Chapter Fifty-three
He cleans up my face, wiping away the tears and the saliva before he helps me to stand. I’m still throbbing, still wet, the ache so potent between my legs I could cry. He helps me into the shorts, pushes my bra back into place and pulls my tee over my head, dressing me.
I’m in some dazed, confused state, unsure I heard him correct or catching up to the fact that he is, in fact, denying me an orgasm when he knows how tightly strung I am.
My body physically reacts to every touch, every brush of his fingers, but even when he smooths hands down my hair, tucking an errant strand behind my ear and then strolls out of the bedroom with the swagger of a man who had just been fully satisfied, I still stand there,confused.
It’s only when the captain’s voice comes over thespeakers, announcing our imminent descent that I snap out of the stupor. My knees feel like damn jelly as I walk out of the cabin, straight to where Malakai rests in a chair, a fresh glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes flick to me and his brow quirks in challenge.
“Are you serious right now?” I feel the rasp in my voice as it scratches against my throat.
“Deadly. Sit down.”
I glower at him and choose to sit in the seat over from him, crossing my arms.
“Here.” He commands.
“I am not a dog.” I snap at him.
“I still have,” he checks his watch, “Fifteen hours left.”
“You’re taking this time watching very seriously,” I note.
“I get you, without restraint, I’m using every second of it.”
I roll my eyes. I never should have made that fucking bet, but my damn pride won’t let me call this quits. Not even sure he’d allow a bow out anyway.
Grumbling and pissed at my denied pleasure, I get up, purposely knocking into him so whiskey splashes over the rim of his glass, getting little amber droplets onto his white shirt and throw myself into the seat next to him. But he just chuckles, placing his whiskey down as he leans over me.
He straps me in with the belt, tightening it before his lips whisper over my jaw, to my ear, “There’s my little brat.”
“Fuck you,” I breathe.
“Soon, baby,” He vows. “Soon.”
How soon issoon?
Now? I wonder as we sit in this expensive black Mercedes cruising through a palm lined street, huge villas on one side, the ocean, a glimmering beautiful sight on the other.
I would give up the view, the awe in which I’d gasped at it when I first saw it if I could climb into his lap right now to end this throb between my legs.
“We’re here,” Malakai’s voice is a deep timbre, a purr calling to some deep primal part of me he had stirred to life back on that damn plane. I can only think about sex.
Prick.
I turn my attention to the front, watching as we pull through a set of open gates and onto a small round courtyard, big enough to fit two cars at a push, that sits in front of a modern, white villa with a black tiled roof and large, floor to ceiling windows to let in as much natural light as possible. Palms sway in a gentle breeze that flows in from the ocean across the way, white sand beckoning, the surf gently lapping on the shore barely a hundred feet from where the car stops.
Forgetting the ache, I move my hand to the handle but find it locked. I roll my eyes, waiting for the driver to get out to come and open it for me.
“Such impatience,” Malakai tuts but there’s a lilt ofamusement.
I slide my eyes to him, noting how his shoulders aren’t as tense, how the lines in his face, deepened because of the constant scowl are smoothed out. He appears younger.
He didn’t change on the plane and still wears the same suit he traveled in, but if the heat bothers him, he doesn’t show it. I felt it the moment we got off the plane, it hit me right in the face and after the last several months of icy cold, it was a shock to the system, and I’ve been sweating ever since.
The door opens and, despite the heat, I eagerly get out, feet on instinct heading to the gate we just pulled through.
A hand gently circles my wrist, “Later,” Malakai softens, “I’ll take you down to the beach later. I’d like to show you the house.”
