Page 9 of Malachi
When he had left me to my own devices in our bedroom that evening, I had mulled over what to do. I wanted to explore, but I didn’t want to offend him by not being available to him on our wedding night. Mother, as well as my older sisters, had all told me of the importance of being ready and available to a new husband, especially in the early days of a marriage. When he didn’t come to bed after close to an hour of waiting, I decided that I could not contain my excitement a moment longer. Perhaps he had fallen asleep on the couch, as my father so often did.
I had crept down through the house and out the back door. It was magical. Sprinting across the yard and into the trees, off to find adventure. There was something majestic and wonderful about nature. When I came across the small meadow, I couldn’t help myself. I spun around in circles, soaking up the moonlight and feeling lighter and more free than I ever had in my entire life.
My plans had all gone awry when Malachi had shown up, demanding I return to the house with him. He was angry. I could see it on his face; I could hear it in his voice. But how could he be so angry and demanding when all that nature surrounded us? It was baffling. Still, we had gone back inside, much to my chagrin, as he had thrown me over his shoulder like a mere sack of potatoes.
The early morning light was just filtering through the curtains as I slowly blinked my eyes open. Malachi’s strong body was warm and comforting behind me, wrapping me in his warmth like the best blanket money could buy. His warm breath fanned over the back of my head, tickling me just enough to rouse me from sleep. I snuggled deeper into his warmth, feeling calm and content.
He made a low growling noise as I pushed back into him. His hardness poked at my backside, surprising me for a moment before I remembered my mother’s advice. She had told me this happened with men; that they would often rouse in the morning with a need for their wives and that it was my duty to see to those needs. Did that mean it would happen like last night?
I felt worry flood through my stomach. Last night had been exactly as my mother had warned, though I wasn’t sure any amount of warning could have rightly prepared me for what had occurred. To perform such an intimate act in front of so many people was probably the worst thing I had ever endured. But that was the plight of women, Mother had explained.
He ground his hips into my backside, his arm pulling me closer, anchoring me to his firm chest. He was a large man, towering over my small frame. On the one hand, I knew that such a man should frighten me, but instead, I found him fascinating. His strong, burly stature against my petite frame made me feel safe and warm. I didn’t feel the need to cower beneath him.
“Good morning,” I voiced quietly, my voice still scratchy with sleep. He grumbled something unintelligible in response, his hand moving up my stomach towards my breasts. He enveloped one small mound with his large hand, cupping it as his thumb unerringly found the peak beneath the fabric of my nightdress, strumming it into hardness.
I gasped at the feel of it, an ache beginning deep within my belly. This did not feel like last night. Not at all. When he gave my nipple a quick tug, I couldn’t help but arch into the sensation, gasping lightly.
He pressed harder against me, his voice making these deep groaning growl-like noises that only made that ache pull tighter within me. His hand moved down over my stomach again, this time finding the space between my legs where the ache originated.
I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to touch him in return? Should I lay there silent, as Mother had instructed?
His fingers deftly found a spot that made me quiver as his fingers circled round and round over my clothing.
“Malachi,” I gasped, unable to hold back as sensations burst under my skin.
He stilled his ministrations immediately, growing tense against my back.
“Fucking hell,” he grumbled, the first intelligible words I’d heard him mutter so far this morning. He withdrew his hands, and I found myself frowning. Had I done something wrong? Did I react the wrong way? Perhaps Mother had been right in her instructions, telling me to be still and silent as my husband performed his duties.
He pulled away from me, the lack of his warmth only furthering my confusion and malcontent.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked quietly, pulling the covers over my form as a way of protecting myself. I still didn’t feel the need to protect myself from him, only from the feeling of rejection that washed over me like a cold shower.
Instead of answering, he merely grumbled, standing from the bed and stalking off to the bathroom, where he slammed the door behind him. I was left alone in the bed, wondering what in the world had just happened.
I only allowed myself to wallow in my confused state for a few moments. There was no use crying over spilled milk — or grouchy husbands, for that matter. I quickly rose from the bed in search of my suitcase. It was time to get dressed and start the day. The sun was already shining through the curtains, giving a beautiful filtered, sunlit glow to the room. I donned a simple dress. To be fair, all of my dresses were quite simple, unassuming, and modest, as a woman of Zion should dress. How I longed for a pair of pants to wear as I ran through the trees. Perhaps someday.
I found a laundry hamper hidden in the closet and tossed my nightdress into it for washing. I grimaced slightly, realizing I should have taken Mother’s advice and washed all of my clothes prior to packing. With a shrug, I tossed the errant thought away, eager to get outside into the warm morning air.
My hand was poised at the door when the bathroom door slammed open. Malachi standing in the door frame, taking up all the space one would imagine for a man of his size. He was tall and strong. The sight of him in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist made butterflies burst in my stomach. He was quite attractive, in spite of his brusque and surly demeanor.
His chest seemed massive in the small doorway. He was hairier than I had expected, though I suppose that just added to his masculine appeal. What drew my attention most was the artwork that lay beneath his chest hair. He had tattoos. It was bewildering and intriguing in equal measure. I had never heard of anyone in Zion having a tattoo, yet here he stood, a scowl painted on his handsome face.
“What are you staring at?” he asked brusquely.
“That,” I answered dumbly, pointing to his chest.
“My chest? What about it?” His eyes narrowed at me, like I had somehow offended him.
“I mean no offense. None whatsoever. It’s just that you… I didn’t think… what I mean is…” I floundered in search of words.
“It’s hair. Nothing to gawk at,” he chided, rolling his eyes at me as he used a second towel to dry off his hair. It was long, like some men preferred to wear it. Though, on him, it seemed less of a conservative choice and more of a mountain man aesthetic. I quite liked it, in truth.
“No, what I meant was your tattoo,” I said with a blush.
“Oh. That,” he commented, sounded a little surprised, as though my comment had caught him off guard.
“Yes, it’s quite beautiful. What is it?” I asked, stepping forward with my hand reaching out to touch it. He quickly batted my hand away.
