Page 39 of Toxic B!tch
I don’t just protect what’s mine.
I destroy what threatens it.
I kiss him again, this time slower, deeper, like I’m trying to taste every inch of him, like I’m trying to drown in the warmth of his mouth. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against my lips. He responds instantly, hands gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him as his tongue sweeps against mine.
This isn’t rushed.
This isn’t frantic.
This is something else. Something that coils hot and low in my stomach, something that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t know how to name.
Malik kisses me like he has all the time in the world to memorize me. Like he’s savoring every second, every breath, every little sound that escapes my throat. And fuck, it makes my head spin.
I break away just long enough to whisper, “You’re mine.”
A statement, not a question. A fact written in stone, in blood, in the way our bodies fit together like we were carved for this moment.
His grip tightens, his lips ghosting over my jaw, down my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice thick and wrecked. “Yours.”
And then he proves it.
The outside world vanishes, swallowed by the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. I kiss him again, slower this time, letting the moment stretch, savoring the feel of his lips moving against mine. There’s nothing hurried,nothing frantic—just heat lingering between us, deepening with every touch.
Malik’s grip tightens, fingers sinking into my hips like he’s anchoring himself to me, like he needs this as much as I do. The way he moves is deliberate, controlled, but I can feel the tension in him, the way he holds himself back.
I want him to let go. I want him to give in.
His hands roam my body, leaving fire in their wake. I press into him, chasing the friction, the feeling of being completely consumed. He groans against my lips, and I smirk, loving the way he sounds when he’s losing himself in me.
His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with something primal. Hunger. Possession.
Mine.
I reach up, threading my fingers through his beard, tugging just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. He likes that. I like that he likes it.
I nip at his bottom lip, dragging my nails down his back, and he groans, his breath hitching. "That all you got, big guy?" I murmur against his mouth, teasing. "I was expecting a little more… ruin."
He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against mine, his eyes dark with something raw. "Indigo," he growls, and fuck, I like the way he says my name. Low, rough, like a prayer or a curse.
I smirk. "Say it again."
"Indigo."
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. He just gives me what I want, like he already knows resistance is useless.
Malik kisses down my throat, slow and thorough, like he’s making a map of me with his mouth. My skin burns under his touch, anticipation coiling tight in my belly. I’m buzzing,electric, ready to push, to provoke, to see how far I can take this before he snaps.
"Malik," I breathe, sliding my hand up his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. My fingers curl lightly around the fabric of his shirt, giving the faintest tug. "You planning on keeping me waiting all night?"
Malik’s lips curve into a small smile, his eyes searching mine as if trying to decipher my thoughts. “I like the way you say my name,” he whispers, his voice sending shivers down my spine.
I give a soft laugh, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “It’s a good name.”
He presses a tender kiss against my forehead before pulling back slightly, his gaze still locked on mine. “You said something earlier,” he says, his tone serious now. “About me being yours.”
My heart skips a beat at the reminder, and I nod slowly, wondering where he’s going with this.
“What does that mean to you?” he asks, his hand trailing down my arm in gentle caresses.
