Malo - Page 74

A life worth staying sober for.

EPILOGUE

MARIA

“We should really go downstairs and get something to eat.” I giggle as Malo buries his face into my neck again.

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs playfully, as he rolls on top of me once more, pushing his knee between my thighs. “You think?”

“Hmmm,” I sigh, winding my arms around him. “Maybe we could wait a little longer…”

“That’s what I thought,” he replies, and he pushes his hands into my hair and kisses me properly. I snuggle into him, enjoying this way too much to protest, even though it’s nearly eleven and people will probably be wondering where we are.

It’s hard to care. It’s Sunday, after all, and if there’s any day we can get away with spending in bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms, it’s this one. It’s not like we have anything particular to work on today, either. My father sent me away from the lab to get some rest, since I’ve been in there all week working late nights on the medication we’re synthesizing for Maryanne.

My father has dedicated his last few weeks to coming up with something that will help give her more in the way of lucid moments with her new granddaughter, who’s due any day now. He’s taken a real liking to Maryanne and I can tell he feels paternal toward Bella, especially since the two of us have been getting closer. He wants her mom to be around for as much of her little girl’s childhood as possible, and he’s been using the top-of-the-line equipment he has access to at the university to make that happen.

It’s strange, dividing my time between the club and the lab, somewhere so removed from normal society versus somewhere as prestigious as the university. But life is all about balance, right? All about finding that place you can be happy, and right now, that’s exactly how I feel. Malo is always waiting for me when I come home from the lab, no matter how late I stay there or what I’m working on, ready to meet me with a kiss at the porch, or pick me up from the university grounds on the back of his bike. I have to admit, there’s something sexy as hell about seeing him in his cut, knowing he’s there for me and me alone.

And the last few months, he has taken on so much more responsibility for the Kings. Part of his plan is to prove himself within the Kings, and to Beast especially. He wants to make sure that Beast sees how serious he is about his sobriety, how much he wants to take on a new life that’s free of the drugs that controlled him for so long.

And I’m so proud of him. So proud to call him my man. He’s changed so much since I first met him, become so much stronger, so much clearer, so much more focused in his purpose and how to achieve it. But, underneath all of that, he’s still the gorgeously sexy, tough biker who fucked me outside of that bar and made me come until my legs shook.

Right now, it seems, he’s determined to give me a repeat performance. I’m already wet from our last encounter barely a half-hour ago, but he has so much energy, sometimes I don’t even know where he gets it from.

He plants himself at my entrance and eases himself into me, and I groan, my toes curling against the covers.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp, turning to look up at him. The way he stares at me when he’s inside of me, it’s like he can’t believe I’m real. It’s written all over his face, how much he desires me, and I will never get enough.

“Good?” he murmurs, like he even needs to ask.

I nod, reaching up to brush my lips against his. “So good,” I breathe.

He wraps his arms around me and begins to move again. I run my hands down his back, marveling at the feel of his muscles beneath his skin. He’s so strong, so powerful, capable of using every inch of that power to protect me, and I know he will if he ever needs to again.

But right now, the only thing he is interested in is making me come. He moves deep, hard into me, our hips pressed together, his mouth on my neck as his hands dig into my hips and pull me into him with even more want.

“Fuck, you feel perfect, mi reina,” he whispers into my ear, and I let out a moan. I can already feel myself inching closer and closer to the edge, unable to hold myself back as the sheer pleasure of this sensation starts to get the better of me. He already has me all hot and bothered from our activities earlier in the morning, and he knows just how to move inside of me to take me over the edge and into the release I crave so badly.

“Oh, God,” I whimper, lifting my hips to meet him, curling my feet around his legs to pull me in even deeper, my body starting to tremble and tremor as I feel the orgasm teetering on the very brink.

And then, he says it—the words that he knows I can’t resist, the words I can’t deny. The words that I will never get tired of hearing, those sacred, precious words I love so much.

“Te amo, Maria,” he murmurs, and kisses me again, and, a moment later, the pleasure gets the better of me. The intimacy, emotional, physical, all of it, comes together and undoes me, and I cling on to him for dear life, crying out as the orgasm rocks through my body, not giving a damn who hears me.

Because I love him, too. And he knows. “Te amo, Manuel. Mi Malo.”