Page 33 of Ruined By a Devil

“I would like to live to see another sunrise,” Malachi leans against the marble island, watching me with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks entirely out of place in a kitchen, like a predator standing in a showroom.

“Suit yourself,” I shrug.

“You sure you can do this? We could order,” he asks, his tone laced with quiet skepticism.

“How hard can it be? It's pasta, black pepper, and Pecorino,” I say, grabbing a block of cheese from the fridge and a grater, happy I asked him to buy some when he went to the store. “Grab the pepper grinder.”

What follows is an absolute disaster.

I misjudge the heat, and the moment the cracked pepper hits the dry pan, smoke instantly billows into the air. I cough, waving a hand in front of my face, while Malachi steps in, leaning past me to twist the dial down. His chest brushes my shoulder, his scent, expensive cologne, cedar, and raw heat, flooding my lungs and making my stomach dip.

“You're burning it,” he murmurs near my ear, his voice low and dry.

“I'm blooming the spices,” I snap back, though the black specks in the pan look suspiciously like ash. “Hand me the cheese.”

He reaches for the bowl where I’ve grated the Pecorino, but his hand catches the edge, flipping it over. A cloud of fine, white cheese powders the dark granite counter and covers the front of his custom-tailored pants.

I freeze, expecting him to snap, or at least mask his irritation with that cold, unreadable glare.

But instead, Malachi looks down at his ruined pants, then up at the disaster on the stove, and a sound breaks from his chest.

It’s low, rich, and completely genuine, a real, unscripted laugh that catches me so off guard my breath hitches. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the guarded, dangerous strategist vanishing for two whole seconds. It makes him look brutally handsome, so striking it aches.

My heart slams against my ribs as I stare at him, caught entirely off guard by how badly I want to see him look like that again.

“You're a nightmare in the kitchen, Jade,” he says, the laugh lingering in his voice as he steps around the island to grab a towel.

“Me?” I contest, though my voice lacks its usual sharp edge. “You're the one who knocked over the bowl!”

“Because you were hovering,” he tosses the towel onto the counter and steps directly into my space.

The light, playful air in the room evaporates in a single heartbeat.

The shift is so violent it makes my breath hitch. His eyes darken, all traces of amusement wiped clean, replaced by a dark, heavy intensity that locks me in place. His gaze drops, slowly trailing down my throat, past the exposed dip of my collarbone, down to the thin silk shorts clinging to my hips. They barely cover the curve of my ass.

“You're doing this on purpose,” he says softly.

Before I can answer, his hand shoots out, wrapping firmly around my waist and dragging me forward until my stomach flattens against his belt. My hands instinctively land on his chest, feeling the hard, steady thud of his heart beneath his shirt.

He pulls me flush against him, tilted upward, until I feel the thick, rigid length of his cock pressing hard against my lower belly causing a sharp gasp to rip from my throat. My pussy instantly throbs, aching and wet, reacting to the sheer weight of him before my mind can even process it.

“Malachi—"

“Do you feel that?” He growls, his grip tightening on my waist, forcing me closer so there isn't a fraction of an inch between us. He tilts his head down, his lips hovering an inch from mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my skin. “You wander around my house in next to nothing, looking at me like you want to play games…”

My heart is hammering in my chest, my core is dripping, slick with a sudden, humiliating heat, but I force my chin up, refusing to break eye contact. “I'm wearing comfortable clothes in a house I'm stuck in.”

“Is that so? If you’re going to lie, you should at least do a better job at it,” he murmurs, his thumb digging punishingly into the soft flesh of my hip. “Don't test me, Jade. Don't wear things like this around me unless you're ready to lie on this counter and let me fuck you until you can't walk.”

The raw, explicit dirty talk makes my blood run scorching hot. For two agonizing seconds, I forget how to breathe, how to exist, how to maintain the carefully built armor I’ve worn my whole life.

My thighs clench together instinctively, trying to crush the desperate ache that’s been throbbing between my legs. I’m dripping for him, my pussy swollen and heavy, soaking through the thin silk of my shorts just from the deep, dangerous rumble of his voice. I try to force my mind anywhere else, to Nolan, to the alliance, to the contract we signed… But all I can focus on is the urge to sink my teeth into his bottom lip until I taste copper. I want to slide my hands down his chest, grab his belt, and push him away just to provoke him. Just to see him snap and take what we both know he wants.

Slowly, his free hand slips beneath the hem of my silk shorts. His fingers are broad, calloused, and searing hot against the tender skin of my bare thigh. He slowly drags his knuckles upward, tracing a path that stops just under the soaked center of my panties. He doesn't touch my pussy and I bite my lip, forcing myself to hold back the words that are threatening to escape my lips. As he just hovers there, letting the heat of his palm radiate through the lace, my entire core shakes violently in protest.

“You're soaking wet, Jade,” he murmurs, his thumb making a slow, punishing circle right on the sensitive crease where my leg meets my hip. “Look at me.”

I force my eyes up to meet his. The dark, strategic mind behind those pale green eyes is fully focused on breaking me and I hate to admit that he’s doing a great job at it.