Page 79 of Huntsman
The scream reverberates in my head, and I reach for him, grab his muscular arm to do—what? I don’t know. I’m not thinking. I’m moving on straight primal emotion and instinct. But as soon as my fingers brush his skin, he spins around, and my spine meets the bathroom wall. His large frame looms over me, his hands flattened on either side of my head. His earthy, wild scent mixes with the lemony aroma of whatever cleaner was used on the tiles at my back, and I inhale it with every harsh breath.
“I gave you your choices downstairs, and you made your decision. You want absolution for tonight? Go to your fucking priest or pastor or whoever the fuck will listen to your sins so they can give you penance. That person ain’t me. Will never be me.” He pushes closer so his chest grazes my breasts. Bends his elbows so his mouth is almost level with mine, and his gaze sears me. “We all make choices, and every one of them—good or bad—has consequences. Being in this fucking life is a choice. Your Seven know who and what they signed up for. When they chose to give you their loyalty, they understood what that entailed, understood who that made them a natural enemy of. They’re not naïve or foolish. You over here playing martyr isn’t just an insult to them and their allegiance to you, it’s fucking hypocritical. Because given the chance, you’d do it over again. The same way. Except you’d just shoot your aunt faster before she could get away.”
He cocks his head, his scrutiny putting every damn lie detector to shame. My chest rises and falls on my labored, heavy breaths, even as my heart slams against my chest.
No, I want to scream.No, shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
But he does.
It’s like those eyes peered inside me and unlocked the key to the secret thoughts I didn’t want to uncover, much less admit to.
I feel ashamed because I have no shame.
I feel guilty because I have no guilt.
Not about placing my Seven in danger. God, no. I’d slit myown throat before letting someone put a knife to theirs. I’m their olori, and that’s more than a title to me. It means I’m their protector, the last defense between them and Abena or whoever would come for them. And I’ve failed them in that.
My lack of remorse stems from not regretting going after Abena. The stalking her. The hunting her down. Glimpsing the fear in her eyes. It was all intoxicating, heady, and it only fed the thirst for her death at my hands.
“What’d you call me once? A beautiful nightmare? You’d know about that, wouldn’t you,olori? Watching you, the calm on your face, the fucking delight in your eyes as you crept through those halls, as you attempted to murder your aunt—you’re the shit that wakes people up in the middle of the night screaming.” He skates his lips over my cheek until his mouth hovers above my ear. “And you loved. Every. Fucking. Second.” I close my eyes, trying to block him and his too-accurate truth out. “Nah, Eshe, you came for me. Now you got me.” He lowers a hand, grips my chin, and tips my head back. “Open your eyes, goddammit. Good little olori,” he mockingly praises with a sensual yet cruel smile when I obey his order. “Now, I gave you the chance to get in the shower. Since you’re still dressed and not in the tub, I’m taking that as you’ve changed your mind and are going with the other option: Get this dick.”
With that as my only warning, he reaches down between us and rips my shirt over my head. My pants and underwear follow, and since I toed off my boots and socks in his bedroom before heading into the bathroom, he doesn’t have to fool with removing them. Planting a foot in the seat of my panties, he hauls me up, leaving the pool of clothes on the floor. My ass hits the cold sink, but the hot press of his open mouth on my neck has a shudder rocking through me for a completely different reason. He doesn’t need to palm my thighs to spread my legs wider. I’m already making room for his waist and hips. Raking my nails down his bare chest, I lean forward and lick the welts I leave behind as if applying salve to each one.
He fists my curls, but instead of dragging my head back, he presses my face harder to his skin, relaying what he wants without words. And I oblige. I set my teeth to his skin, following the path of my nails, pausing over his nipple to bite, catch his barbell piercing, and tug. Suck. With his hand still tangled in my hair, he guides me to his neglected nipple, and I deliver the same treatment to it. Nipping. Licking. Sucking.
I scoot forward on the sink, and his dick shoves against my abdomen. Touching him, having my mouth on him, has me aching and so damn drenched, I’m leaking and wetting up my pussy lips and inner thighs. Only he can assuage this erotic pain. Only he can put out this fire threatening to incinerate me from the inside out. But I don’t want it put out. I want it enflamed, stirred, blown on until I’m consumed to the point of ashes.
Jerking my head back, I slap my hands to the counter, wrap my legs around his waist, and lift my ass off the cool marble to grind my pussy over his dick. Pleasure blasts through me, and I whimper. Again. I do another dirty grind, rubbing my whole sex, from my clit to damn near my perineum, over him, and I shudder and grunt. I glance down, and damn—there’s something about the sight of my wet saturating the front of his pants that has a proud, territorial surge swelling inside me.
