Page 119 of Little Liar
He’s finally giving me what I want, and I’m desperate to ride his face, to have his tongue fucking me, but words fail me when I try to tell my friend to call back. The phone slips from my ear, lying on the pillow as he parts my entrance with two fingers then pushes his middle finger inside, curling it then hammering hard enough that my body moves, the headboard slamming against the wall.
He pulls his mouth away from my clit and climbs up my body, and in one harsh thrust, he buries his cock inside me. “I’ll fuck you into a coma if you don’t hang up.”
“Ew!” she yells loud enough for us to hear just before I snatch the phone from my pillow and hang up, tossing it aside then wrapping my arms around his neck.
He used to rarely fuck me in the missionary position before our entire lives changed. If he did, it was never romantic or slow or lovingly. He’d fuck me like he hated everything about me—he loved it when I cried, when he could taste my tears, and when I begged him to either stop or go harder.
But in the last two years, he’s gone slower, taking his time with me while we had time for us. Right now, he’s unmoving, throbbing within my core while he kisses me.
“We need to hurry,” I mutter as my heels dig into his ass, trying to make him move. “Hurry up and fuck me like a bad little sister, Malachi.”
He groans and thrusts deeper, sliding his hand from my knee to my ass, bringing me to him as each inch pushes into me.
We melt into each other’s touches as he slides in and out, and I beg for more as he gives me it. He fucks me with my legs on his shoulders, on all fours, and then pushes my front down on the mattress while he fingers my ass, still burying his cock deep inside me.
When I come, he comes with me and collapses on my back. Breathless, kissing my shoulder, sweat mixing together as the temperature rises.
We don’t get to have sex often, so when we do, it’s always intense, and I fall asleep pretty much as soon as I finish.
“Daddy?”
At the sound of our son’s voice, Malachi closes his eyes and drops his head onto my shoulder.
Isaac calls for him again, but this time his voice is shaky. He’s had another nightmare. “I fucking knew we shouldn’t have let Molly babysit him. She’s a bad influence.”
We go on dates every Thursday. Molly always babysits and Malachi, being the protective dad that he is, always blames her for his nightmares. No matter how many times he suggests someone else, he gives in when Molly calls him.
He sits up and tucks his cock into his shorts, his eyes staying on me. My husband’s gaze lights up as I smile up at him. “I love that he always calls for you, but I’m starting to get a little jealous.”
Rolling his eyes, he kisses my cheek and climbs off the bed, throwing his shirt on before heading to Isaac’s room. I get up too, pull my sleep clothes back on, and make my way to the bedroom filled with trains and cars and boats.
Isaac is rubbing his eyes in his father’s arms when I push his door open, a line of light from the hallway falling on his face.
Malachi doesn’t need to say anything—not that he does much of that anyway. The odd time he’ll read him a book to try to get him to sleep, and other times, we’ll sing a lullaby—not the spider one—yet most of the time, being cuddled by his dad is enough to get our son to calm down.
I’ve been replaced as Malachi’s number-one priority—I used to be his entire world, but now I’m only just a part of it, and I’m perfectly okay with that. I think he needed to feel what it was like to be loved by someone else, and Isaac loves his father unconditionally.
We’re even teaching him signing. Malachi’s speech has come on, but me, Isaac, Molly, and sometimes our dad are the only ones who get to hear his voice. Not because he struggles with others, but because not having a voice was his way of protecting himself, so it’s saved purely for the ones who mean the most to him.
Malachi turns to face me, his hand rubbing up and down our son’s back. The softness in his eyes and the gentleness of his touch speaks a thousand words for him. He’s an amazing dad, and I don’t think he even realizes it.
When I found out I was pregnant only a few months after the Reznikovs were dealt with, I was already far along, probably from when we were together in the car. We stood in the bathroom with ten tests, and one by one, we turned them over. He was pale, terrified, and so nervous yet went back to his therapist to ask for more help. He even asked our dad for help.
He said if he was going to become a father, the kid needed the best version of himself, and he thought no one had ever met that person. But he was wrong. No one truly has a “best” version of themselves—it’s just one of life’s learning curves, a feeling, an emotion, and Malachi is overflowing with them.
My bump grew, and he became obsessed with our unborn child. He made sure I was eating, drinking, resting, and even went and got a job to make sure he could lead by example.
We have more than enough money, but I knew he needed to do something. He got some training, and now he’s in an animal sanctuary not far from here, much to my dad’s dismay. He wanted Malachi to work with him, but since they’re still building their relationship, it was best not to cross ties and create any further issues.
They’re doing great, Dad and Malachi. They meet up every Tuesday and Friday at the park with Isaac, and they talk—mostly signing—and Dad will tell him about his new girlfriend and how she makes him happy. They’ll push Isaac on the baby swing, and Malachi will come home and tell me that it’s weird, that he’s finally feeling what it’s like to have a father, and how it’s helping him learn how to be a father himself, despite two and a half years of being Isaac’s hero.
Dad’s forgiven him for what he did, and I think along the way, Malachi forgave himself too.
Mom is gone—she’s not been in contact at all since Isaac was born. I thought she’d reach out when she found out she was going to be a grandma, but nothing.
I’m still not sure how I feel about that.
When Isaac was born, me and Malachi’s entire existences changed. We were, are, still head over heels for each other, worshiping the ground the other walks on, and neither of us thought we could love someone else even close to the way we feel about each other.
