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CHAPTER13
Odette
Itry not to think too hard about the revelations Malice told me.I had no idea there was any conflict over my parents’ marriage.I always knew they loved each other deeply, and when my mother died, it killed a piece of my father.Some days, I often wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off following her to the grave.Not that he isn’t an amazing father, because nobody loves as hard as Carmine Cavanaugh does, but he’s been hurting for so long.Which reminds me of Miss Carmichael and the way they reacted to each other that day at school.Maybe he has enough love left in him for another woman.
As we enter Malice’s warehouse loft, I bite my lip.My nerves get the best of me, and I start to fidget, recalling what happened in here last time and what he’s been hinting at happening all night.
The slam of the metal door echoes around the space, causing me to jump a little.Kicking off my shoes, I drop my clutch on a table near the overstuffed sectional and head to the fridge for some water.The food Malice spent the evening feeding me helped absorb the champagne, but now, my mouth feels dry, and my throat is parched.
Leaning against the counter as I drink from the bottle, I watch Malice move around, checking to ensure the windows are still locked and arming the security system before closing the drapes covering the windows.Retrieving the remote, he turns on a stereo somewhere hidden from sight, and smooth jazz plays through speakers.
After turning on a dim lamp in one corner, he shuts off every other light in the loft, leaving us in a soft glow, casting shadows everywhere.Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Malice watches me as I finish my water before beckoning me over with the crook of a finger.
Putting an extra sway in my hips, I make my way to him slowly, dancing to the sax crooning out a tune and filling the space with a ballad that only the musician knows the meaning behind.
“Little rabbit.”Butterflies erupt in my belly at his impatient growl.
Stopping just out of his reach, I move seductively, closing my eyes and rolling my hips and body to the rhythm as I tug the zipper of my dress down.Allowing the material to flutter to the ground, I spin in a slow circle until my back is facing him.
Malice grips my hips and drags me back into his body.Sitting on his lap, he wrenches my thighs open and drapes them across his legs so I’m exposed to the cool air.Shivering in his embrace, I wait for his next move.
“Why are you so fucking perfect.”It’s not a question, not for him, but a simple fact.
“I was made for you,” I whisper.He growls again and latches onto my neck as his hands find my sex.His fingers play with my clit, rubbing circles, while the other hand seeks out my virgin entrance.A finger slips inside, and I cry out at the shocking invasion.
Biting my lip, I drop my head back onto his shoulder and let him play with my body.Mewling as he works me over like he knows exactly what I want and need—probably because he does—I close my eyes and let the sensations wash over me.
His touch is gentle but firm as he spins me into a frenzy.Scratching at his arms, a moan works up my throat as I try to hold onto my sanity.It doesn’t work; a slow-building orgasm escalates through my body with alarming intensity, and when it finally reaches its peak, I let free a deafening scream that echoes long after my voice is gone.
My body becomes loose and tingly from the impact.I twitch with every brush of his finger across my clit, and when I can’t take anymore and try to pull away, Malice only chuckles in my ear and refuses to give me a second to catch my breath.
“Malice, please,” I whine.I don’t know if I’m asking him to stop or for more.My body’s confused as to what it wants, as well.
“Tell me yes, rabbit,” he demands.“Tell me I can come inside this sweet honey trap.”
“Yes,” I gasp.I thought I had already agreed to the sex part of the evening.
Flipping us around, I’m on my back on the bed as he strips off his clothes.I’ll never tire of seeing his perfectly sculpted body or my name tattooed on his flesh, revealing to the world he belongs to someone.
To me.
Malice Sinclair is mine, and it’s not until this moment that I realize what that means.
I’m also his.
Biting my lip as he crawls up my body, I try not to stare at the appendage between his legs.I know from sitting in his lap for half the evening that he’s huge.
“Look at me, little rabbit.”I take a fortifying swallow at the feral demand before my eyes travel down his body.
Hung.
He is hung well.
Long, thick, with a curve at the end and piercings along the shaft.
So, so thick.
“That won’t fit,” I whisper, trying to close my legs.“No way,” I keep muttering.
