Authors: Stephanie Fournet
“Thank you, Malcolm.”
So, it was resolved. A sense of relief suffused the car, and Malcolm knew that it wasn’t just Maren’s. Beside him, Maren leaned back in her seat and covered her mouth to yawn.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered.
“We’re almost home,” he said.
Chapter 23
Maren
M
aren startled awake and knew exactly where she was.
Malcolm had offered her his guest room, but when they’d arrived at his house, he’d given her the choice of the spare room or the daybed in his study. Without hesitation, she had chosen the latter. And he had been so sweet and attentive, producing a brand new toothbrush and giving her extra pillows and blankets.
Moonlight poured into the room from the three windows that defined Malcolm’s favorite spot in his home, and Maren reached for her phone on the floor to check the time: 2:23 a.m. Though she had fallen asleep exhausted, she had slept only a little more than an hour. To her relief, there were no missed calls or messages. All was well. For now.
She sighed in the darkness. This was it. Hospice would come tomorrow once her father was released from the hospital. They had reached the point in the Cancer Story when people at the epicenter of the tragedy stopped sharing the grim, frightful details. What lay ahead was a murky, cold strangeness, one with a promised unhappy ending.
Maren rubbed her eyes, which stung from her night of crying. She didn’t want to cry anymore. Not now. What she wanted lay under the same roof, just a few feet away. She thought about the events of the last 24 hours, of how much Malcolm had done for her. Not loving him seemed impossible. How many times in one day could a man prove himself worthy? Did he still not see it? Even her father on his deathbed saw it.
Maren threw back the covers and sat up. She pictured herself tip-toeing down the hall to his room. And it wasn’t loneliness or fear or a need for comfort that gave her to such thoughts. It was because he was the man she loved, and she wanted him. She wanted to touch him, to bare herself to him, to kiss every inch of him.
If she went to him now, would he send her away? If he tried to send her away, would she go?
Not this time.
Her will was too strong. Any shame she might have felt for her past boldness evaporated in the knowledge that Malcolm deserved to feel loved and desired. Maren shucked off her yoga pants and panties and stood with her heart thundering in her throat. The wood floor was cold, and in nothing but the oversized sweatshirt, the cool air tickled her bare thighs and bottom.
She stepped lightly into the hallway, but the floorboards of the old house whispered her passage, a deafening sound it seemed to her against the silence of the house. She crossed the hall and passed the bathroom. Malcolm had left his bedroom door open, telling her to wake him if she should need to leave again during the night. She stood in the doorway and stared into the shadows. A muted light from street lamps edged the curtains, but the rest of the room was almost complete darkness. Maren could only just make out Malcolm’s shape in the bed across the room.
It was too quiet. No one could sleep so soundlessly—without the steady rhythm of breath. Malcolm was awake.
“Maren?....Are you okay?” he whispered.
She took a tentative step into the room. Her pulse beat wildly in her throat. It wouldn’t matter this time if he told her no, but she didn’t want him to.
“No,” she whispered back. She heard him sit up in bed, and she feared that he would turn on the light, so she sped across the floor until her thighs met the foot of the mattress, crawled until her knees bumped his legs, and she found his hands in the darkness. Maren held on for dear life, panting now.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice growing more concerned, more alert.
Maren drew a slow inhale, willing her heart to settle. With it came that heady scent of lemongrass and leather, an opiate rising up from the bed sheets, from his body. Her nervousness quelled in a wave of desire.
“I want you,” she said, placing a hand over his heart. To her delight, his chest was bare, and her right pinky brushed a nipple. She heard his breath catch in his throat. “I want to be with you.”
She gave him no time to respond but closed the distance between them, sealing his mouth with hers. For a long moment, he didn’t move, and one half of her mind braced for the inevitable battle while the other catalogued the softness of his lips, the acceleration of his heartbeat under her fingers, the grip of his right hand around her left. She felt it the instant he let her in. Everything melted; everything cemented. His mouth opened against hers, and a moan escaped from his throat. Her tongue swept into his mouth as his arms wrapped around her, and she rose up on her knees, still kissing, and gently straddled him.
