Free Web NovelChapter 87: Chapter 87 - Are We Doing It Again?
After work, she went looking for him.
She crossed the compound once, then again, checking the places he usually lingered when he did not want to be found. The watch posts. The yard. The stables. It was still before dark, the sky pale with the last stretch of afternoon, and the fact that he was nowhere made her more unsettled than she cared to admit.
She returned to their room out of habit.
He was there.
Malcolm was already in bed, a book open in his hands, posture relaxed as if nothing heavy had been decided that day. The sight of him struck her wrong. She had expected him anywhere else. Not here. Not this early.
Annoyance rose sharp and immediate.
His eyes lifted and fixed on her, calm giving way to that familiar heat that made her chest tighten despite herself.
"Come here," he said.
Iyisha felt irritation spike at the assumption in his voice, at the certainty that she would move when he spoke.
Do what he wanted.
She always did but that was not the point.
She turned away instead and went to the bathroom, lifting her chin as if the choice mattered.
She closed the door and turned on the water, standing there longer than necessary, letting the thin act of defiance exist for a few seconds before it dissolved.
She came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair, shoulders hunched as a shiver ran through her, the cold biting straight into her skin. All she wanted was to crawl under the blankets and steal whatever warmth she could, but she forced herself to stay where she was for a moment longer.
Malcolm watched her. Silent. Unmoving. His eyes burned, steady and aware.
She ignored it and crossed the room, keeping space between them even though it felt pointless.
"When are you going out?" she asked.
"Tomorrow."
No pause. No change in his face. As if it meant nothing.
The answer landed wrong. He had barely come back. Barely rested. And yet he was being sent out again, already accepting it like it was routine.
She glowered at him, then looked away, jaw tight.
It was his body. His choice. He had always decided his own risks.
So why did she care
Oh right, she had volunteered too. As if him backing down would mean she won’t venture outside.
Of course she regretted it.
Mary’s face told her enough when she told her the story.
She did not know how to hunt. She did not know how to track or skin or survive outside the walls the way he did. She had spoken on impulse, driven by fear and anger, and now the weight of that choice sat heavy in her chest.
It was too late to take it back.
She slid under the covers, turning slightly away from him, the warmth seeping into her despite herself, her thoughts loud and restless as she lay there, knowing she had already crossed a line she could not uncross.
"I volunteered," she said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Malcolm turned his head toward her.
He did not react the way she expected. There was no surprise. No approval. Just a look that shifted slightly, something passing through his eyes that she could not name or read, and that unsettled her more than anger would have.
"You don’t need to go out," he said.
She blinked at him.
"I... I’m just afraid that..." Her voice faltered and she stopped, searching for the right shape of the truth, one that did not make her sound weak or foolish. "I feel safer with you," she finished, the words coming out low and rushed.
It was true. Not entirely, but enough.
After the raid, after the breach and the chaos and the way everything had almost fallen apart, she had learned something she did not want to admit. Being near him felt safer than being away. Glued to his side felt better than waiting behind walls and hoping he came back.
Malcolm did not answer right away.
"The work is hard," he said finally.
She nodded at once. "I know. I’ll do anything. Whatever you need."
For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched, like something brief and private had crossed his mind. The expression was gone almost as soon as she noticed it.
She narrowed her eyes. "What."
"Come here," he said.
She did not argue. She scooted closer until her body pressed against his, the space she had tried to keep disappearing in an instant, her back fitting into his chest as if it had always known where to settle.
They kissed again, and it wasn’t soft.
It was heat and breath and the raw sound of need, the clumsy clash of lips and tongue and teeth, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because it had already been given, claimed in the way she leaned into him, in the way his hands gripped her hips like they were the only thing anchoring him in place.
Her moan slipped into his mouth the second he pulled her onto his lap, the thick pressure beneath her making her gasp and shift against him instinctively, as if her body had been waiting for this, aching for this.
He growled low in his throat, a sound meant only for her, and kissed her harder, deeper, as if he couldn’t bear to be separated by even a breath. She let him, matching his hunger, letting herself get lost in it. Letting go.
His lips dragged over hers like he was drinking her in, and she whimpered when his teeth scraped her lower lip, just enough to make her feel it. Her hands were in his hair before she even noticed, gripping, pulling, grounding herself against him. He felt solid. Hot. Alive in a way that made everything else blur out.
Her voice broke into the moment, barely a whisper. "Are we... doing it again?"
