His hand cups mine, tightening it on the length of his cock. I look up into his eyes, and find them bright with desire.
I can’t think about the rules or repercussions. I can’t think of anything.
I quickly unbuckle his belt and pull him free, heart leaping wildly at the length and girth of him. I bite my lip, trying to swallow my sharp breathing, and drag the hem of my nightgown back up to my thighs. I look up at him. Almost a dare.
Malcom holds my gaze as he pulls aside my underwear and aligns his cock between my legs. His hand finds the small of my back, and deliberately, deliciously, he guides me toward him. Closer, an inch, a breath, his cock sliding inside of me.
I gasp as he penetrates, hot pleasure raking through me. I grip his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut and back arching as I take the length of him inside me. A ragged moan works from my lips, and his other hand finds my thigh, drawing my body tight against his.
My bare foot touches the cold stone floor, my other leg wrapped around his waist as he begins to fuck me against the counter. I want to lie back, to let the ecstasy take me in its vivid throes. I want to dissolve right there, reduced to nothing but a ghost and pleasure as he takes me.
But my animal instinct takes over, and I grip the edge of the counter, angling myself toward him, taking in every delicious inch. I grit my teeth to keep from moaning, but the mounting pleasure is impossible to quell.
His thrusts are slow and hard, the way his skin rubs against my softest places deliriously pleasurable. I clutch his shoulder with one hand as I edge toward a second climax, undulating my body against his. His breath is hard and ragged, his grip on me tightening. It’s close, so close, and the way his jaw clenches and his eyes brighten with pleasure only works me harder.
A moan rises to my lips, unstoppable as the orgasm begins to catch at my extremities like wildfire. I let myself fall back, arms outstretched and fists clutching the edges of the counter as he fucks me closer to climax. I don’t bother swallowing my pleasure this time, instead locking my legs around his waist as it mounts, mounts,mounts—
I hear myself crying out, my screams ragged and weak with ecstasy. He grunts, plunging into me over and over, a desperate sound coming out of him in the instant he loses himself, spilling wildly inside of me, the both of us unmoored and utterly heedless.
Then it’s over. He’s poised over me, palms braced on either side of me on the counter. My body is weakly wrapped around his, my arms still outspread.
I should not have done that.
We shouldn’t have done that.
It’s like he reads it in my face. Hurt crosses his, there and gone so quickly I could have imagined it. And then he shoves away from me, pacing away as he adjusts and cleans himself. I lie weak and spent and suddenly remorseful on the counter, closing my knees in a small act of penitence.
“If we’re lucky,” Malcom says, his voice low and dark, his back to me, “you’ll be with child and we won’t need to replicate the action again.”
It’s like a punch to the gut. I know I’m the one who’s rejected him—with good reason—over and over since my arrival. But his cold dismissal still has a shocking weight.
Malcom stops before the door. “I’m sorry it has to happen this way. But…at least the worst of it is over.”
Tears fill my eyes as he leaves me there. I know I have no right to be offended. He has no way of knowing that there was no sense of obligation in what we just did. That my heart, against all reason and right, has somehow begun to shift. That deep down, I wanted that. I wanted him. And I loved every illicit, impossible moment.
After a while I sit up, wrapping my arms around myself. It’s cruel, this reversal. That now I should want Malcom after so much rejection, and that he couldn’t even bear to look at me.
I touch my belly. Pregnancy has never taken with me. Trevor always blamed me, and I let him. But despite everything, suddenly, I hope with all that I am, that this seed takes. I hope a baby grows inside of me. I hope I’m able to build a new life. I hope I’m able to find peace.
But I know it’s no use. I’m a broken woman.
No one—not even Malcom Walker—can fix what is damaged beyond worth.
12
Malcom
The next few days pass uneventfully. I turn down a few jobs, even though I know I need to keep my reputation bulletproof. Emma feels vulnerable to me, after what happened between us the other night. She feels fragile, like a bird, or something made of glass.
And even though I won’t be in the same room as her—the horror and regret in her face after we had sex the other night made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with me—I do everything in my power to watch over her.
Callie appraises me pointedly a week after that eventful night. I’m in my upstairs office, sifting through work-related bills and notices, whiskey at my right hand.
After a few moments of the maid cleaning around the room, her eyes flitting to me and then away, I finally give in. “Something to say, Callie?”
“No, sir. Whatever gave you that impression?” She continues bustling around, fluffing a chaise longue cushion with more fervor than necessary. “Only…”
I sit back, studying her. “Callie. Speak frankly.”
