Page 46 of Malachai
I had both hands wrapped tight around his throat, choking him hard. His face was flushed deep red, veins bulging in his neck, those gray eyes locked on mine with dark, twisted pleasure. Malachai got off on this shit—the harder I squeezed, the harder he throbbed inside me.
“Shit—Indigo—” he choked out, voice strained and raspy as I slammed down on him again, grinding my clit against his pelvis.
I leaned forward, nails digging into his neck, using his throat for leverage as I rode him faster, harder. My heavy tits bounced wildly in his face. My pussy was dripping down his balls, making a nasty mess all over him.
Right as I felt him start to throb violently inside me, right on the edge of exploding, I tightened my grip even more, completely cutting off his air.
His eyes widened.
I leaned down until my lips brushed his ear, still fucking him like my freedom depended on it.
“This enough to get me a night out?” I whispered. “Or do I need to keep riding this dick until you cum in me again?”
Malachai’s hips jerked up hard. A guttural groan ripped out of his restricted throat as he came, flooding my pussy with thick, hot spurts. His whole body tensed beneath me, cock pulsing deep as I kept choking him through his orgasm.
Only when he finally stopped twitching did I loosen my grip.
He sucked in a harsh breath, eyes still dark with lust and possession. For a long second he just stared at me, chest heaving.
Then his voice came out low and rough:
“Clean up,” he said, giving my ass a hard slap. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
I came downstairs forty-five minutes later in a black cocktail dress that hugged every curve like a second skin. My platinum bob was silky straight, lips painted deep red.
Malachai stood in the foyer surrounded by four of his men—all in dark suits, all armed. His voice was low and cold as he gave orders.
“No one gets within ten feet of her unless I say so. If anything feels off, you shoot first and ask questions later. The Volkovs still have a price on her head. I don’t care if it’s a waiter or a guest—you see something, you handle it.”
The men nodded.
He turned when he heard my heels on the marble. His eyes dragged slowly down my body, lingering on my thighs, my waist, the deep neckline of the dress. For a second, something dark and hungry flashed across his face.
Then his expression settled back into that unreadable mask.
“I need you to hear my rules, Indigo, and obey them.”
He stepped closer, towering over me, voice dropping so only I could hear.
“The Russians still have a hit out on you. So while we’re at this party, you do exactly what I say. You stay by my side. You don’t wander off with Maya. You don’t go to the bathroom alone. You don’t even look at another man too long. You smile, you drink, you act like a happy wife. But the second I tell you we’re leaving, we leave. No questions. No attitude.”
He gripped my chin, tilting my face up.
“And if I even think you’re looking for a way to run tonight…” His thumb brushed my bottom lip. “I’ll drag you out of there in front of everybody. Do you understand me?”
I stared up at him.
“Yeah,” I said, voice sweet.
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
The drive only took half an hour.
The anniversary party was at a beautiful rooftop venue downtown Tampa. As soon as we walked in, Maya spotted me and practically sprinted over, grabbing my arm.
“Girl, come with me right now,” she hissed, dragging me away from Malachai before he could protest. I went, ignoring everything he said, and was surprised when he didn’t follow.
She pulled me into a quiet corner near the bar, eyes wide.