“Oh, God...” he spoke into her mouth, and she smiled against him, her fingers threading through his hair at last, grabbing the nape of his neck.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
She could not let the words come from her voice, so she spoke them with her fingers in his hair, her breasts crushed against him, the squeeze of her thighs around his. She didn’t dare let herself imagine that the words of his body spoke the same, but he was hardly silent.
With one hand, Malcolm held her against him while the other caressed her face, her ear, the slope of her neck. He moved down her left shoulder past the curve of her breast. When his hand found her bare hip under the hem of the sweatshirt, he gasped and broke the kiss. Their eyes sought each other in the dimness, black on black, whites shining. Malcolm palmed her hip and ran his thumb over the sharp bone of her pelvis.
“Maren,
mi tesoro,
...are you sure?” he rasped, sounding near strangled.
“Yes. My God, yes!” Her mouth found his neck, and she kissed his pulse point, tasting salt and heat. She rode her tongue down to his collarbone, smiling at the joy of finally making introductions. She would have savored it longer, but at that moment Malcolm’s mouth met her neck, and she was lost.
“Oh, Malcolm,” she managed, dizzy with sensation.
Saying his name seemed to ignite something in him, rending another moan from his lips. Maren did not know how much she could stand. Drawing back, she reached behind her. In one swift motion, she pulled the sweatshirt over her head and threw it to the floor.
“Holy fuck,” he gasped. His right hand found her left breast, and when his mouth closed over the puckered nipple, a bolt of pleasure struck from there to her sex. She arched back, tilting her hips, and, through the tangle of covers beneath her, she felt him.
Holy fuck.
This time, she moaned—loudly.
And before she could recover, Malcolm’s hands dug into the flesh of her hips, her knees lost the mattress, and she was on her back.
“Wow...” was all she managed before he was above her, kissing her again. Kissing her with so much hunger. Her hands sailed over his back, feeling the ripple of muscle as he devoured her. His tongue was an outlaw, an anti-hero. His tongue was fucking Lord Byron, claiming her mouth, saturated in carnality.
She wanted him inside her. Vaguely, the thought struck her that it was where he’d belonged all along, and how silly it was of them not to see this sooner. She reached for the band of his boxers and struggled to tug them down. Malcolm came to her rescue, lifted his hips, taking his weight on one elbow, and slipped them off. Before she could grasp him, he moved out of her reach, pressed her shoulders to the bed, and kissed a path down her body. Over her breasts, laving each nipple lovingly, across her ribs, down to her navel. She cradled him between her legs, and he moved his right hand down to her bottom, stroking the curve of her, down behind her left thigh to the inside of her knee.
Maren swallowed a scream when she felt his teeth graze her pelvic bone. Malcolm swirled his tongue around the point and then ran it slowly, so slowly across her belly to its twin.
Are those little cries coming from me?
She wondered.
Yes, yes they are
.
Malcolm’s fingers traced their way back along her thigh, tucking in to the apex of her legs. He circled a finger over her pubic bone before dipping it into her sex.
Both of them drew in a sharp breath at the contact.
“Oh, God!”
“You’re so wet!”
She would have responded about wanting him for months, but the deft finger stroked her clitoris, and she lost the power of speech.
“I need to taste you, Maren,” he whispered.
She gave another little cry of assent as she gripped handfuls of the bedding.
And his mouth was on her, merciless, famished. When the outlaw tongue nudged her clitoris, she felt the tiny muscles inside of her quiver and clasp. Her hips bucked when fingers joined his mouth, slipping inside of her and drawing against her front wall.
Maren fought to control herself, but she was almost at the point of no return, and she wanted this first climax to be shared.
“Malcolm,...please!” She tugged his hair, and he was above her again. She was so relieved, she almost laughed.
“You taste like heaven,” he rasped against her mouth. “Here,
mi todo,
taste heaven.” He gave her his tongue and, on impulse, she sucked it, tasting her desire, his desire. She felt his moan vibrate against her teeth, down her throat.
