Malcolm rose slowly from the sofa, every movement controlled, letting her watch. The dim lamplight carved shadows across his chest and the ridges of his abdomen, the sharp V disappearing beneath the waistband he was already shoving down.
He kicked his pants aside, boxers following, and stood naked before her, broad shoulders, thick thighs, his cock still rigid and glistening from her mouth, veins standing out like cords beneath flushed skin.
Iyisha bit her lower lip until she tasted copper, her eyes drinking him in. The power coiled in his frame was unmistakable, the way his erection bobbed faintly with each heartbeat, the sharp contrast between his fair skin and the heat rolling off him.
He did not speak.
He did not need to.
He stepped between her spread thighs, one knee sinking into the cushion beside her hip. His hand wrapped around the base of himself, guiding the swollen head to her entrance.
