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“Fuckinginsane,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
Mal smirks smugly.
“But I need more from you,” I say quietly.
It’s the truth. I can’t keep pretending that what’s happening between us is just physical. There’s more to it, and I need to understand it. I need to understandhim.
Mal’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering with—frustration, maybe? Hesitation? Then, to my surprise, he nods.
“Fine,” he says quietly. “What doesmoreentail?”
“I…” I shrug, shaking my head.
Mal eyes me. “I mean, do you have alistor something?”
I roll my eyes. “Asshole,” I grin. “No, I just… I don’t know. I want to know more about you.”
He eyes me again, running his fingers over his jaw before shoving them through his hair.
“Fine.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Yes. You get one question.”
“What happens after one question?”
His gaze darkens, his voice turning low and gravelly. “I take you into the bathroom, clean your wounds, and bathe you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s the trade.”
The words send a shiver down my spine, the heat between us flaring back to life. My mind races, but I can’t seem to think of anything else beyond the intensity of his offer. There’s something raw, something deeply intimate about the way he says it. And for the first time, I realize that even with all the walls between us, even with my own armor?
…I’mdefenselesswith this man. Always.
“Fine. What’s your earliest memory?” I ask softly.
He scowls, clearly not expecting that. “I was thinking favorite color,” he grumbles back.
I shrug. “Well?”
He grunts, his lips twitching. “Is that what you want to know? My favorite color?”
“Nice try, but no. I want to know what your earliest memory is.”
Mal’s gaze narrows, his expression hardening. Then there’s a flicker of something else—something deeper. He’s quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed, searching for the right answer.
“I was five,” he finally says, his voice low, almost hesitant. “My mother took me to the beach. We spent all day there, just the two of us. I remember the sand, the waves... I think it was the only time I ever saw her truly happy.”
The rawness in his voice takes me by surprise, and my heart aches at the unexpected vulnerability. I want to ask more, but I know better than to push him. Instead, I stay silent, letting the weight of his words settle over us.
“That’s it, that’s your question,” he says, his tone final.
Before I can respond, he grabs my hand, pulling me toward the bathroom. The heat between us thickens again, and I follow, my pulse quickening with every step.
Mal leads me upstairs, through his spacious, glass-walled bedroom and into the master bath. It’s lit softly with low, warm lights casting long shadows over everything. Mal moves with quiet precision, turning on the water, testing the temperature, and grabbing a clean towel.
