Free Web NovelChapter 186: Chapter 186 - Personal Thank You (R)
Her hands found his chest first, palms flattening against the cotton of his shirt, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart trying to break free. She held him there a second, grounding him, grounding herself, before she pulled back just enough to look at him.
Iyisha traced her thumb slowly along his lower lip, lingering where it was still damp from her mouth.
"We’ll try stem cells for Lance," she said quietly. "But it isn’t guaranteed. It might not make him better."
Malcolm nodded once, small and tight, his gaze already dropping back to her mouth like he couldn’t look anywhere else.
She swallowed. "We won’t be sure," she added, softer now. "If it helps him... or if it does nothing."
Another nod. His jaw flexed, tension pulling tight across his face, but no words came.
Then his hands moved.
Both of them slid into her hair, fingers spreading at her nape, holding her there like something fragile and desperately needed. He pulled her in hard, and this time there was no hesitation.
His mouth crashed against hers, open and hungry, teeth grazing her lip before his tongue pushed inside, deep and claiming, rough in a way that stole the air from her lungs.
A broken sound tore out of him.
"Iyisha—"
It came out wrecked.
She gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting in his shirt as she dragged him closer even when there was no space left between them. He tasted like coffee and something sharp and desperate, like everything they hadn’t said since that night had nowhere else to go.
"Don’t stop," she breathed against him.
That was all he needed.
One hand stayed locked at her nape while the other slid down, fast and possessive, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise as he tilted her head back and deepened the angle of the kiss until she could barely breathe. All she could do was open wider and let him take.
Her knees parted without thinking, and he stepped between them, pressing the hard ridge of his erection against her through denim and thin fabric. The friction made her arch, a soft sound slipping out before she could stop it.
Malcolm’s hips rolled once, slow and deliberate, grinding into her with controlled pressure, but she felt the shudder that followed, the crack in that control already starting.
He broke from her mouth only to drag his lips down her throat, hot and wet, teeth grazing just shy of breaking skin as his breath came in harsh pants against her pulse.
"Iyisha," he rasped again, lower this time.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as his tongue dragged slow along her neck, and every shallow movement of his hips pressed him harder against her, teasing, not enough, almost cruel.
She felt it clearly now.
His control slipping.
Her gaze flicked toward the door.
Still slightly open.
A thin slice of light cut across the floor.
"Malcolm," she breathed, urgent now. "The door."
He froze instantly.
His mouth lifted from her skin, his chest rising and falling hard as he stared at her with dark, blown eyes, like he was hanging on by a thread. For a second he didn’t move at all, then he swallowed and stepped back.
The loss of him hit sharp and immediate.
Iyisha pulled in a breath that didn’t feel like enough, suddenly aware of how exposed she was, the thin gown clinging to her skin, doing nothing to hide the way her body reacted to him.
Malcolm turned and crossed the room in two strides.
The heat snapped.
Just like that.
The tension cut so clean it left her blinking, her body still leaning toward where he had been, like it hadn’t caught up yet. For a second she thought that was it. That he’d stopped. That whatever had just started between them ended there.
A dull flicker of disappointment settled low in her chest before she could stop it.
Iyisha straightened, forcing herself to sit properly on the table, hands gripping the edge as she steadied her breathing, pulling herself back together piece by piece.
Click.
The lock snapped into place.
Her pulse spiked.
He was in front of her again before she could even process it.
His hands framed her face and pulled her into another kiss, deeper this time, messier, like whatever restraint he had left was gone.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her mouth, voice low and strained.
She shook her head immediately.
"Don’t."
That was enough.
He yanked the ties of her gown loose in one rough pull, the fabric falling open as cool air hit her skin, only to be replaced instantly by the heat of his mouth closing around her nipple. He sucked hard while his fingers worked the other, pinching and rolling just enough to make her gasp.
"Malcolm—"
"Quiet," he said against her skin, not harsh, just tight with control that was already slipping.
His hand slid down her stomach and between her thighs, fingers pressing through soaked fabric before he stilled.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You’re already this wet."
Her head tipped back, her breath breaking.
"Please..."
His fingers moved, rubbing slow, firm circles through the fabric, and her hips jerked helplessly in response.
Then he dropped to his knees.
He pulled her underwear aside and buried his face between her thighs, his tongue dragging a slow, deliberate stripe up her center before focusing, circling her clit with precise, relentless pressure.
Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling the sharp sound that tried to escape as her other hand fisted in his hair.
"Don’t stop," she whispered against her palm. "Please—"
He didn’t.
He sucked, flicked, then went back again, relentless, until her thighs shook around him and her hips rolled against his mouth, chasing it, needing more.
It built too fast.
"T—too much—"
He kept going.
Her back arched off the table as it snapped, her cry trapped behind her hand as her body tightened and broke around him, trembling through it while he dragged it out until she was oversensitive and shaking.
Only then did he pull back.
Slowly.
He rose, eyes locked on her face, taking in every reaction, every breath she struggled to steady.
Iyisha could barely think.
He opened his jeans, the zipper loud in the quiet room, then pushed them down just enough to free himself, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip.
Her breath caught.
"Malcolm..."
He stepped between her legs again.
"Look at me," he said.
She did.
The first push was slow, stretching her open inch by inch, the burn sharp after her orgasm, making her bite down hard to stay quiet.
"Fuck—" he choked, jaw tightening as he forced himself to go slow.
"Keep going," she whispered.
That broke what little control he had left.
He sank deeper.
They both froze when the table creaked beneath them, metal legs scraping faintly against the floor.
Neither of them moved.
Neither spoke.
He leaned down, forehead pressing to hers, breath rough against her lips.
Then he started moving again.
Slow at first, controlled thrusts that still made her gasp silently each time he bottomed out, the stretch raw and overwhelming as her body adjusted.
Iyisha wrapped her legs around him, locking him in place.
"Closer," she whispered.
His rhythm built, harder now, the table shifting in small, rhythmic jerks beneath them.
The light above felt too bright, everything too sharp, her senses stretched thin between discomfort and pleasure until it blurred together.
His mouth found hers again, messy and desperate, swallowing the sounds she couldn’t hold back as his hips snapped forward, losing control completely.
She clenched around him.
That was it.
He broke with a choked groan, burying himself deep as he came, hips jerking in short, helpless thrusts.
The sensation pulled her under again, her body tightening around him as she followed, quieter this time, her hand pressed hard over her mouth as she trembled through it.
They stayed there, pressed together, breathing hard, neither moving right away.
When he finally lifted his head, something in his expression had softened.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, her breath uneven.
"Yeah... more than okay."
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
They separated slowly, reality creeping back in with the torn paper beneath her and the faint mix of antiseptic and sex in the air.
Iyisha dressed with trembling fingers, the fabric catching wrong as she pulled it over her skin, having to stop once just to breathe before trying again.
Malcolm zipped up, buckled, his movements quieter, slower, like he was buying himself time.
Neither of them spoke.
He glanced at the door, then back at her, then away again.
Iyisha let out a small, uneven laugh that didn’t quite land.
He looked at her.
"What?" he asked.
She shook her head, smiling.
"That’s the first time I’ve seen you lose control."
He huffed softly.
"Didn’t like it?"
She stepped closer.
"I loved it."
Then, softer, teasing, "That thank you? Very personalized."
A small smile broke through.
"Come with me," he said after a moment. "To Lance."
Her expression softened.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I’d love that."