She reached between them and grabbed him, confirming the holy-shit-almighty she’d felt before. Malcolm pulled out of her mouth with a smack.
“Condom...Let me get a condom,” he panted.
“Hell, no,” she breathed.
And Malcolm rocked her with his laughter, setting off her own giggles.
“Woman, how you make me laugh.”
She held him still in one hand, and with the other she touched his face, watching his eyes in the darkness.
“You make me happy,” she whispered.
He held her gaze and shifted his weight so that the head of his shaft met her sex. With their eyes locked, he pushed into her, slowly, stretching her, filling her, and, again, rendering her near speechless.
“Yes,...” was all she managed before she tipped her head back and began to move with him. A clenching, a quickening that started just above her knees and just below her ribs began to gather force, drawing inward on itself. She wrapped her legs around him and cried in bliss at the depth this took him.
“Oh, Maren...” he murmured at this revelation.
Each time he pushed into her and pulled back again, her muscles around him clasped, an internal swallowing, a hunger finally being fed. She still held his beautiful face in one hand, and now the other grabbed his hip, ready to brace against him when she broke.
“Come for me, Maren
, mi diosa, mi todo.”
He slipped a hand between them, and his thumb brushed her clitoris, and she tipped over the edge.
“Malcolm!”
Her womb pumped like a fist, obliterating her with waves of pleasure, and this was Malcolm’s undoing.
He came with a deep cry and a deeper plunge into her, hitting her core as it spasmed and, unbidden, convincing her of a divine plan behind every hinge in the universe.
“Maren,” he whispered, kissing her face, breathless, still moving inside her.
“Malcolm,” she answered because it was the most precious word she knew.
Eons later, when they had stilled and their breathing had slowed, Malcolm rolled them to their sides, and with a tinge of regret, she felt him slip out of her. But he seemed to want to compensate for this, too, gripping her left thigh and tugging it higher on his hip. He drew her into his arms, and she rested her cheek on his chest. She smiled as the tiny patch of curls there tickled her nose. Lying there with him soaked her with contentedness. She had never felt so replete.
Maren knew Malcolm well enough to suspect that he would have doubts, but she didn’t want to give those air by asking about tomorrow or needing to be reassured. Of course, she wanted to know about tomorrow; she wanted to be reassured. This moment was paradise, and she wanted it to last. But it was enough—more than enough—to feel his arms around her, to be able to stroke the swell of his bicep as she did, and to listen to the steady thump of his heart.
So Maren was completely surprised when he spoke, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.
“You are amazing,” he whispered, his voice hushed in awe.
She looked up at him, into the tranquil sincerity of his face, and she pressed her lips to his, reveling in the simple fact that she could. He kissed back, and his fingers moved to her hair.
“You should know that I worship your hair. This braid is a holy relic,” he announced, making her laugh.
“And that laugh, my God,” he whispered, and she could just see his smile in the darkness. “It is the elixir of life.”
“I’m glad you approve,” she said through her smile. She returned her lips to his collarbone and spoke into it as she kissed. “And I’ve planned a pilgrimage here. It’s sacred ground.”
“Mmmm...” he breathed, turning his neck to give her more room. “
Mi tesoro santo.”
Maren surfaced from his throat and frowned, trying to translate. She loved that he slipped into Spanish without seeming to realize it, but she could not keep up—especially with a sex-addled brain.
“‘My holy’ what?” she asked, biting her lip, bashfully.
He closed in and tongued her lip until she freed it, and then nipped it himself.
“Treasure,” he whispered.
Maren felt the word glide down her throat and over her heart as if she’d swallowed it.
“Wow...” she managed, lamely.
This made him laugh gently, his hard chest rocking against her.
God, I love you.
He squeezed her tighter against him.
“I think it’s time we try to sleep. It’s pretty late,
mi todo.”
It was the third time he’d said it, and she finally caught the words. Maren felt her eyes well, and she was grateful for the darkness.
