Skin to Skin Ch. 02

"Oh, shit, baby your pussy feels so good," I heard Malachi grunt, as he pummeled my pussy with his cock.

'Ooh, his dick felt so fucking good inside of me,' I thought as I endured this pleasure.

With every thrust, I felt my juices spill out of my cunt and dripped down my thighs. A strong wave of intense pleasure ran through me, I felt my body shudder and a drawn out moan escaped past my lips. I was close to cumming and I knew that it was going to be a strong one. The ripple was like the calm moment before one hell of a storm.

"Oooh, baby," I moaned.

My face was half-buried into a pillow. My hair was now styled differently. It was now limped, sweat-soaked and matted down to my face. My hands clutched the blanket. The upper half of my body was pressed against the mattress. My lower half was lifted off of the bed. Basically, I was pretty much in the 'face down-ass up' position.

From my angle, I gazed at my pale-skinned lover. In my opinion, he reminded me of a Norse god with his flaxen-streaked hair and his intimidating physique. His skin glowed from perspiration. His eyes were closed, damp strands of hair were shrouding his face and his brow line was crinkled, he looked as if he was deep in concentration. I watched the muscles in his abs contract with each inhalation of breath. My eyes drifted down to his hips. His pelvis was slamming up against my ample backside, as he pummeled my pussy with his cock. My ears were bombarded with a cluster of sounds: the sounds of our moans, the creaking of the bed springs, the harsh sounds of the metal headboard against the wall and the soundtrack of our bodies slapping against each other.

'Ooh God,' I mentally shouted.

There was an action of quick movement that caught my attention. I learned that the object that moved was his right hand. He removed the hand from my right hip. It traveled to the hot epicenter that was in between my thighs. His long, thick digits spread my swollen lips apart and placed his callused fingertips on the sensitive, bundle of nerves that was my clit. My hips jolted at the first contact. I moaned in pleasure. His fingers proceeded to rub at the hard nub with gentle, stroking.

"Ooh, baby, don't stop. Please don't stop," I cried out.

"You don't want me to stop?" he growled. His eyes were now opened and he glaring at me. The gaze was intense.

"No, Malachi, please don't stop," I whimpered.

I moaned some more. His fingers were working my clit over, making me scream in pleasure as a result. His cock continued to fuck me with a consistent and fluid fashion. An image from my second masturbatory fantasy had popped into my head, which made my stomach lurch in excitement and cunt to squeeze him harder.

"Malachi, smack my ass," I heard myself demand to him. He complied with my request by giving me an open-handed slap on my right lower cheek. The sound of skin-to-skin contact and the stinging sensation turned me on further. Sensing that I enjoyed feeling the pain, he laid another slap on my ass, but this time it was on the left cheek.

"You like it when I slap your ass?" Malachi inquired, before laying another one onto my ass. I moaned in response, which earned me another one. He kept asking me if I like the slight taste of S&M that he was supplying and I could only grunt or moan as a reply. "Tell me who's this pussy belongs to," he demanded. Hearing those words, seem to have sent an electric tingle down to my clit.

"It's yours," I grunted, as I continued to feel the brunt of the hard, deep strokes that he doled out.

"Tell me again, baby," I heard him grunt as he changed his pace. They were becoming quicker, rougher and shorter.

In a groan, I heard myself declare that my pussy belonged to him. Then, I felt his hand grab a hold of the hair at the back of my head. He pulled hard enough to guide me from lying on the mattress, to place my upper body's weight onto my hands.

"Say my name, baby," he demanded in a strange, guttural groan that served as a signal that let me know that he was cumming.

"Malachi," was the only word that I managed to whimper out, before I fell into my own orgasm.

With a great loud wail, an orgasm washed over me. I felt all of my control slipped out of my grasp. I lost control of all of my limbs. I ended up collapsing on the bed. Despite my sudden change in my body's position, I could still feel his dick's onslaught. It was during my unraveling that I heard a guttural moan erupted from above and behind me.

