Page 23 of Malachi
A few minutes later, the food was prepared and plated. I turned off the stove, throwing the dishes in the sink to be washed later before carrying them to the table. To her.
“Here we are,” I said with a small bit of pride at the meal I had prepared.
“Oh, my word, that smells amazing,” she groaned in the most sinful way imaginable. I tried not to think about her groaning like that under my fingers, under my tongue, but that was a goddamn losing battle.
I had my fork halfway to my mouth when she somehow topped her previous noise of pleasure with the most sultry, indulgent growl of a moan I had ever heard. My fork clattered to the plate, loudly at that.
“Malachi,” she groaned. I leaned back against the back of the chair, my hands threading through my hair, tightening and tugging at my hair in frustration; sexual frustration.
“You’ve got to stop,” I pushed out through clenched teeth.
“Stop what?” she questioned, her eyes looking up at me, fork poised at her mouth.
“Making those sounds,” I groaned, picking up my fork again and taking a bite of food. Fuck me, it was really damn good.
“Why?” she asked innocently. I looked into her eyes. She really was young, both in age and experience. She had no idea what I was talking about.
“Why do you run?” I asked, avoiding her question.
“Why do you chase?” she countered without a thought.
“Why do you disobey?” I challenged, dropping my fork and folding my hands together, my elbows resting lightly on the table as I rose to her baiting.
“Why do you order me about?” she pushed right back, fire in her eyes. God, that fire surprised me and excited me more than I could articulate.
“Does that part really surprise you?” I asked, unable to keep the smirk from my face. My eyes roamed down her neck to her cleavage again. There was something about a woman, still mussed from sleep, clad only in her natural beauty, that heated me to the core. I watched her mull over my question.
“You cook well,” she offered instead of an answer.
“Thank you,” I responded, picking up my fork and resuming my eating. I was starving.
“Why aren’t you happy?” she asked out of fucking nowhere.
“Why aren’t you?” I pushed right back.
“Why are you intolerable?” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Do you ever answer a question with an actual answer?” Fuck, she could be infuriating.
“Sometimes, if I feel like it,” she shrugged with a tiny little smirk.
“I like that,” I answered, more honestly than I had planned.
“You like what?”
“That,” I answered, my mouth full of food as I gestured to her.
“That doesn’t tell me anything,” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes.
“Your attitude,” I answered with a shrug of my own.
“Yeah, okay,” she laughed.
“I’m serious.”
“No one, and I meanno one, likes a woman with attitude,” she answered, taking another bite with a shake of her head.
“I’m not everyone else.”