My everything.
Chapter 24
Malcolm
A
half an hour before dawn, Malcolm sat lotus-style at the foot of his bed with the edge of the comforter pulled over his shoulders, watching Maren sleep.
He felt happier than he had in years, and it scared the shit out of him.
Had he ever been this happy? Even in the early days with J.J.? Had she touched him like this? He could not remember being so humbled by the affection of a woman. He could not remember ever longing for anyone—anything—as much as he had for Maren. And making love? Touching her, tasting her, and making her come had redefined his priorities.
He ran his eyes over her sleeping form. Even in the shadows, she was undeniably beautiful, the slope of her hip as she lay on her side, the curve of her neck. Such was the beauty that he shared with the rest of the world, but he also knew that she had the beauty of strength, self-sacrifice, good-humor, kindness, and so much more. The privilege to gaze on her in his bed and
know
her
set him far above any other man alive.
What in the hell is she doing with me?
Malcolm’s stomach clenched. He didn’t know what to hope for. Pushing her away was no longer an option. She had conquered him, vanquished him. He was powerless. Something had begun. But Malcolm knew the truth; with every beginning comes an ending.
How would this end?
Maren stirred in her sleep, reaching out her hand into the space he’d occupied moments before. He realized with no little wonder that she was searching for him in her sleep. Without another thought, he crawled back up the bed, settled next to her again, and took her warm body in his arms. Unconscious, she gave a lilting hum of satisfaction and nestled against him. It was a gift.
He knew without a doubt that, come what may, he could not leave her. Nothing on Earth would ever again tempt him to willfully hurt or abandon her. Which meant that when it ended, it would come at her hand.
Just as the end of his marriage had come at J.J.’s.
Would it come soon? Or would it be years from now? And how much would it decimate him? What to hope for? A part of him wanted to enjoy this as much as he could. But if it lasted—even as long as his marriage had—and then fell apart, where would he be? Would he survive it?
It is like death
, Malcolm reasoned.
It is coming. You know it’s coming. But no one wants to hurry it along. Might as well enjoy the ride while it lasts.
Malcolm’s darker impulse could not resist this temptation.
It’s not like death—clean-cut and final. She’ll dump your ass, and you’ll be stuck in your life to deal with it. And no one wants to hurry death along? Bullshit. Why is the AMT still in your office?
Malcolm forcefully shook his head to knock out these thoughts, and the motion jostled Maren in his arms. He silently cursed himself as she drew a long breath and surfaced from sleep. Dawn had broken, and he watched her smile before she opened her eyes.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” she murmured, sleepily, peeking at him through her lashes.
As always, she chased his dark thoughts away, and he found himself smiling at her sleep-mussed beauty and cheeky talk.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You can go back to sleep. It’s still quite early.”
Maren shook her head, eyes closed again, but she planted two unexpected kisses on his pecs. Lightning fired to his cock, and it leapt.
“Must pee,” Maren mumbled and pulled away from him. “Be right back.”
Malcolm had the pleasure of watching Maren scamper naked to the bathroom. He still could not quite believe the turn of events that led to such unexpected blessings. Her presence changed everything. It charged the air in his house, lit it from within. Even the sound of the toilet flushing, the sink running, the squeak of the medicine cabinet seemed musical because this was the antithesis of silence, the silence of his solitude.
He lay in bed and listened to the faint susurration, guessing that Maren was brushing her teeth. Perhaps she could just leave the toothbrush he’d given her here. For next time.
If there is a next time.
He hoped there would be a next time. Malcolm knew that if he were really honest with himself, he truly hoped that next time would be tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that.
The door to the bathroom opened.
“Malcolm, your floor is freezing,” Maren said through clenched teeth. Instead of returning to the bedroom, she dashed down the hall.
“Where are you going?” he called, hating the thought that she might get dressed and leave him.
“Getting my phone!” she yelled back, and Malcolm’s face split with a grin. Hearing her shout from down the hall was absolutely surreal. It punctuated the wonder of her presence.