I was aware that his thrusts had lost their fluidity and they were sporadic. Malachi was cumming. Then, my insides was coated with his thick, hot cum. The same thick nectar had spilled out of battered, sore pussy and dripped down my dense thighs. After his sexual release, Malachi collapsed his big frame on top of me and shrouded my body like a blanket. His hard body felt heavy. His skin felt hot and sweaty. The sensation felt wonderful. Each of us experienced a post-coitus high and then we both shifted our bodies around on that large, aged bed. Malachi's body rolled off of me. He landed on the vacant side of the mattress. I shifted my weight a little, so I could watch him. I caught him staring up at the ceiling mirror. I had rolled on my side, which was a comfortable angle for me. His hand reached out and he grabbed my wrist. With the minimal strength that he possessed, he pulled me over into his personal space. I ended up resting my head on his chest. I placed my right arm on his hard, muscled stomach. His own arm reached behind me and rested on the mattress. A few seconds later, I felt his hand caressed my back in a sensual manner.

With my ear pressed against his chest, I listened to Malachi's heart beat against his chest. The heart's dull, rapid thumping served as a lullaby for me. Soon, I felt my eyes open and close as my fatigue set in my body. Just as I was about to fall in a deep slumber, I heard Malachi say something to me.

"What?" I said to him as I lifted my head off of his chest. I gazed at Malachi while he stared at his reflection in the ceiling's mirror. Even though he wasn't staring directly at me, I took note that there was some life in his gray eyes. They no longer possessed a dull glow and a sick sense of apathy. "I'm sorry; I didn't hear you".

"I said," he started out saying and then his eyes drifted over to me, "that I am not dead". Apparently the comment that I had made earlier about not being the same person, had bothered Malachi. There was a multi-second layer of awkward silence before he resumed speaking. "I've been through a lot of shit in my life..." His eyes drifted over to me once again. "...I've been through some shit---

"I know," I said to me, in a softer tone. My right hand cupped the right side of his face, as an act of providing comfort.

"Well..." Malachi sighed while he slightly shifted around on the mattress, "you've been Lynn's friend since you were a kid, so you know some of the stuff that I am talking about."

At the mention of his childhood, I knew exactly what he was talking about, so I nodded my head. Like I mentioned earlier, Lynn and Malachi were a part of one of the few white families that were living in our predominantly-African American populated, housing project. And we all know that when there is someone/something that is different from a large group of others, it is not always accepted.

The Patrick Family did suffer from acts of harassment from some of the other tenants. Malachi and Lynn were harassed and bullied by fellow kids and also by some of the teenaged hooligans who used our neighborhood as their hang-out spot. Then, there was the fact that he grew up in a household, where he witnessed his mother being mistreated by his "Uncles", all of which were Black men. I knew that he tried to protect his mother and his sister during those horrible times. I knew about his valiant acts because he would show up to my apartment battered, bruised and sometimes bloodied later on.

I definitely understood why he felt the need to join a xenophobic-infused organization. I don't condone his choices, but I do understand them.

"Then, there's some other shit that has happened to me: going to prison, being paroled and looking for a job, but never being able to find one. I was homeless. My mother didn't want me around. I had a parole officer who constantly hounded me about finding a job and a home. I tried doing the 'right thing' by searching for a legal job and applying for apartments. I did the right things except I was cheated every fucking time. I applied for jobs that were manual labor. You know that I am good at fixing things and building things, so I thought that those jobs would've been perfect for me. The bosses would take one look at me and say 'no'. But they would take the fucking Mexican without batting a fucking eyelash. They acted as if I wasn't good enough to work. I was always being tempted to go back to doing my usual shit, so I could have some money in my pockets. I did ended up doing some illegal shit to make ends meet and eventually I was locked up again. It was during my second prison stint that I learned that prison was no joke."

"You didn't figure that shit out during your first trip?" I said in a smart-alecky manner. He smirked and gave a grunt.

"No, but I definitely learned some valuable things about life during that second stint. My second time in prison was also..." His voice trailed off.

I knew that whatever he was about to say, Malachi knew that I might find it offensive. I caressed his cheek to let him know that it was okay for him to say whatever was on his mind. He grabbed a hold of my hand and gave it a gentle kiss, before resuming his conversation.

"It was during my second time---

"In prison," I said to him, in an effort to let him know that I was paying attention.

"In prison," he said while rolling his eyes with a faux attitude, "...is where I became involved in the movement."

