Page 60 of Phantom Faceoff
If I didn’t know him better, I would miss the muscles in his jaw tense and his gaze drop away. I wouldn’t read them for the insecurity they are.
People think I keep everything surface level, but I pay attention.
“Nah, definitely not. Just … not here. Can we go back to your dorm?”
His brows pinch, but he nods. We walk in relative silence. Not holding hands. Not bickering like usual. Just stewing in the tense atmosphere I can’t get myself to dispel.
It’s not like he makes any steps to close the gap either, so by the time we make it up the stairs of his dorm there’s a cloud of dread and anticipation that makes a sickening mix in my gut.
He flicks the light on and strides with a purpose to his bed. At first all he does is stand there, back to me, but he finally decides to take a seat on the mattress and motions for me to do the same.
My chest tightens, shoulders drawing up as I clench my fists in my pockets. Heat builds up in my cheeks, only getting worse by the look in Malachi’s eyes when he notices.
“Wildfire.”
Burn me up. Turn me to ash. I want to take you with me.
Micky is right about one thing: these feelings are unique to Malachi. I’ve never wanted to weigh my burdens on someone else like this.
I keep this part of me separate from the rest of the world for a reason.
My feet follow his silent directions, letting my weight drop heavy and hollow on the bed beside him.
“You’re freaking me out,” Malachi says, stretching his arm around my back to squeeze my shoulder with his steady fingers.
A dry laugh scrapes out of my throat, and I clasp my hand over his, grateful that he doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t be. I—I have a hard time being really … vulnerable, I guess?”
The intense attentiveness that Malachi displays does good to settle the bundle of nerves tangled in my chest. He rubs his thumb along the curve of my neck, pressing into the groove where it and my shoulder meet.
“Do you need …” Malachi trails off, fingers gliding along my skin with feather-light pressure. “Here.”
His other hand tangles into my hair, firm yet gentle. He turns my head, pulling the strands just hard enough to make me gasp, and then he swallows the sound with his mouth over mine.
Everything falls away while we kiss. The coil wound tight in my body loosens. A brazenness comes alive with every swipe of his tongue.
I swing my legs over his hips and nudge his shoulders until he lays himself back. He grabs onto my waist, holding me close—as if I have any intentions other than grinding my body on top of his.
Why can’t everything be as simple as kissing Malachi?
My hands find the hem of his shirt and slip underneath. He’s been more willing to let me explore lately, but he still keeps me on a tight leash.
Now, they travel up his stomach, and I relish in the hitched breath he huffs into my mouth. My fingers find his nipples, andwhen he doesn’t push me away, I rub them with the pads of my fingers.
Malachi’s moan is a deep, erotic sound, and his body aches into the attention. My mind is fuzzy and focused solely on dredging more of those noises out of him.
I shove his shirt up his chest and leave his mouth to pop one of the buds in mine. A scratchy sound leaves his throat and a hand comes around the back of my neck.
All I want is for him to feel good. The way he makes me me good.
My hips move in soft, circular motions over his. His dick swells against mine. He pushes his chest out with every suck and flick of my tongue.
I litter his chest with little bruises, his pants and broken cries spurring me on. When I pull away to look at him—to see the evidence of my rampage and the wrecked expression on his face.
His chest is red in all kinds of ways, and it hits me like a brick wall all of a sudden that I’ve never seen him shirtless before.
How is that possible?