Feeling confident that she intended to return to his bed, he flung the covers back and made his own trip to the bathroom.
Maren was right about the floors. Leaving the bathroom, he stepped into the doorway of his room to see Maren back in bed with the covers tucked under her arms, just hiding her breasts. She looked up from her phone and smiled at him, brushing bangs from her eyes.
He recognized the naked joy on her face. It was the same look he tried to hide in his own face whenever he saw her. She pulled the tail of her mussed braid from behind her and draped it over her shoulder. It was a casual gesture, one she probably did every day, but the sensuality of it made him swallow.
“Stop staring and come back here,” she said, smiling.
“I’m not staring; I’m admiring,” he said, crossing the room and climbing onto the bed. He hovered over her, essentially trapping her between his arms, caging her legs within his. Her brown eyes locked onto his, and with just the sheets and a matter of inches separating their naked bodies, Malcolm felt like he could look straight into her. Being this close to her now in the growing light of day was even more intoxicating than the night had been.
“I’ve got you right where I want you,” he whispered. “You can’t get away, now.”
“Thank God,” Maren whispered back, the smile on her face giving way to something more thoughtful, a look that squeezed his heart.
He nodded toward the phone still in her hand.
“Everything alright?”
She tossed it to the empty side of the bed.
“Lane’s about to board his plane. He and I will go to the hospital when he gets in.”
“I can take you wherever you need to go,” he said, wanting to keep her in his care, wanting to stay with her.
“I’m not ready to go just yet,” she said, reaching up to touch his face. Malcolm saw heat and longing in her eyes, and he brought his lips to hers. In the frenzy of their collision the night before, he had devoured her with a sense of urgency. Now, he wanted to savor his good fortune. That, and take the lead, show her where he wanted to go with her. He parted her lips with his tongue, slowly tracing the inner line where her lips met. She tasted so sweet.
He slid his tongue over her teeth and into the well of her mouth, catching her own ready tongue and dancing with it. Maren gave a gasp of pleasure, and Malcolm felt her struggle beneath him to thrust the covers down.
“I want to feel you on me,” she breathed into his mouth. Malcolm wasted no time sliding under the covers with her and laying himself against her, skin on skin. She opened her legs and wrapped them around his hips, and the length of his cock came down against her cleft.
Maren moaned.
The sound of her pleasure was almost enough to make him come on cue. He was not about to let that happen. Malcolm gripped her left thigh in one hand and her right breast in the other, sealing his mouth over the mound and sucking fully.
Maren arched her neck back and sent her hands to his hair.
“Malcolm!” she hissed.
The nipple became a tight heart in his mouth, and he circled it again and again with his tongue, loving the sound of her now fretful breathing. He ran his fingertips along the curve of her perfect ass, earning a faint whimper. She was so vocal, so responsive to him; it gave him a heady thrill and tightened his already straining sex.
He released the breast in his mouth to claim the other, noticing as he did that a flush had painted the valley between Maren’s breasts and seemed poised to climb higher.
“All red,” he murmured into her skin, kissing the blush on her sternum.
Maren freed one hand from his head and ran her fingers over the trail, looking down at him. He moved to feast on the other breast, and she threw her head back.
“Yes,...that happens....” she panted as his teeth teased flesh.
Malcolm pulled back, intrigued, and saw that her eyes were half-closed in ecstasy.
“When does it happen?” he asked, tracing fingers to her inner thigh, climbing slowly.
“Mmmm...when I’m...close,” she said, managing to speak just above a whisper.
She was close? The rush of red was her body’s semaphore, a beacon to signal her desire for him. Malcolm feared that she would unman him with her arousal, but just then an unwelcome thought crowded out all others.
Who else knew this language of her body? What other men had beheld such heavenly signs?
Jealousy, like clawed creature, grappled him.
Mine.
The impulse was stupid with its simplicity. Primal with its monosyllabic insistence. But behind the word and the sense lay a raw pain like a jabbed eyeball. He could not stand the thought of anyone else with her.
