All the Queen's Angels

Ch. 31: Like a Moth to a Flame 🥀🥀

Malcolm clasps me tighter as our lips collide over and over, kissing until it's hard to even think. His grip on my hips grows rougher as I press closer and straddle his waist. It seems like neither of us have the courage to continue past this moment.

When I run my hands through his hair, he suddenly breaks away with a sharp inhale, cheeks flushed. Tilting my chin to look into his eyes, Malcolm murmurs, "Tell me when to stop."

He holds my gaze until I nod, and I watch him strip off the last of his clothes before losing my nerve and burying my face in his shoulder. The faint scent of soap lingers on his skin, smelling faintly of the ocean. We fall back onto the sheets and he begins pressing light kisses down my throat, my collarbone, my chest. And then lower to my abdomen. And lower again. Goosebumps bloom across my skin, and I shut my eyes as my heartbeat gallops. The fireplace grows hotter as the candle flakes grow higher.

"Hey," Malcolm calls, the sheets shifting as he sits up. My eyes open to find him leaning over me, steadying himself with one hand on the headboard. With his other hand, he brushes my lower lip with his thumb. "Can I make you feel good?" he asks. Yes, I nod.

I part my lips and he presses his fingers into my mouth. "Good girl." Malcolm pins me with his gaze, watching me unravel at his touch. I lean into the pleasure as we shift against each other.

As the friction between us escalates into a mounting heat, Malcolm grips the headboard with one hand. His other grips the sheets as he pants harder.

Dizzy with pleasure, I pull him back to me and bury my hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. As the friction burns hotter, soft moans escape my lips. Malcolm's ears turn red. The fireplace roars.

"Is this good?," he murmurs.

"Malcolm," I breathe.

"Yes?". He rolls his hips and all I can do is whimper his name I arch closer, sending him over the edge. Pinning my hands above my head, Malcolm begins to move with more urgency, more hunger. The friction builds until our bodies pulse with electric heat, the fire spilling through my veins. As the candles and fireplace suddenly extinguish, I collapse limply onto the sheets. Malcolm falls to my side.

Panting and drenched in sweat, we lay there silently in the thick lavender haze. Malcom is the first to speak.

"That was...". His voice is husky.

"Good whiskey," I finish for him. He runs a hand through his hair and chuckles dryly. Abruptly, he stands and pulls on a robe. As he leaves for his room, he speaks again.

"Might be my favorite."
...

Malcolm's POV:

Might be my favorite? I curse myself as I return to my room. Pathetic. She's my wife because she has to be. Still, the memory of her body moving against mine, the curve of her neck, and the intoxicating heat in my veins lingers in my mind as I stand in the shower.

Turning the water ice-cold, I stand there trying to shake off the memory. Of her lips. Of her hands running through my hair. Of my name whispered into my ear. Of her.

Hours later, I'm still standing beneath that icy shower, panting and sore. Still thinking of her.

Fuck me.

Suddenly, an anguished cry pulls me from my trance. Evangeline.

I burst out of the shower sopping wet and throwing on a robe. Tearing into the master chamber, I find her writhing in her sleep. Another nightmare.

Calling her name, I untangle her from the sheets and pull her onto my lap.

"You're safe, wifey," I murmur into her hair. "I won't let anyone, or anything, hurt you."

She trembles in my arms and I cradle her against my chest. "Come back to me."

Evangeline's cries eventually subside into soft whimpers until she sinks against my chest, asleep once again. But it's no use.

I'm not letting go of her tonight.
...

Evangeline's POV:

I awaken curled into Malcolm's body, his arms encircling my waist from behind. Somehow, his robe ended up wrapped around me. His face is buried in my shoulder, his steady breathing lulling me back to sleep.

My eyes barely flutter closed before a knock echoes through the room. Behind me, Malcolm groans sleepily.

"I'll kill them," he mumbles into the pillow as I stand and open the door. A courtier stands, hands behind his back.

"A gift for the newlyweds," he smiles. Malcolm opens one eye to peek at the situation.

The courtier stands aside as two staff members place an ivory chest at my feet. Malcolm sits up, golden eyes alert, as the courtier hands me the key to the chest.

"Our congratulations from Forsythia," he sneers. Malcolm prowls out of bed in an instant, grabbing the man by his neck.

"How dare you—," Malcolm snarls just as the man bites down on a small pill. In seconds, the courtier's smile falls as his eyes roll back and he convulses violently. Malcolm drops the dead body and storms into the hallway to call the guards.

Alone, the key feels colder than death in my palm. My hand trembles as I kneel and press the key into the lock and turn until a heavy, dry click echoes through the chamber. Ignoring the dead body, I take a deep breath and open the chest.

My gasp nearly fractures my ribs as I scramble back, sudden tears carving rivers down my cheeks. Gasping for air, I force myself to crawl back to the chest and confirm what I know in my heart is true.

Tucked into the velvet-lined ivory chest lies my only wedding present:

A pair of black angel's wings.

My screams echo through the whole palace.
...

A/N- Remember people: consent is sexy 😩🙏
Stay tuned!!!