It wasn’t a question. It was a memory. A breathless acknowledgment. And it slipped from her lips like she already knew the answer.
His laugh was low and wicked, brushing against her mouth like smoke.
Instead of answering, his hands slid under her shirt, fingers moving across the bare skin of her back, and she shuddered, instinctively arching as his palms pressed flat against her, warm and rough and slow. Her breath caught.
"God—your hands," she murmured, her voice trembling as she tried to hold still and failed.
"Too cold?" he asked, voice half amusement, half desire.
"Too good," she whispered.
He hummed at that, and his fingers kept moving, tracing up her spine like he was mapping her inch by inch. She felt the shift in his focus.
He found the clasp of her bra, paused, and then unhooked it in one quick motion that made her stomach clench. The weight of her breath stilled in her chest, her whole body aware of the way his fingertips brushed the newly bare skin.
He shifted beneath her, not pulling away but moving in, gathering her sweater with both hands, tugging it slowly upward, but not to remove it, not yet.
Her arms lifted to help, thinking he would take it off her head like before, but instead he leaned forward and disappeared under the fabric, his face vanishing from view, his body still wrapped around hers.
Her breath caught the second she realized what he was doing.
The sweater bunched around her shoulder, her arms trapped in the sleeves, her vision gone dark. She couldn’t see him.
Couldn’t anticipate where he would touch next.
She opened her mouth to speak, confusion mixing with the growing heat under her skin, but the words never came out.
His mouth found her.
The first kiss was below the curve of her breast, not hurried, not sloppy, just warm and deliberate, his breath pooling hot against her skin. frёeωebɳovel.com
She twitched from the sudden jolt of sensation, her head falling back, her arms tightening where they were still tangled in the sleeves, useless now. Her whole body stilled for one long, unbearable second.
Then he kissed her again.
Slower this time.
His lips moved along her ribs, tongue following a trail that made her shiver.
She couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t predict where he would go next, and that helplessness made her body ache in a different way. The lace of her bra brushed against her skin, barely hanging on, straps slipping down her arms, forgotten.
She tried to move, tried to pull the sweater up higher, but her arms were caught, folded between them, her hands useless against the weight of him and the trap of her own clothes.
"Malcolm—" She moaned.
His silence pressed heavier than words, and the heat of his mouth made it worse. Every kiss landed with intent.
He avoided her nipples on purpose, licking slow arcs near them, never quite reaching, letting her squirm, letting her hips roll against him.
She felt his body respond beneath her and gasped when she shifted again, the pressure between them suddenly unbearable.
His teeth grazed her skin once, just enough to make her cry out.
She couldn’t take it anymore. Her body was trembling, nerves alight, everything too much and not enough.
She reached up blindly, arms still caught in the sweater twisted around her elbows, and fumbled for his head.
She found it through the fabric, solid and warm beneath the cotton, and her fingers dug in, desperate. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t plead with her eyes. Couldn’t beg with a glance. She only had her hands, and she used them to pull him closer, to press his mouth exactly where she needed him.
He didn’t resist.
He chuckled once, low and deep and amused, and the vibration of it against the tip of her breast made her moan out loud, her mouth falling open in shock at the sensation.
His lips were already there, already teasing, but now she could feel the curve of them as he smiled against her. The heat of his breath. The slow, wet drag of his tongue through the thin lace. She couldn’t see anything. But she felt everything.
"Oh god." She can’t help but moan.
Her hips started to move on their own, rocking harder, seeking more friction, chasing relief she was nowhere near getting.
She was soaked now. She could feel it. The slick heat between her thighs, the way her panties stuck to her skin, the way her body pulsed with every roll of her hips.
She tried to pull the sweater up again, tried to see him, but part of her didn’t want to.
Part of her loved not knowing where his mouth would go next.
Loved the helplessness.
Loved how much control he held.
But she needed to see him. Needed air. Needed to look into his face and know he was just as undone.
She dragged the sweater up in one motion, broke the dark, shoved it over her head and flung it away. Her hair clung to her damp face, her chest was rising fast, and she blinked down through the haze.
He was already looking at her.
His mouth was wet. His eyes unreadable. His face flushed, breath heavy, hands still resting firm at her hips.
He said nothing.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t tease.
He just stared.
Her body stilled, but her heart didn’t. Her whole chest pounded, her skin flushed from throat to stomach, and she didn’t know if the heat climbing her spine was embarrassment or desire. Maybe both.
"It still hurts." She mumbled looking down.
His lips curved slightly at her.
