate, yet it steals the breath from my lungs. His lips move against mine with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt—no room for anything else but him. My heart races, my pulse roaring in my ears, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t care about anything but this moment.
He tilts his head, his nose brushing against mine as he explores, his other hand anchoring me against him. I lose myself in the warmth of him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels, like a force of nature I never saw coming.
When he finally pulls back, it’s slow and reluctant, his forehead resting lightly against mine. My eyes flutter open, meeting his smoldering gaze, and I feel my chest tighten all over again. His voice is low and husky when he finally speaks.
“Was that what you were waiting for?”
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod, running my tongue across my bottom lip. Then I feel something softer, something dangerously close to safe. I start to let my mind wander, worrying if letting my guard down around him might be reckless.
But then, with a breath, I push the intrusive thoughts aside, a spark of boldness flaring within me.
Fuck it.
Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us, my mouth finding his. The contact sends a joltthrough me, and when I press my tongue against his lips, he responds immediately, opening for me. He’s half-sitting, his back resting against the headboard, and it’s not enough. I want to be closer. I need better access.
I shift, crawling on top of him, straddling his waist as I deepen the kiss. His hands move instinctively, trailing down my sides, gripping my hips. The heat of his touch sends a delicious shiver through my body. My fingers thread into his hair, tugging gently as his tongue meets mine, exploring, teasing, and pulling soft, shaky breaths from me.
His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him, and I feel his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath me. I tilt my head, angling the kiss for more, giving into the moment entirely as his mouth devours mine.
When I finally pull back for air, I rest my forehead to his, both of us breathing heavily. His gaze locks onto mine, his pupils dark and dilated, his lips red and glistening. He exhales a single word, low and hoarse, his voice like a rumble of thunder in the quiet room.
“Fuck.”
His hands remain on my hips, and I feel his fingers flex slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. But the look in his eyes tells me he’s anything but in control.
Suddenly, he flips me onto my back, his lips trailing a searing path along my jawline, his breath warm against my skin. His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers grazing my stomach before moving upward, cupping my breast with deliberate tenderness. A soft moan escapes me when his thumb and forefinger tease my nipple, rolling it until it peaks beneath his touch. His other hand grips my hip, grounding me, holding me steady as his body presses against mine.
I can feel his hardness through the thin layers of fabric between us, and the realization steals my breath. My pulse races,my heart thundering in my chest as a flood of emotions surges to the surface—excitement, desire, and something heavier, something uncertain. The weight of every assumption I’ve let him make about me presses down on me. He thinks he knows me—what I’ve done, what I’m capable of—but he doesn’t. Not really.
I shift slightly beneath him, trying to steel myself against the storm of feelings building inside me. His lips skim the edge of my neck, his breath igniting my skin, and I can’t help the way my voice trembles when I whisper his name. “Malachi…”
He stills instantly, pulling back enough to look at me. His dark eyes search mine, soft yet intense, his expression a mixture of concern and restraint.
“What is it?” he asks, his teasing tone gone, replaced by something infinitely more serious.
I bite my lip, suddenly unsure if I can say it aloud. But I have to—before this goes any further. “I need you to know something.”
He shifts his weight, giving me enough space to breathe, his brows knitting together as he waits for me to continue. “You can tell me anything,” he says, his voice steady, reassuring.
I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to speak before I lose my nerve. “I’ve never…done this before. Any of it.”
His expression falters, confusion crossing his face before realization sets in. “Wait, you mean…”
“Yes.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look away, unable to meet his stare. “I’ve never been with anyone. Everything you’ve heard, everything I let you believe…it was all a lie.”
The silence that follows is deafening, stretching so long that I almost regret saying anything. When I finally glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. His mouth opens slightly, as though he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words.
“All this time…” he mutters more to himself than to me. He shakes his head, and I see something briefly in his eyes—regret, guilt, or maybe a mix of both. “Kat, why didn’t you tell me? For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking letting that fucking pig touch you for information?” His jaw tightens, his frustration palpable.
“I was thinking people like you always assume the worst about me,” I say, releasing years of pent-up frustration. “It was easier to let you think I was someone else. Someone…stronger. Someone who wouldn’t let themselves be used.”