“You like that, huh? Like seeing the mess you’re making?” Malachi tugs my head back, and his mouth covers mine, his tongue plunging between my lips in a nasty, wild kiss that has my hips twisting, bucking. I swear, for someone who had their first kiss less than a day ago, he’s a Mensa-level genius at it. Fuck, the way he eats at my lips, draws on my tongue—I almost believe he can’t get enough of kissing. Can’t get enough of kissing me. He’s become the teacher, and when he pulls that lascivious mouth free, I try to follow, desperate for another lesson… or admonishment. “You’ve made that mess, olori. Now you got to get down there and clean it up.”
Anticipation spikes in my veins, heightening the lust to nearly unbearable levels. It’s only been a week since I had that monsterdick of his in my mouth, down my throat, but it might as well have been a year. And I’m starving for him.
He cups my hips and lifts me off the sink before setting me on the floor. One of his hands returns to my hair, and while he exerts pressure, silently ordering me to my knees, he reaches behind me and grabs a towel, then tosses it to the floor. His tearing open the front of his pants, freeing his dick, and slapping the flared, damp head against my bottom lip should contradict the chivalrous action of softening the brunt of the hard floor on my knees. But it doesn’t. They complement each other. One has me digging my short nails into his muscular ass, and the other has me parting my lips wide and welcoming him deep inside me. Pain and pleasure. Aggression and submission. Two sides of the same questionable yet irresistible coin.
Malachi’s eyes gleam with a fierce inner light, a mask of pure, harsh lust stamped on his brutally beautiful features. Humming, I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder. While most men prefer their head without teeth, this is Malachi. He wants that hint of pain. Craves it. And I need to give him everything. Setting the edge of my teeth on his dick, I graze his flesh as I ease off him. His loud hiss and the tightening of his grip on my hair has excitement racing through me, and my thighs tighten, intensifying the throbbing in my pussy.
With a hungry moan, I bob my head up and down, swallowing him over and over, taking him farther and farther each time. He tastes so fuckinggood. Like fresh, wild, windswept rain and earthen musk.
There’s so fucking much of him. Fisting the bottom half of his steely length with both hands, I twist and pump, my lips bumping my fingers. Spit runs down my chin, his flesh, my stroking hands. If I made a mess before, now I’m sloppy. He doesn’t seem to care. No, if that curl of his mouth and the almost-incandescent light in his eyes are anything to go by, helovesit. And when I back off him, dip my head, and suck one ball and then the other into my mouth, letting my tongue tease that sensitive strip of fleshright behind them, by the sound of the loud, rumbling growl in his chest and the tautening of his powerful thighs, he might propose to my ass.
“Fuck.” He releases my hair only to slide his fingers into the curls at my temples and pull the strands back, baring my face for his hot gaze. “You a nasty li’l bitch, aren’t you?”
My answer is to suck on his cockhead, free it with a soft pop, and then spit saliva and cum on his dick. As I swallow him back down, he releases a sound that might be a rusty, serrated chuckle or a hoarse swear. Maybe both.
“Goddamn. Yeah, you are. Give me more of that shit.”
Holding my head steady, he thrusts his hips back and forth, fucking my face with no mercy, seemingly with all his power. And dropping my hands to his hips again, I take it. My eyes water, my nose runs, and I don’t care. Just as long as he continues to pummel my throat with that gorgeous, thick cock.
Lifting my head, I suck in a breath and fist him again, coating my fingers inus. Meeting his gaze, I lick my lips, savoring the potent, decadent flavor of his precum. His eyes narrow as he traces my lips with a fingertip, then pinches my damp chin and tugs my mouth open. Wider. I don’t wait for him to press his dick back into me; I lean forward, parting my lips, and greedily take him in.
As he glides over my tongue, I slide a wet finger behind his balls, over that smooth path of skin between them and his ass. I stroke it, and when Malachi stiffens, I keep gently touching him, waiting on him to tell me to stop—or not. When his hold on my head tightens and he resumes fucking my mouth, I have my answer. I explore further until I find a softer spot and give it a firmer caress.
“Goddamn. Eshe,” he growls. His flesh throbs in my mouth, swells bigger, nearly filling my mouth beyond capacity.
Humming, I don’t let up, not even when his thighs lock and the pull on my hair edges toward pain. His thrusts speed up, and I’m damn near choking on the dick. Low, gravelly rumblessteadily pour from him, and I want more. I want him to break for me.
I press against that soft spot one more time, then thrust that wet finger into his ass, unerringly finding his prostate. On another hum, I rub and massage the fleshy area.
