🔥🔥 The Captain's Slave part 11 🔥🔥

SEVEN

Things change rapidly around the property. Slanted doors and rusted hinges are replaced, holes in the roof are patched, fences mended, and even the crops seem to flourish. Malik works through rain or shine. An earthquake could rip the earth up and he would still be out and about on the property, finding something to fix.

I must say, the man has the efficiency of a small army, and I have the lust of an orgy as I watch his strong biceps flex with every move.

He is relentless. Unstoppable. His hands are marked by new cuts and calluses as he fares wood and metal for hours a day.

No matter how busy he is, he always takes time to feed his beast and sharpen his sword. That’s the calmest I ever see him.

Over the next week, I stayed in the kitchen while glancing out the windows for a glimpse of Malik. He’s so busy that he rarely spares me a glance, grumbling a good morning and good night like he doesn’t mean the pleasantries.

It’s during dinner, when he sits at the dining table and eats the meal I painstakingly made for him, that he takes a break from work. But he’s certainly not relaxed. The angry ogre grunts and shovels food into his mouth like he’s in a rush to get away from the kitchen. To get away from me.

I stand by the table, waiting for him to leave so that I can have my dinner. I fear that if I sat across him, I would meet the same fate as the yerka meat that he’s furiously sawing away at.

Many times, as I washed the dishes, I saw the indentations of his fork and knife impaled into the wooden bowls. This male is murderous, and I have no idea why.

We made peace last week when he rested his hand on my bottom, reminding me of his power over me. 

Furthermore, Kitto is long gone. She packed her bags and left with a scornful glance at me.

It’s just Malik and I in this massive house that he seems hellbent on renovating into a palace. There’s so much land and space to roam, but he still seems restless. Like he’s suffocated.

“What is that smell?” He growls, pounding a meaty fist on the table he just replaced. The thing wobbles, and I figure we will go through a dozen more tables until he gets the thorn out of his side.

“Uh…” I glance around the spotless kitchen. Nothing should be disturbing him.

“It’s…floral. What the fuck is it?”

I glance down at my blue cotton dress. Malik thrusted it into my arms last week inside a satchel full of beautiful yet practical dresses that he demanded I wear.

Those old hides of yours are an eyesore. Wear these instead, he said, before stomping outside and chopping wood until sunset.

I was both touched and insulted at the same time. Only this male can accomplish such a feat.

I see nothing wrong with my dress. No stains or spills. So I don’t know where the smell could be coming from.

“I…took a bath earlier and used some oil. I apologize. I won’t use it again.”

“No!” He snaps. “No…keep using it.”

I’m bewildered. By his ridiculously chiseled body and strength, and by his mind. What the hell goes on in there?

He doesn’t like my aroma, but doesn’t wish for me to change it?

He glances at me and sees my confusion. And that only seems to make him angrier.

“Fuck!” he growls, shooting up from his seat.

I take a step backward, glancing at the exit.

“I am not angry at you,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m angry at myself for being so goddamn…”

“Yes?” I whisper, encouraging him to tell me what has been haunting him so that I can stop walking around eggshells. If he would just tell me what I’m doing wrong, I can fix it.

“I have been beating the bastards three times a day, and that does little to relieve them.” He drags a hand through his hair and hooks a thumb under his utility belt. Then his dark eyes find mine and latch onto them.

“I want you. So fucking bad. I will admit that I’m unsure why, and I can assure that I can’t offer anything more than pleasure. The only emotion you will find between us is lust. If that’s enough for you, then…fuck. Let me lick your cunt dry.”

My heart beats out of my chest. I am no longer walking on eggshells. I’m rooted to the hardwood floors. My body is heavy with awareness.

Malik looked like the was contemplating killing me and burying me next to Gusto all week, but now he admits that he was just lustful?

I can’t be horrified. Not when I was daydreaming what would have happened if he had spanked me on his porch until I was sweating from my brow and dripping from my sex.

This is…a predicament. A test of the delicate power dynamics between my master and I. There was never anything sexual between Gusto and I, thanks to my hate for him and his fancy for the male sex.