Malcolm resisted a savage impulse to plunge into her and claim her as his, again and again, bring her to climax countless times so that she would forget any other man. But he knew even this would not be enough to soothe him.
He kissed the climbing flush again and told her the truth.
“I’m insanely jealous of every man who has seen this,” he whispered, watching for her reaction.
Maren’s eyes opened and found his. For an instant, she looked at him with such surrender that Malcolm felt as though he could see her very soul. Her hands went to his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks.
“You have no reason to be jealous,” she said, eyes narrowing on his. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”
Every curse fell away. His doubt. His fear. His failure.
He moaned as his fingers found her sex and swam in the nectar of her arousal.
So wet!
He rolled his fingertips over the bud of her clitoris, and she whimpered again. He wanted to be inside her now, not to possess her, but to belong to her.
Malcolm brought his mouth back up to hers and kissed her deeply, his tongue and fingers following the same swirling rhythm. Maren wrapped her arms around his back and locked her legs behind his thighs, grinding against his hand. She reached down between their bodies and grasped him.
“
Paraiso,”
he breathed into her mouth. “
Estoy en las puertas del paraiso.”
“Come inside,” she whispered back, tilting her pelvis to meet the head of his sex.
The muscles low in his belly clenched at her invitation, and his cock jumped in her grip. All thought left him except the ecstasy of his body and his adoration of her. He pushed into her slowly, his thumb caressing her clitoris. She was slick and ready, but she was also so tight that he feared hurting her. Malcolm looked down at her face to see a sublime sight, her mouth open and panting, her eyes softly closed, and a little frown creasing her brow. He froze.
“Am I hurting you, my darling?”
She lazily opened her eyes and gazed at him with such heat.
“Only in the best possible way,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare stop.”
With his left hand, he found her right, clasping it and weaving their fingers together. He anchored himself against her palm, pinning her hand to the bed. Malcolm felt that the entire universe condensed to the boundaries of their bodies. They held each other’s gaze as he pushed deeper inside her. As he moved, a welcome he had never known shone from Maren’s eyes. At some place in his center, he recognized this as the home he had unwittingly sought his entire life. Here it was, at last, in the heart of this girl he had no business loving.
It was too much. And, yet, he could not look away. True, he had no business loving her, but he absolutely did.
Admitting his own love, he felt the fear again. As he stared into the depths of her eyes, it seemed as though he were on a steep precipice. He could back away, close his eyes, and let his body take over, plunging into the physical bliss that the moment offered. Or he could keep them open and let her see everything, his cowardice, his unworthiness, his tremendous and ill-advised love.
He could not do it. He closed his eyes and moved to bury his face in her neck when her left hand touched his cheek, stopping him.
“No,...no,” she whispered in protest. “Don’t go away. Let me look at you.”
Malcolm looked back at her, awestruck. She knew that he was hiding. Hiding from her. And she was having none of it.
He eyed her with admiration, not for the first time. This was Maren, seeing the truth and demanding it from him. She smiled back at him, forgiving his cowardice, easing his fears.
“You change everything,” he murmured.
“Good,” Maren replied, grinding harder against him. “You need change.”
Could he change? He did not know if it was possible, but she gave him no chance to ponder the question. The blush on her front had crept to the base of her throat, and she began to give voice to her pleasure, little cries somewhere between sighs and songs.
Nothing in life had come close to the beauty of watching her, hearing hear ascend. Malcolm felt as though the sight would unhinge him, and he would turn himself inside-out within her in that moment. He gritted his teeth to keep hold of his control, and he released her left hand, moving between them, and finding her. She gasped when he stroked the precious butterfly of nerves, and her hands snaked into his hair at the base of his skull. He swirled it again, and she bucked fiercely beneath him.
“Malcolm! Oh, God!” she cried, gripping his hair, her throat mottled red, her head thrown back in the most glorious release. He felt the contraction of her sex against him, and he was done for, the exquisite ache cresting, breaking, washing through him as he spilled himself into her.