At that moment, my eyes traveled over to his left pectoral and glimpsed at the swastika tattoo. I knew he wasn't referring to joining the Islam-Five per Centers or the National Organization for Women.

"At first, I tried to convince myself that I was joining to save my ass, both literally and figuratively. I managed to make some enemies and I knew that I needed to be affiliated with some bad-assed motherfuckers. The Skinheads were a powerful fucking group and I knew that as long as I stuck around them, I was protected. When I first started hanging out with them, I was hanging out with them to protect myself. But I eventually started to listen to them speak. I started to really listen to them. I realized that I was like them. They experienced similar backgrounds like me. They also had to fight and defend their families just like me. I had the same thoughts, the same point of views, the same—

"You discovered that you were just like them. You harbored the same feelings like those guys, which is why once you were paroled out of prison, you had delved yourself deeper into the movement, as you like to call it," I stated to him.

He nodded his head. "Plus, you probably won't like hearing this... They were like a family for me. They protected me. They looked out for me, even after I was released from prison. Thanks to them, I had a decent place to live in, once I was paroled. I was staying with one of my prison friends and his family. I also was given a job as well. My boss's son is one of the guys that I hung out with, back when I was still in jail."

With all of this talk about his affiliation with a white-supremacy group, there was an inquiry that I wanted Malachi to answer for me.

"Malachi, I have to ask you a question," I told him.

"Mmm?" he moaned as he closed his eyes and placed his hands behind head.

With a slight tremble in my voice and trepidation inside of me, I asked him, "What about us?"

His left eyebrow lifted as he stared at me. "What do you mean?"

"You said that you've..." My cheeks started to tingle and I became flustered. I was embarrassed. I began to stammer. I began to back-slide from asking the question. I was afraid of hearing his upcoming answer. I didn't want to hear Malachi tell me that I was nothing but a booty-call to him. Or worse, an easy and available wet hole that he used to fulfill a 'black girl' fantasy of his. "Shit!"

"Calm down, Chloe. Just take your time and then try to ask me your question again," he suggested.

I shut my mouth and I followed his advice. I contemplated and sorted through my emotions. I spoke after I let out a gasp. "Okay, I wanted to know your opinion about us."

"What about us?"

"I would like to know what do you think about what has happened between us. I also would like to know why you did those things to me." I thought I needed to explain that flub. "I mean, if you hate me and my kind so much, why did you just fuck me?" I gazed at him to see his reaction to my questioning. Malachi's eyes closed and he appeared to be sleeping. "Did you do it because I just happened to be the only pussy available? Or, did you have a curiosity about me or did you just wanted to fuck a black woman?" He was silent. He was quiet for too long that I thought he was asleep. "Malachi, are you awake?" More silence.

"Malachi, are you asleep?" I was greeted by more silence. "Malachi, are you awake?" I nudged the side of his scalp with my fingertips. His eyes didn't open.

"Yes," he grunted. It was a simple answer.

"So you've heard what I said to you?"

"Yes," he grunted.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

There was more silence from him, so I took that action as being his 'no' answer. I had taken one more glance at his handsome face and then I crawled down the mattress to the foot of the bed. I climbed off and with a limp that could only great sex can create, I walked over to the pile of my night clothes. I let out a shaky sigh, a sign of disgust at myself, as a stream of his seminal fluid dripped down my legs.

As I was slipping into my nightgown, I heard Malachi say, "Where are you going?"

I glanced at him. He was now sitting upright on the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and was staring at me. For a giant of a man, he moved quickly and quietly as if he was the size of a mouse.

"Upstairs, at least, I could have a better conversation with the television," I stated, before staring down at the carpeted floor. I couldn't stand staring at him any longer. Plus, I didn't want him to see the onslaught of tears that were about to be release.

"Don't leave," Malachi said to me in a tone of voice that soft.

"No, I think I should go," I informed him.

"No, I want you to stay." Before I could protest to that idea, he repeated himself. "No, I want you to stay."

I glanced up at him. He was glaring, intensely, at me. I sensed that he wasn't angry at me or even irritated with me and my antics.

"Fine," I murmured.

