Malcolm (Henchmen MC Next Generation 2)

Through the swimming of my eyes, I could have sworn I'd seen something akin to relief cross his eyes at that. But that made no sense.

"His business partner," he repeated.

"Yeah. And then, and then as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to have that talk with Shep. And, of course, he's denying it. And now he hates me, and—"

"He doesn't hate you."

"Well, he's acting like he hates me. And on top of all of that, you just disappeared. It's stupid. Okay, I get that. It's clingy of me, but I was getting used to having you around. I looked forward to talking to you every night. And we were making plans. And you kissed me. And then you acted like you didn't. And that was confusing enough. But you were still around, so it was okay. But then, then you were gone. And I know you don't owe me anything. And you have a right to be sick of me. I just—"

"You think I'm sick of you?" he said, looking taken aback.

"Well, yeah. And the worst part is I get it. I just wish—"

I didn't get to finish my sentence.

Because Malcolm's lips were suddenly crashing down on mine, stealing my words, my breath, the very thoughts from my head.

All there was in the world were his lips on mine, hard, demanding, as his hands slid down my back, sank into my butt, pulling me up and off my feet.

I dangled there in the air for a second, crushed so tightly to his giant chest that it was hard to breathe, before he coaxed my legs to wrap around his hips, to cross, to hold on.

A low, throaty whimper escaped me. The sound made a growling noise move through Malcolm as he walked forward, slamming me back against the wall of his cabin as his tongue moved inside to claim mine.

My legs tightened around him, my hips moving shamelessly against him as the desire burned in my system, so long suppressed that it raged out of control in a matter of minutes, making my skin hot, my heartbeat hammer, my mewling noises to turn to moans as my hands roamed over the taut skin covering firm muscles on Malcolm's shoulders and back.

That rumbling, animalistic sound moved through Malcolm again as his hand reached downward, slipping under my hideous work skirt as he arched his hips back slightly, so his hand could press between my thighs.

His breath hissed out of him to feel my panties already wet, my sex already aching for touch.

His fingers slid into my panties, stroking up my slick cleft, then working my clit in slow, soft circles as his teeth nipped my lower lip.

My lips ripped from his as two of his fingers moved down, slipping inside me as his thumb worked my clit.

Malcolm's gaze found mine, and I saw the same heat reflected there that I felt inside as he slowly started to thrust his fingers in and out of me.

"Malcolm," I whimpered, feeling my walls tighten around him, so unaccustomed to any sort of touch lately that my starved body felt nearly pushed to the edge already.

That rumble moved through him again as his fingers turned inside me, stroked over my top wall, and I swear the world went white as the orgasm crashed through my system.

My forehead landed on Malcolm's warm shoulder as a moan ripped through me.

I clung to him after, my face buried into his neck, breathing in the lingering traces of his body wash, something woodsy and comforting that pulled me gently back down into my own body, into my own mind.

"I'm not sick of you, Holly," he said, one arm giving my hips a squeeze. "Can't fucking stop thinking about you," he added.

He urged me back on my feet before sealing his lips to mine, lips harder, hungrier, driving my need back upward faster than should have been possible, leaving me writhing against his hand that was still between my legs.

On that delicious rumbling noise, his lips ripped from mine, and he lowered suddenly to his knees in front of me.

Before my mind could even catch up with what was going on, Malcolm's hand was yanking down my panties, and his face was between my thighs, his tongue moving across my clit.

He worked me with slow, careful movements, never letting my need wane, constantly driving me up toward that cliff before finally pushing me back over again.

My legs shook, refusing to hold me up any longer, making me go down on my knees as well, again pressing my head to his shoulder as the waves continued to crash through me.

It wasn't until a moment or two after I started to come back down that I noticed what I'd missed before.

Namely that when Malcolm had gone down on his knees in front of me, his towel lost its battle to stay around his large frame. I could feel the soft material at the side of my knee. And could feel the intimate lines of Malcolm against me.