Page 69 of Shameless Royalty

The sight is fucking filthy—his pretty mouth wrecked, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he takes everything I give him.

He flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away, his tongue darting out to catch the remnants, swallowing like it’s nothing. I groan, the sound ripped from somewhere deep, somewhere primal, my chest heaving as heat surges through me.

Then, the little shit flicks his tongue out again, swiping at the corner of his mouth like he’s savoring it, like he fucking enjoys being covered in me.

My vision blurs with lust, my blood burning in my veins. But he’s not done.

To my fucking shock, he leans toward my chest and his tongue flicks out, cleaning me up, slow and thorough, like he’s savoring the taste of me. I curse under my breath, my hands instinctively threading through his hair, my fingers gripping tight as I try to process what the fuck he’s doing to me.

“Malachi,” I growl.

He hums, looking up at me with those goddamn blue eyes, full of mischief and my vision goes hazy, but I force myself to lookdown—to watch as he licks me clean, his lips brushing against every inch he’s claimed.

Then he takes my hand, his blue eyes still locked on mine as he pulls my fingers into his mouth one by one, sucking, licking the mess I made, his tongue tracing between them like he’s making a goddamn point.

I can’t fucking breathe.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my body twitching as he wraps a hand around my cock and gives it the same treatment, his tongue working over every inch of my length while his eyes stay locked on me still.

It’s fucking obscene.

It’s fucking mesmerizing.

I groan, my head tipping back, my entire body locking up at the way he’s fucking worshipping me.

I thought I had control. I thought I was the one calling the shots. But I was so fucking wrong.

Malachi Dawson owns me.

My hands are trembling as I pull him back, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are hazy, his cheeks flushed, and the blissed-out smile tugging at his lips only makes my chest tighten.

“Better?” he asks, his voice shaking.

I smirk, leaning forward to grip his chin again, forcing him to look at me. “Much,” I murmur, my voice fucking wrecked. “But you? You’re in so much fuckin’ trouble, Babyface.”

His lips part like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t. He just stares at me, his blue eyes wide and searching, and for once, he doesn’t fight me.

And fuck, I think I might be done for.

Chapter 33

Malachi

Ibarelymovewhenthe door opens. I know it’s Connor before he even speaks. His footsteps are too familiar, too steady, too fucking him.

I keep my back to him, curled up on my side, staring blankly at the wall. I haven’t left the bed all day, haven’t even tried to force myself to do something productive. The weight pressing on my chest is too fucking heavy.

“Didn’t realize you’d gone back to hibernatin’.”

I don’t answer.

Connor sighs, and a second later, the bed dips behind me. His warmth seeps through the blankets almost immediately, but I still don’t turn to face him. It’s been a week of us getting closer like this, and today, everything just hit me.

“I would’ve been here sooner,” he murmurs. “Had some things to take care of for Da.”

I hum, noncommittal.

He waits like he’s expecting more. When I don’t give him anything, he shifts slightly, pressing his knee against my back. Not forceful—just there.

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