I wrap my arms tighter around my legs, suddenly ashamed of every sharp word I’ve thrown at him. Every glare. Every assumption.
I didn’t know.
But now I do. It hurts in a place I’ve kept locked up so long I forgot what it meant to feel anything real.
I don’t move at first. Just sit there, curled up tight the way I always do. But something in me cracks. Quiet and final.
I can’t keep holding on to this edge, not with him. Not tonight.
His story clings to the walls, bleeding into the silence between us. And I see him—really see him. Not just the scars or the temper or the reputation. I see the pain he never speaks outloud. The boy who did the unthinkable to protect the ones he loved. The man still trying to make sense of everything he lost.
I can’t stay on my side of the room anymore. So I let my legs slip down from my chest and push off the bed, barefoot, careful. He doesn’t look up right away, maybe thinking I’ll leave. Maybe hoping I won’t.
But I don’t stop until I’m in front of him.
He finally lifts his head, and the moment our eyes meet, something inside me just… gives.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely louder than breath. “For all the ways I made you feel like you didn’t deserve to be seen.”
His eyes flicker, jaw tightening, unsure how to hold kindness. He seems to have forgotten what it feels like.
So I kneel in front of him, hands trembling as I reach for his. I expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t. His fingers curl slowly around mine, tentative and aching, as though it’s the first time he’s been touched without demand or violence in a long, long time.
“I don’t want to be hard with you anymore,” I admit, voice breaking. “I’m tired of fighting everything. Especially you.”
His shoulders drop, the weight lifting from his chest in a way he didn’t realize he’d been carrying.
When he leans forward so his forehead rests gently against mine, I close my eyes and let him.
No sharp edges. No armor. Just us, breathing the same heavy air.
For the first time in what feels like forever… I’m not holding back.
Chapter 34
Malachi
Shemovesbeforeshefully wakes, instinct more than thought. A slow press of her hips against mine, her leg sliding up, her breath ghosting warm across my throat. Her skin is fever-soft against mine, slick with heat and sleep, carrying the faintest trace of lavender soap and something unmistakably her. She shifts again and the friction of bare skin on bare skin sets my nerves alight.
She’s wearing my T-shirt, bare-legged beneath it. The hem has ridden up just enough to make my pulse stutter. Soft. Mine. The thought punches through my chest with the force of a live wire. I feel her; every curve, every shift, every slick drag of skin against skin. I bite back a groan, my hand slipping lower on her back, holding her there, savoring the way her body molds to mine.
Her lashes flutter open, and our eyes lock in that hazy, golden half-light. Time folds in on itself. Her gaze, less guarded, moredangerous, holds something molten and sharp, something that claws under my ribs and refuses to let go.
She leans in, slow, deliberate, and kisses me with hunger that claims pieces of my soul. Her lips part against mine, tongue teasing, taking her time, stealing the breath right from my lungs.
Then she shifts, rolling us effortlessly until she’s straddling my hips. Her thighs bracket mine, heat pressing down through the hem of my T-shirt. The move is bold. Controlled. And it nearly undoes me. My hands fly to her hips, anchoring her there, stunned by how natural it feels to have her take control with that kind of quiet command.
She smirks against my mouth, and I know I’m fucked in every way that matters. My grip on her tightens instinctively. She’s fire and mercy all at once, her mouth dragging pieces of me to the surface I didn’t know I’d buried.
By the time Candace pulls away, I’m already hard against her, already straining. She knows it. Wears that pride in her expression. That look, cocky and confident with a glint of heat that dares me to lose control, is going to kill me.
She rocks her hips once, slow and shallow, and it nearly wrecks me. A hiss escapes through my teeth. My self-control, already fraying, snaps tighter than a wire about to give.
“You always this easy in the morning?” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep and sin.
My fingers curl into the curve of her hips, thumbs pressing into hot skin. “You have no idea.”
I grab her hips in answer, dragging her down so she feels every inch of me, every ounce of control I’m barely holding on to. The sound she makes, guttural and surprised, rips through me.
