Free Web NovelChapter 47: Chapter 47 - Stop
Iyisha pushed the door with her shoulder. The knob was cold, the wood catching before it gave way. Warmth spilled over her face. The air smelled of wood smoke, soap, and the sharp bite of gun oil.
Malcolm stood in the center of the room. His jacket was folded on the back of a chair, his boots set neatly beneath it. His shirt was buttoned to the throat, sleeves rolled with clean, exact lines.
He looked composed. Too composed, as if the last two nights of silence had erased everything they had done.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought, the memory flashing quick and hot. The way his chest had heaved under her, the feel of his release pulsing in her hand. She pressed her lips together, shame chasing heat across her skin. He had not touched her since, had not even looked at her in a way that admitted it happened.
"Where did you come from."
"The greenhouse." Her throat scraped.
He gave one short nod. She stepped inside and closed the door, the latch clicking too loud in the stillness.
"Where were you," she asked again.
He sat down, eyes holding hers without a flicker. "Hunting." The weight of his gaze made her drop hers first, suddenly aware of her own fidgeting hands, the heat rising again in her cheeks.
"They asked us to stay," she said, voice softer than she meant.
"Yes." His reply was flat. "We are staying."
Relief escaped her chest before she could stop it. "Only for winter?" ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
He gave the smallest nod.
Iyisha gripped the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric between her fingers. This was the first time he had spoken to her since that night. The silence had been easier than this, easier than sitting across from him with the memory of her own moans ringing in her ears.
Malcolm drew the pistol from his belt and laid it on the table. He stripped it down with steady precision, oil gleaming on the steel, never once glancing at her.
"If you want to continue, I can handle it," she whispered. The words felt foolish even as they left her mouth, but she could not take them back. She only knew she did not want to lose him further.
"We are staying because you would not live if we left." He nodded toward the dark pane. Wind hissed against the frame.
"I am not weak." The tremor in her voice betrayed her. "I can walk. I can carry."
"You can. Not now." His tone was even, but the weight of it pressed hard.
The truth of it stung. She had always feared she was a burden. Hearing him put it plain tightened her chest.
Her back went stiff. She laced her fingers in her lap, pressing them white. The silence grew heavy, broken only by the deliberate clicks of steel and the strong, steady smell of gun oil that filled the room.
Iyisha twisted the hem of her shirt until the seams dug into her fingers. "Why have you not spoken to me for two days."
Malcolm’s hands stopped. The cloth hung in midair, the pistol half-stripped on the table. For a moment he did not answer, as if silence might erase the question.
When he finally looked up, his gaze was calm, too calm. "I needed the time."
Her stomach knotted. "Because of that night."
The air between them thickened. He gave no answer, only studied her with that flat soldier’s stare. The memory of her body pressed against his, her hand wrapped around him, his groan breaking through his teeth, every detail seared back into her mind. Her cheeks burned hot with shame.
"Did I make you hate me," she whispered. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
"No." His voice was stripped bare, steady but unreadable.
She drew a sharp breath, but his next words hollowed her chest. "It will not happen again."
Iyisha froze. The way he said it, final and closed, made her heart slam. Her face flushed darker, the shame twisting into offense. "So you think I forced it on you. That I trapped you."
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. His eyes stayed on hers. "I do not like how you spoke of it. You called it payment. I chose to save you. I do not need payment."
The words burned worse than if he had shouted. Iyisha’s throat ached. She wanted to scream at him, to make him admit he had wanted it too, that he had not stopped her because he had needed her as much as she had needed him. Instead she sat rigid, her hands clenched in her lap, fighting the sting behind her eyes.
The click of steel filled the space between them, steady and merciless, while her chest burned with the feeling of being judged for something she could not take back.
Iyisha’s chair scraped as she stood, her hands tight at her sides. She crossed the room without another word and shut herself in the small bathroom they had been given.
Steam soon clouded the cracked mirror. She sank into the bath, letting the water run hot over her skin, but it did not wash the sting from her chest. The way he had spoken, so calm, so final, made it sound as if she had forced everything on him.
As if he had not groaned under her hand, as if he had not bucked into her touch. He could have pushed her away. He had not.
When she stepped back into the room, a towel wrapped around her, Malcolm was still at the table, the pistol gleaming clean before him. His eyes lifted. For a moment they followed her, and the faint cough that broke from him when she bent to pick up her clothes tightened her grip around the bundle.
He desired her. She saw it in the flicker of his gaze, in the way his breath caught, in the way he tried to look away too quickly. If he wanted her, why push her away?
Keeping her back to him, she slipped a hand under the towel, tugging her underwear up her damp legs. The cloth clung as she pulled it into place, the towel still draped across her chest and hips. Her pulse thudded. She knew he was watching.
She reached for the plain dress they had given her and drew it over her head. The fabric fell against her body in a simple line. With a deliberate slowness she tugged the towel free from underneath, the cloth sliding down and spilling to the floor.
The dress now clung to her damp skin, the outline of her curves more vivid for the moisture.
She stood there for a moment, her back still to him, fingers smoothing the fabric down her thighs as if arranging it for herself, but every movement precise, every stretch of her arms made for his eyes.
Iyisha’s lips curved in a small, knowing smile he could not see. If he meant to deny her, then let him sit there and deny what his eyes betrayed.
Iyisha came out of the bathroom with damp hair and the plain dress clinging to her skin. She faced him finally, her voice steady even though her chest still burned.
"You can sleep on the bed with me. I won’t touch you. I know I disgust you."
Malcolm’s head snapped up, his mouth parting. "Iyisha—"
She cut him off fast. "Don’t. I’m not asking for anything. You saved me, I get it. You want distance, I get it. The bed is wide enough. I’ll stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there."
His jaw clenched. He didn’t look away.
She pushed harder. "Unless you really think I’m that repulsive. If that’s what you mean, then say it."
The room went quiet. Malcolm’s throat worked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t. His shoulders dropped, and finally he let out a rough breath.
"Fine," he said.
