(MALCOLM'C POV)
Her voice barely came out. "I want to try again."
He stilled. The knife stopped mid-carve.
"With me?"
The silence between them didn't break.
Malcolm stared at her.
Iyisha didn't flinch.
She sat there, flushed and still, her eyes locked on his, the air charged between them.
Her voice was barely above a breath. "I want to try again."
Malcolm didn't move. His jaw ticked. His grip on the knife tightened, then relaxed. He looked away—anywhere but her.
Say no. Walk away. Focus.
But then she stepped closer.
Her knees touched his.
"I'll count it like an experience," she said softly, "venturing outside the walls."
He turned his head toward her, sharply. Like a warning.
She didn't stop.
Her hand reached out—hesitant, but real. Her fingertips touched his jaw, just barely.
He grabbed her wrist.
"Don't," he muttered, voice low and tight. "Don't test me. You really want to see how thin my patience is?"
"I trust you," she whispered. "You can just... teach me."
Malcolm blinked. The word 'trust' hit different—because the only thing he could think about was her body flush against his hips, and the kind of trust that took. Dangerous kind.
"You better stop," he said, voice darker now. "Keep pushing, and I'll show you exactly what happens when I stop holding back."
"Just one," she murmured.
He stared at her mouth. At the way her lashes dipped, then lifted again.
Just one.
He told himself it was boredom. Curiosity. Just something to pass time underground. A harmless mistake, just once.
Then he yanked her forward.
And kissed her.
Hard.
His mouth claimed hers, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. His tongue traced along hers, then pressed forward again, wanting more of her taste, her breath, her heat.
She gasped into his mouth, fingers tightening in his shirt, then melting into him. He didn't hold back.
She kissed back with the same heat, the same need, opening for him, inviting him in deeper. A groan slipped from her lips, low and helpless, and it hit him like fuel to flame. The tension snapped and rewired into something hot and desperate, her body arching into his, craving more.
She shifted forward, crawling into his lap, her knees straddling his thighs. The second her weight settled on him, he tensed—his jaw clenched, a sharp breath escaping his nose.
His cock throbbed beneath her, painfully hard, and her heat pressed against it like punishment.
His hands found her waist—tight, unsure—then sank in, fingers digging in her soft flesh, his grip the only thing keeping him from flipping her over and grinding her into the concrete floor.
She moaned softly as her body flushed against him. The kiss deepened, hungry, and messy. Teeth grazed lips. Her hands tangled in his hair.
Malcolm's control frayed.
He groaned into her mouth, breath ragged. One of his hands slid up her side, fingertips gliding under her shirt, finding warm skin.
She shivered, gasping his name.
He pulled back suddenly, chest rising and falling hard.
They stared at each other in the flickering lantern light.
His voice was hoarse. "This is a bad idea."
She didn't move for a long moment. Then she slowly climbed off his lap, breath uneven, face flushed.
She sat back down, avoiding his eyes, and reached for the supplies. Her hands moved clumsily, repacking items into their bags—anything to give herself something to do.
Malcolm stayed still, jaw clenched. He looked down and saw the strain in his pants, the painful reminder of how close he'd been. How close he still was.
He exhaled hard through his nose. Dragged a hand down his face.
"Shit," he muttered.
"Fucking hell, Iyisha…"
His jaw locked.
"…you have no idea."