Free Web NovelChapter 82: Chapter 82 - Body Talks
She walked home alone.
Her heart thudded harder with every step, not from fear this time, but from something lighter and more confusing. Malcolm would be there. Of course he would. The thought made her strangely nervous, excited in a way that felt almost inappropriate after everything that had happened.
She shook her head at herself.
Too old for this, she thought. Too tired. Too much grief still clinging to her skin.
She stopped outside the door and took a breath, smoothing her hair with both hands like it mattered, like she wasn’t still wearing exhaustion in every line of her body. Then she pushed the door open.
It swung wider than she expected.
She froze.
Malcolm stood a few steps inside, his back half turned as he pulled a shirt over his head, muscles shifting under his skin with the simple motion, his abs briefly exposed, the sharp line of his body catching the low light in a way that felt unfairly vivid after a day like this.
Her mind blanked.
Entirely.
She was aware, distantly, that she was staring.
He looked up and caught her expression. His brows lifted slightly, lips moving.
"What?" she asked, too late realizing she hadn’t heard him.
He tilted his head toward the door, a faint hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Close the door."
Her gaze dropped back to his torso before she could stop it, then snapped away just as quickly.
"Yeah. Sorry," she mumbled, cheeks warming as she turned and pushed the door shut behind her.
The click echoed louder than it should have.
She leaned her forehead briefly against the wood, exhaling.
God.
He had just come back alive. She was alive. The world had nearly torn them apart, and here he was, breathing, solid, real, infuriatingly attractive even in the middle of grief.
She straightened, heart still racing, and turned to face him again, silently thanking whatever force had watched over them both, for bringing him back safe, and for giving her this small, grounding reminder that life, somehow, still insisted on going on.
He glanced at her as she stepped fully inside.
"Ester?" he asked.
"She fell asleep," Iyisha said quietly. "Mary’s staying with her so I can..."
Her voice trailed off before she could finish the thought. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
Mary’s words echoed in her head, unhelpful and vivid and entirely inappropriate for the weight of the day. Go fuck that man.
Heat rushed up her neck.
She cleared her throat. "I can rest better in our room."
"Hm," Malcolm murmured, not quite looking at her yet.
She slipped off her coat and hung it carefully, fingers moving slower than necessary. The room felt smaller with him in it again, fuller somehow, charged in a way she didn’t know how to name.
"How... how was it outside?" she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She turned and saw his back to her, shoulders tense as he worked at the table, cleaning his weapon with methodical precision, movements practiced, controlled, like he was keeping something contained.
She watched him for a second too long.
When he finished, he set everything down and finally turned.
"How are you?" he asked instead.
The question landed heavier than she expected.
"I..." She stopped, swallowed, tried again. The words tangled in her throat, all the images and losses and hours blurring together until nothing came out right. "I don’t know how to say it."
He waited.
She knew she could try. She knew she could open her mouth and let the weight of the last days spill out between them, listen to him about what happened outside. But the thought of it made her chest tighten, made the room feel suddenly too sharp, too exposed.
Not tonight.
For once, she didn’t want to relive it. Didn’t want to know.
She just wanted now.
The quiet.
The warmth of him standing there.
The simple comfort of being held, of breathing without bracing for the next blow.
"Eventful," she said finally, the word thin and inadequate, almost laughable in the quiet between them.
His expression softened, just slightly.
"Yeah," he said.
And for a moment, that was enough.
"I’m alive," she murmured, the words barely strong enough to cross the space between them. "Thanks to you."
The room went quiet.
Not the empty kind. The kind that pressed in, heavy with everything neither of them knew how to say yet.
She reached for her bag, fingers fumbling slightly as she set it down by the chair, buying herself a second to breathe. When she straightened again, she felt it before she fully saw it.
His gaze.
Malcolm was looking at her with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs, his eyes dark, steady, searching her face as if he were making sure she was really there, that she hadn’t vanished the moment he let his guard down.
Or maybe just with lust. She doesn’t know anymore
She stood up to hand the bag on the stand beside the door.
Her heartbeat thudded loud in her ears.
For a moment, she wondered if he was about to say something devastating, or tender, or dangerous enough to undo her entirely.
He didn’t.
She froze when she turned around. He’s moving. frёewebnoѵēl.com
Towards her.
Slowly, deliberately, each step measured, unhurried, like he already knew she would not move. She stayed still, back against the door, breath shallow, watching him approach with a strange mix of uncertainty and anticipation, her body locked in place even as something inside her tightened and leaned forward.
His gaze never left her face.
It was not aggressive, not wild, but focused, intent, tracking every small reaction, every flicker of breath, the way her lips parted slightly as if she had forgotten to keep them closed.
He stopped just close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him, close enough that his presence pressed in without touching, and the pause stretched, heavy and charged, long enough to make her heart pound.
His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing her jaw, not gripping, just guiding her face up, and that was when he leaned in.
His mouth claimed hers with a confidence that stole whatever thought she had left, kissing her deep and slow and unrelenting, like he had already decided how this was going to go and all she had to do was keep up.
Before she could catch her breath he lifted her, the sudden shift making her gasp, and thudded her back against the door hard enough to rattle the frame, the sound sharp in the quiet room, her spine arching on instinct as his weight settled into her.
Her legs curling at his waist.
Her back met wood. His body met hers.
His hands slid down her back, firm and possessive, fingers splayed wide as if he needed to feel all of her at once, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them at all.
Until the line of his body pressed fully into hers, his dick hard and unmistakable through the layers of clothing, the contact so sudden and intimate it pulled an electric gasp from her throat.
"Hnnng."
He used that opening immediately, tongue sliding into her mouth with practiced ease, taking advantage of the sound she could not stop.
His hand moved lower, slow but certain, finding her ass and kneading it, fingers flexing as if testing her weight, her softness.
She made a quiet sound into his mouth, startled by how easily it slipped out of her.
By how quickly her body answered him without waiting for permission.
Confusion dissolved.
Heat took its place.
His mouth left hers only long enough to trace her jaw, lingering there before drifting down her neck, his lips warm and deliberate as they followed the line of her throat.
She shivered when he breathed her in there, slow and deep, like he was memorizing her, and the sensation made her chest tighten.
His hands held her steady.
Thumbs pressing into her hips.
Keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
Then his hips began to move.
Not fast.
Not rushed.
Just enough.
She mewled, the sound soft and unguarded, and she felt him smile against her skin before he pressed closer.
Even through the thick fabric of her pants she could feel how insistent he was, hard and unyielding, the pressure so precise it made her pulse jump.
It felt like he might tear through it.
"Oh. Malcolm."
Like he was already there.
Her head tipped back without thinking, her throat opening, offering itself, and he took it immediately, mouth returning to her neck, slower now, unhurried, his lips lingering until her breath caught and her fingers curled into his shoulders.
That sound did something to him.
She felt it in the way his hands tightened, in the way his body stilled for half a breath before pushing harder, in the low sound he made against her skin, rough and restrained.
Like control held by force alone.
He drove his hips into her then, hard enough that she felt him right at her opening, the contact stealing her breath and scattering her thoughts completely.
Her hands clutched at him, not pushing, not pulling, just holding on.
Staying.
He lifted his head just enough to look at her, eyes dark and intent, reading her face, and whatever he saw there made his mouth return to hers with renewed focus.
The kiss was deeper now.
Claiming.
She moaned again, softer this time, the sound vibrating between them, and he swallowed it easily, his grip steady, his presence overwhelming in a way that left no doubt about who was leading and how willingly she was following.
