Free Web NovelChapter 118: Chapter 118 - Too Much (R)
Warning : Rated R
They barely made it down the corridor.
Cyborg shoved Marybeth and Brix toward the next door without slowing, yanking it open just long enough to force them inside before it slammed shut again. Iyisha caught a brief glimpse through the narrowing crack, Marybeth laughing, already tangled with Brix as they fumbled at the handle together, hands everywhere, impatient and uncoordinated.
A giggle slipped out of Iyisha before she could stop it.
The sound felt wrong the moment it left her.
Then Malcolm pulled her into the room meant for them.
The door shut hard behind them. The noise cut off instantly.
He guided her forward and pushed her down onto the bed with more force than necessary, the mattress dipping under her weight.
He turned away at once, bracing both hands against the wall, head lowered, breath coming heavy and controlled, shoulders rising and falling like he was holding something back by sheer discipline alone.
The quiet hit harder than the noise had.
Too quiet.
The fog in her head thinned just enough for panic to slip through.
"Malcolm," she said, softer now, her voice unsteady. "Was that... were we drugged?"
She pushed herself upright slightly, the dress bunching at her thighs, hands trembling as she looked down at herself like the answer might be written somewhere on her skin. "What’s happening to me?"
He turned on her sharply.
"Why did you drink?" he snapped. "Why—"
Her chest tightened.
He stopped himself with a frustrated sound and dragged both hands through his hair, pacing once before halting again, half turned away like he couldn’t afford to look at her for too long.
She watched him.
The way the muscles in his arms stood out beneath the tight black polo. The tension pulled across his shoulders. The way he looked when he was angry and fighting to stay in control. Even like this, especially like this, he looked devastating.
She swallowed.
Clarity flickered in and out, but one thing was certain now. Something had been put into her body. She could feel it tugging her reactions away from her intentions, amplifying everything she normally kept buried.
"Malcolm," she said again, slower this time, using his name like an anchor. "Something’s wrong."
He exhaled hard and finally faced her fully.
His expression was tight, controlled, eyes sharp despite everything they had just escaped.
"I know," he said.
Iyisha pushed herself up from the bed before she could think better of it.
The room tilted slightly as she stood, heat rolling through her in slow waves, her legs unsteady like they were no longer fully listening. She pressed a hand to her stomach, breath uneven.
"I feel hot," she whispered. "Malcolm."
The sound of his name came out wrong. Thinner. Throaty. Like it had been pulled through something first.
Malcolm moved immediately, but not toward her.
He sat down on the sofa instead, elbows braced on his knees, posture deliberate, controlled, putting distance between them on purpose. His voice stayed level even as his eyes tracked her closely.
She stood there, heat rolling through her in waves that made her knees feel unreliable, her skin too aware of the air, of the space between them. Every breath felt louder than the last, like her body had decided volume mattered more than sense.
"Stop," he said evenly. "That’s the drugs talking. You need to control it."
She heard him.
Her body did not listen.
Her gaze dropped before she could stop it.
His jaw clenched hard, the muscle jumping once as he locked it down, and the strain in his posture sharpened. The fabric at his crotch pulled tight, unmistakably tented, a reaction he hadn’t bothered to hide even as he fought everything else into stillness.
Her breath hitched.
There was no pretending she had imagined it.
Whatever was burning through her had reached him too, even if he refused to let it show anywhere else.
Her breath caught.
It’s not just me.
The thought came slow and heavy, sinking in instead of sparking panic. It changed something in her chest, made the heat sharper, more insistent.
"But you didn’t drink," she said aloud, though the words came out wrong, breathy and stripped thin, like her voice had lost its guardrails.
His jaw tightened before he answered. "The fog."
That single word pulled something loose in her mind.
Memory slipped back without asking. The club. The way the air had felt heavier than it should have, not scented, not obvious, just... present. How everything had escalated too smoothly. One sensation feeding the next. Drink. Sound. Proximity. Touch becoming inevitable without ever being invited.
It hadn’t been one thing.
It had been everything, layered until resistance felt pointless.
The realization settled cold beneath the heat, grounding and terrifying all at once.
Her body still leaned forward.
She took a step toward him before she realized she had moved.