I slipped out of my nightgown and limped my way over to the king-sized bed. I didn't bother to give him a glance as I walked over to the empty side of the bed. I lied back down on the other side of the mattress and had my back facing him. I knew that he must've considered that move to be a slight towards him. I also knew that I was portraying myself as being an immature brat, who can't handle rejection. The truth was I just didn't want Malachi to see that I was upset.

My piss-poor attempt at hiding my sulking came to an end, when Malachi invaded my personal space. I felt the mattress shift as he positioned himself behind me. He pressed his large body against mine. His hot, sweaty form pulled me closer to him, thanks to his left arm and hand. I pushed at his hand and at his arm, in effort to move away from him. But he had the strength that seemed to rival Hercules' power. I made a few more attempts at trying to be released. But with every attempt, Malachi deflected each attempt. Then, I tried to gain my freedom by digging my fingernails into his forearm. In response, he let out a growl and harshly slapped my bottom. I let out a gasp. I was unsure if the gasp was a sign of the shock that I felt. Or was the gasp a reaction to the spike of arousal I experienced from the slap.

"Chloe, stop it!" he commanded in his thick voice.

I immediately stopped and became limp. I remained silent and stared at his closet's door. I felt his heavy glare while I continued my attempt at ignoring him.

"Are you done?" he said, after a while. I remained quiet. "So you're not going to talk to me?" I remained silent. "Really?" he sounded as if he was offended. I didn't say anything. "Don't you think—?

"Answer my questions and tell me the truth," I said to him, ending my vow of silence. "Am I just a piece of pussy for you? Or am I--?

"No." It was another one of Malachi's short, one-word answers. There was a bit of silence. "You're..." There was a pause. It appeared that he was trying to come up with the appropriate words. "Lo, you're more than that to me." Hearing my nickname spill from his lips caused me to change my position and stare at him. I wanted to see if there was sincerity in his eyes. I stared at his face and I believed that I saw a man that was serious, at the moment.

"I know..." I started out saying. I licked my lips and then sighed as if that would calm down my frayed nerves. My right hand clasped on his left wrist in a gentle manner. "I know that just because we fucked that it doesn't mean that we're in a relationship. To tell you the truth, I am not even sure if I want to be in a relationship with you. I'll admit that I do have a crush on you. It's been that way since I was eight years old. But, you don't have to worry about me requesting a relationship or becoming clingy. What I am trying to say is that I hope that you don't see me as just a fuck," I told him.

"You don't have to worry about me telling you that you were only a fuck for me. Like I said before, you mean more to me than a one-night stand. I'm going to be honest with you right now. I don't have the feeling of wanting to be in a relationship with you. I respect you. I know, judging from tonight, you probably don't believe me. But I do respect you." He was silent for a few seconds. "In regards to your crush, I am going to confess to you..." I noticed the smile that was on his face. I believed that he had 'something up his sleeve'. "When you were sixteen, you definitely caught my attention."

'What the hell...?'

My heart began to race from the excitement that I felt. Hearing that statement from his mouth made me sit up. I stared down at him.

"Ooh, now, I have your attention..." he teased me. I slapped at his bicep. He laughed for a bit before giving his explanation. "It was when you and my sister had shown up to Rikers for a visit. Even though my sister and I were talking, you definitely held my attention. On that day, you were a halter top—

I laughed. I remembered that day. In my mind's eye, an image of the mentioned shirt had popped up. It was halter top with a low cut collar. It was definitely a top that my younger, jail-bait ass shouldn't have been wearing. "I know which top that you're referring to," I said to him with a smile. "I had worn that top for that particular reason."

"Well, it worked," Malachi informed. "Me and just about every damn inmate in that room had noticed you. I felt guilty and like a pervert after you guys left. I assumed that I was hard up for you because of the fact that I was in the middle of a three year stint and I haven't had sex in a long time. But, it turns out that I was wrong about that."

I stared at him. He ended up rolling onto his back and staring up at his reflection.

"It was on Thanksgiving Day from last year, when I realized that I was wrong. You had shown up at dinner and once again..."

My eyes drifted down his body to his cock, which awoke from its slumber. As Malachi spoke, I watched his dick roll onto his chiseled stomach. He was somewhat erect. As a reaction, my pussy throbbed and tightened up.