Things will change between Malik and I if I walk into his embrace, but I have no idea how so. And because I’ve always been self-destructive, I ignore the part of my mind that tells me to walk away from the situation.

Licking my dry lips, I whisper, “alright.”

He brow furrows. “You must speak up. I won’t take you unless you make it clear that you’re walking into this on your own accord.”

With a small sigh and roll of my eyes that I’m sure I’ll pay for later, I shout, “Fuck me, Malik!”

I’m not done saying his name before he’s on me. Grabbing my hips and hauling me onto the table, using me to swipe his bowl and cup to the ground.

The hands that build and mended the property become destructive as they tear the pretty cotton dress he bought me up my thighs.

I watch everything unfolding with wide eyes. I have never laid beneath a male before and expected my first time to be with a gentle, observant male. But I chose the most reckless option: a male with so much power and muscle he doesn’t know how to handle my soft skin. A male that doesn’t care to observe, but rather blind his senses by burying his entire head between my thighs and against my sex. A male that doesn’t communicate sweet nothings and comforting words because he’s too busy growling with need and guttural, barbaric promises of pleasure.

Malik fucks like he fights. Dirty. And that’s why he couldn’t be a more perfect choice for me. My life has always been rough. I want him to show me that rough can be pleasurable. That it doesn’t always have to hurt.

He flattens his tongue on my pussy, his thumbs spreading my lips apart to reveal every part of my wet, aching sex. He drinks me like an animal, lapping with his heavy, thick, textured tongue. Lashing at me quickly, like he’s trying to strike me; to make up for the spanking he never gave me on his porch.

I hug my arms close to my chest, trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. My legs are bent at the knee and deliriously swaying in the air. My sandals still on my feet, threatening to fall with every rough swipe of Malik’s tongue that makes my entire body sway.

I won’t last long–not when he’s weaponizing his tongue like that. Flattening it to fit into every nook and crevice, and then pointing it to flick on my infernally sensitive nub. He groans and breathes hot air into me, keeping his eyes closed as he swipes his tongue across my entrance to drink any wetness that has gathered there.

His lashings slow down, and just when I think I’m safe, just when I think I will last longer, he puckers his lips. Sucks me into his mouth, pressing his face deeper, grabbing my hips and dragging me across his face while his lips suck and release my sex.

I cry out for mercy, the friction and suction unbearable.

The only part of my body remaining on the table are my head and shoulders. The rest is held up by Malik as he drags my hips, painting his face.

My whimpers become a raspy moan when something snaps within me. Waves of throbbing, red-hot pleasure spread from my pussy to my lower stomach. My legs tremble and my temperature spikes as the longest, most powerful orgasm I’ve ever felt levitates me further off the table.

Oh, Ancestors. The man keeps licking. He keeps searching for more.

I kick my legs out and wiggle my hips, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure that Malik refuses to let die.

He releases me with a final kiss, my pussy clenching in response. He lowers me back to the table and then just…stares. Just enjoys the masterpiece he has created between my legs. The swollen, throbbing, glistening masterpiece that I will not want to bathe away in fear of forgetting this happened.

I touched the sky today. I reached the Ancestors.

I pant, trying to catch my breath. Just now realizing how loudly I had been groaning when under the tyranny of his relentless tongue.

Malik clears his throat, rising to his full height and revealing two erections that make me shut my thighs. Those cocks are…deadly.

He helps me off the table, grabbing me by the hips and setting me on my wobbly feet.

“Th–thank you,” I whisper, leaning against the table for balance.

“You can stop staring,” he replies. “I will not fill you tonight.”

I rip my glance away from his erections, guilty of being caught.

“R–right. Well, then. I should start picking up.” 

I bend down to pick up the bowl and cup we dropped in the middle of his wild ravishing.

He clears his throat again. “I will leave you to it.”

Then he leaves the kitchen, walking away with his stubbled beard wet with my slick and two cocks that seem full of seed and intent.

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