Malcolm’s eyes snapped up immediately, sharp and alert, tracking her like a threat instead of temptation. "Don’t," he said quietly.
Iyisha froze a few steps away from him, hesitating, her weight shifting as if her body was already pulling forward while her mind lagged behind. She took a shallow, unsteady breath, then crossed the space between them slowly, each step measured, deliberate, as though she could still turn back if she wanted to.
She stopped in front of him and looked up once. She caught the heat in his eyes, sharp and dark, and that was when she made up her mind.
She dropped to her knees, the motion sudden, her knee hitting the soft carpet with a dull thud that sounded louder in the quiet. His gaze burned into her as she settled there, and she felt it immediately, heat spreading across her skin.
She placed her hands on his knee and felt him stiffen at once, then rested her face there, her cheek warm against him, the hesitation gone, the choice already made.
"If I ask," she whispered, her tongue thick, her voice unsteady, "would you let me?"
His eyes darkened further.
"I’ll let you do anything you want," she said. "Anything you need."
She swallowed, her breath hitching as something settled deeper in her chest, steadier now, more certain. Her eyes traveled down deliberately, slow and unhurried, and she could see how hard he was, the unmistakable outline pressing through the layers of cloth, restrained but barely, as if it were already straining against his control.
"Anything you need," she repeated softly, the words heavier now, deliberate. "You said it would be on your terms. When you want it. When you need it."
Her gaze lifted back to his face, slow and knowing, no longer asking.
"You obviously need it now."
She licked her lip, the memory of his taste flashing through her, sharp and intimate.
"I need it too," she murmured.
His jaw tightened. "Drugs," he said, his voice deep and strained. "I’m barely holding myself, and if I let go now, I don’t know how hard I’d be."
The sound of it sent a tremor through her, excitement thrumming low and insistent as she traced slow circles on his thigh. "I can take it," she whispered, her hand traveling higher. "No matter how hard."
He caught her wrist before she could go any further, his grip firm, controlled, stopping her right at the edge.
Malcolm’s breath came in rough, uneven bursts as he held her there a heartbeat longer, his fingers still tangled in her hair. Then he released her and stepped half a pace back, giving her a clear view of him, his chest rising and falling, the thick outline straining against the dark fabric of his boxers, the damp spot already spreading at the tip.
Her hands trembled only slightly as she reached for him again, her palm sliding over the rigid length through the cotton. He sucked in a sharp breath, hips jerking forward on instinct, like the pressure burned straight through him. She felt the heat immediately, every pulsing vein, the way the head swelled wider beneath her thumb.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word torn loose, low and unguarded.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband. He lifted his hips without a word, just enough for her to pull the boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed dark, curving upward, already wet. She exhaled softly, appreciative, eyes widening as she wrapped her hand around the base, the skin stretched tight, smooth and unyielding.
She leaned in and dragged her tongue slowly from root to tip, flat and deliberate. The salty bead of precum coated her tongue and she hummed, the vibration traveling straight through him.
His hand went back to her hair, not guiding, not forcing, just holding, like he needed the anchor to stay upright.
She circled the head with her tongue, then took him into her mouth, lips stretching wide. Only the first inches fit before her throat resisted. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard and his knees nearly gave.
"God, Iyisha."
The way he said her name, rough and reverent, sent heat pooling low in her belly. She kept her eyes on his, pupils blown, jaw slack, and began to move, her hand working what her mouth could not reach, twisting lightly on each stroke, her tongue pressing along the underside as she slid down. His hips answered in small, helpless thrusts, chasing her rhythm.
He could not stay still.
He rose to his feet, stance widening, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other braced against the sofa. He rocked forward, careful at first, testing his control, then deeper. Her throat opened around him, fluttering, a soft gag slipping free as her eyes watered, but she did not pull away. The stretch burned in the best way, each push making her body clench, empty and aching.
His restraint unraveled. The rhythm turned uneven, breath breaking into sharp sounds. She felt him thicken, pulse hard against her tongue, the warning unmistakable.
He pulled free with a wet sound, strands of saliva stretching between them for a brief, filthy second before snapping.
Before she could steady herself he hauled her up and crushed his mouth to hers, tasting himself on her tongue, groaning into the kiss like he had been starved.
