This was different from our first kiss. That was introductory Chemistry 101. Our tongues lapped and laved and our teeth bit and grazed, kissing with messy grace and hunger, and my thighs wrapped firmer around his waist, responding to his firmness against me and driving us both crazy with pressurized swirls that he matched, falling easily into my rhythm, harmonizing with my pace.
I’d never wanted anyone so bad. My hands travelled up and down his chest, enjoying the heat of his skin against my fingertips, enjoying how I could feel his groans reverberating through them, how I could taste his groan in my mouth. I smiled into his groan because I really enjoyed the taste of how I made him feel. I needed to feel more of him. I broke away from him for a second and watched him watch me as I slowly pulled off the shirt I was wearing and tossed it to the floor.
Malakai’s breathing got heavier and so did his eyes, their weight causing them to drop from mine and move across my body like he had uncovered a treasure thought lost. Slowly, across my breasts, my stomach, my hips, his eyes left searing trails where they travelled. I imagined them as glowing lines, crisscrossing on my skin, amber against brown, like he was drawing constellations on me, or drawing constellations from me. Stargazing, gazestarry. My stomach flipped and dipped. The pulse between my legs became more incessant at the feel of him getting firmer.
I smiled against his lips. “I can put the shirt back on if you’re uncomfortable.”
Malakai’s eyes slowly rose to mine and he smiled indulgently, wickedly, making the fire in me roar. He curved his hand around the back of my neck. Our breaths married, his lips moved against mine. “Kiki Banjo, you are a problem.”
He tried to slip his tongue inside my mouth but I gently pulled away, lifting the edge of his shirt, slowly peeling it upward, revealing the smooth, rigid, creamy deep of his skin.
“Come solve me, then.”
Malakai’s smile slanted and he pulled away so he could yank the shirt over his head and throw it to the side like it was something fetid and unholy. He was back with me in a second, hands spreading around the breadth of my thighs and lifting me up, drawing me close to him like I was something sacred. My arms twined around his neck, the feel of his skin against mine, his heat taking me up to a higher level of thirst and I kissed him, wanting to sate it.
He walked me over to the bed, kissing me back all the way, matching my appetite. He sat down on the edge of the bed and dipped his head so his mouth was on my neck and then my collar bone, and then lower to the soft, cushiony curves of my chest, and I was delighted to note that his lips really were all that they had seemed on my mouth, full and accommodating and bossy, commanding my body to yield to their softness. My body did as it was told.
My hands wandered over the smooth muscular terrain of his back as I kissed up his shoulder, up the slopes of his deltoids till I reached his neck, sucking and nipping like a starved, wild thing until Malakai let out a low growl, wrapped his hands around my waist, and switched us around so I was on my back. We moved further up the mattress and he laid on his side, hovering above me, breathless.
“Shit, Scotch,” Malakai’s voice was low as he leaned his forehead on mine. His smile grazed my lips. “You’re mad sexy. You know that?”
My laughter came out in tiny, bubbly, and breathless spurts. “I had a hunch.” I slung an arm around his neck, whispering against his plush lips, “You’re okay too.”
Malakai chuckled, and I loved the sensation of it reverberating through me. He arched a brow. “I’m okay?”
I shrugged, purposefully pulling a casually unfussed face. “Yeah. I mean you aite. Cute.”
Malakai levelled an incredulous look at me. “Cute. You’re really calling me cute right now?” He glanced down at the very, very sizeable protrusion in his sweatpants. “Right fucking now?”
“Aw. You are so adorable when you’re being all hypermasculine. . . . Shit.”
I bit my lip as Malakai skipped his hand down my stomach slowly and began to knead through my knickers. Just as I opened my mouth and released a breathy sound, Malakai ate that moan, catching my lips, kissing me deeply, indulgently, like I was something to be savored—like he could slow time itself down with every languid flick of his tongue, every rogue suck of my lip, as he continued to massage my now considerably soaked panties. I writhed against him and dug my fingers into his hair. Malakai pulled away, eyes heavy-lidded, but questioning, lips bumping against mine as his fingers moved in swirls against me. “Tell me.”
“Kai.” His name was a moan. I could see the effect on him, in the flash of his eyes, and I could feel it pressed into my thigh, so pleasingly. Every vaguely sexual experience I had before this was lust-by-numbers, erotic-by-rote.