Let Me Love You: A Best Friend’s Sibling Romance

by Moore, M. K.

  “I-I’m fine,” I stutter, finally finding my voice.

  “Good. I’m Malachi.” His eyes roam over my body.

  “Yes, you are. I mean, I’m Mallory.” I say, suddenly shy. I feel my cheeks flush and I am pretty sure I am starting to sweat. I didn't know I could react to a man in this way.

  “I know. Margo told me.”

  “Right,” I say, laughing. Of course, he knows who I am, he just said my name repeatedly in his ridiculously sexy voice. He chuckles, and it causes a shiver to go down my spine. I remove my hand from his grasp so maybe I can start thinking again. It doesn’t work, of course it doesn't.

  “Thanks for letting me stay until I get back on my feet—well, foot.” I frown. For some reason, I don’t like his self-deprecating comment. It causes my eye to twitch.

  “Of course. Margo is like family to me.”

  “She says the same of you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling. “Are you settling in okay?”

  “Just fine, I’ve made myself at home.” He's looking at me like he wants to eat me. Why do I want to let him?

  “That's great. Um, by the way, do you know where my dog is?” I ask, looking around for her once again.

  “She has been following me around like she’s lost. She’s currently curled up on the bed in Margo’s room.” Traitor, I think to myself and smile.

  “Giggles can be that way,” I say.

  “You named your dog Giggles?” he asks, looking amused.

  “She wiggles when she walks. It looks like a giggle to me,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Of course, that makes so much sense,” he says with a hint of laughter in his ultra-sexy voice. Seriously, his voice could give Morgan Freeman a run for his money. It should be illegal to look so good and sound like that. My eyes are riveted to a drop of water that is currently sliding down his very muscular, slightly hairy chest. Between his chest hair, tats, and his short beard, my girly bits are in a bit of a frenzy. I want to do something crazy, like lick up that drop of water. Either that or climb him like a damn tree. When he reaches out and tips my chin up to look him in the eyes—his very, very, very blue eyes—I gasp. Fuck, I am done for. My panties might as well not exist. I can feel how obscenely stuck to me they are. It’s now that I realize that my pants are still halfway off. His gaze is intense and I can feel it to my very soul.

  “Whatcha starin’ at, Mallory?” The way he says my name is like a caress on my bare skin.

  “Shit, nothing. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” I sound like a complete moron. I hope he doesn't think I was staring at him negatively because that would be so far from the truth.

  I walk as calmly as I can into my room, shutting the door behind me. With my back pressed to the door, I take in several deep breaths.

  That man is going to be the death of me.

  Chapter 2

  Malachi Goranson

  Fuck. Why does she have to be so beautiful? From head to toe, she is gorgeous. Her straight brown hair has flecks of what looks like sunshine in it. Her skin looks soft and pink. Her heart shaped face is tanned and her lips are kissable.

  The moment her tiny body crashed into mine and I saw her tiny black panties and creamy skin, I knew how fucked I was. My father told me about the instant spark that comes with meeting your soulmate. A spark that is almost tangible. Once I stepped out of her way, I watched her juicy ass walk down the hallway. I hate to even think it, but that big ass doesn't match the rest of her tiny body. She's gorgeous, through and through.

  Living with her is going to be the sweetest torture. I saw the way her eyes raked over my body. I prayed the tiny teal towel I found in Margo’s bathroom hid the first erection I’ve had in six months. Six fucking months. Since the accident I have been despondent, and stroking my cock was the last damn thing on my mind.

  Right now, it’s all I can think about. Even before the accident, I had never bothered with women. My delightful sister never told me how beautiful Mallory is. She did make it a point to tell me about what she called the “pornographic” novels that Mallory writes. As I have had a lot of time on my hands the last few months, I bought all five and read the fuck out of them. The girl can write and write well. Not to mention, they were sexy as hell.

  Less than five minutes in her presence and I've got my hand wrapped around my cock, closed up in the tiny hot pink bathroom. I imagine her long brown hair grazing my thighs as she rides me. Her green eyes are full of lust as she moans out, slowly grinding on my cock. My hand is squeezing my cock like a vice grip. I come so hard, I almost lose my balance. Which succeeds in reminding me that I am no longer a whole man. My left leg was amputated at the knee after a training accident. Luckily, I can walk for a short amount of time without the use of a prosthetic or my cane.

  Suddenly, what I thought was a lifelong career was over and I have no fallback. That’s the hardest thing to swallow. I knew going in that I may not come back. I didn't exactly prepare myself for this outcome.

  When I woke up in the hospital, I was glad to be alive. Don't get me wrong, I'm still glad, it just seems like I have no options. I had planned on using this time to figure out my future, but Mallory complicates things. Is it crazy that I just met her, and I've barely spoken to her, but I want her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life? Probably, but I don't care. Too bad I’m not the man I used to be.

  A woman like Mallory deserves the very best, and that isn't me. Since my leg—or lack thereof—didn't appear to disgust her, I pull on some basketball shorts, grab my single crutch, and go into the living room; I don’t bother with my prosthesis. Margo doesn't have a TV in her room, so the giant screen out here will have to do. I see Mallory lounging on the couch flipping through the channels. Her living room looks like she let hippies decorate. While not dirty, except for the dishes I did earlier, the space is messy. It looks lived in. I don’t know how Margo stands it, she is a clean freak, as I am, but she must let it slide because Mallory is Mallory. I’ve been in her presence for less than an hour, but I can also see letting it slide. She has changed into a tiny pair of black shorts and a hot pink tank top with tiny straps. Her makeup is gone, and her tiny feet are bare. I've never been more aware of the size difference between myself and another person. Fuck. She's even more beautiful than before. She pulls her legs over and pats the cushion, I take a seat.

  “Is there anything you want to watch? I was gonna check Netflix and look for a new show to binge.”

  “I haven't watched anything but sports in years. You can decide,” I reply.

  “That's brave of you. It's almost Christmas. I could put on one of those sappy, romantic Christmas movies.”

  I laugh. “Whatever you want Mallory. Whatever you want,” I say, barely holding it together.

  “Challenge accepted,” she says grinning. This gives me a perfect view of her straight white teeth. Fuck, even those are pretty. God, who thinks teeth are pretty besides dentists? She puts on the first season of a show. A few hours and several episodes later, I'm hooked. It's hilarious.

  “What is this?” I ask. I get really into the show, but every so often, I look over at Mallory and stare at her. Thankfully, she doesn’t see me. I am sure I look like a fucking creeper.

  “The British version of The Office. I've seen the American one, but I think this one is funnier.”

  “Don't you need to write?” I ask. She smiles brightly and her brown eyes shine with it.

  “You know about that, huh?”

  “Margo told me,” I say, laughing.

  “Oh Lordy, I can just imagine what she said. I do need to write, but I’m having a better time with you,” she says, smiling yet again. I can’t help smiling as well.

  “Me too.” Right then, my grumbling stomach reminds me that I haven't eaten since five this morning. “So, what's good to eat around here?”

  “Is this your first time in New York?” she asks, tapping her finger on her chin. Damn, she is adorable.

  “Yes
,” I say, nodding.

  “Well then, pizza of course. Do you want to go out or order in?”

  “Order in. I'm exhausted from traveling today.” I'm still leery of social situations, I know that I'm cringing, but she doesn't say anything. She just nods understandingly.

  “Okay,” she says. “I know the perfect place to order from. What kind do you want?”

  “Pepperoni and mushroom,” I reply.

  “Ooh, me too,” she says, and I listen as she grabs her phone and orders two large pies.

  “That's ambitious,” I say when she hangs up.

  “What?”

  “Two large pies? How are you ever going to eat that much?”

  “You'd be surprised; besides, I love leftover pizza.” She shrugs as she gets up from the couch and heads into the kitchen. “I have red wine or Foster's,” she yells. I already don’t like that she is out of my sight.

  “Foster's,” I yell right back. Fuck, I really like this girl.

  I hear the tabs pop on two cans. A few seconds later she walks back in with two oil cans of beer and some paper plates and napkins, which she sets on the coffee table. I watch as she sits back down and tucks her long legs under her thick ass. Her tiny shorts hike up even farther. Her ass cheeks peek out, causing my mouth to water. I want to bite that ass. I’ve never had such a strong reaction to any woman. We continue watching the show, already into the second season. Twenty minutes later, there is a brisk knock on the door. She moves to stand but I reach my hand out and touch her hip. I feel her shiver. I smirk. She is not unaffected by me.

  “You’re absolutely not answering the door dressed like that,” I say, standing, reaching for my cane.

  “Excuse me?” she asks, sitting up.

  “You’re not dressed,” I say, gritting my teeth and opening the door.

  “Pizza delivery,” the guy says, wide-eyed and trying to look around me.

  “Eyes front,” I growl, channeling every drill sergeant I’ve ever had. The little pipsqueak makes some sort of noise. “How much?” I ask gruffly as I pull my wallet out. Shit, I didn’t know I could be so growly. I hope I’m not scaring her.

  “Nineteen dollars, seventy-eight cents.” I pull out thirty dollars and thrust the bills at the kid. He takes them from me, and I grab the pizzas, practically slamming the door in his face. “Asshole,” I hear muttered from the other side of the closed door. When I turn around, I come face to face with Mallory, arms crossed under her tits, making them look larger. Fuck.

  “What?” I ask, shrugging.

  “He’s not wrong you know, you are a bit of a high-handed asshole,” she says. I can tell from the tone of her voice that she is pissed.

  “You wanted that little fuck to see you half-naked?” I growl. My hands clenching into the boxes, crushing the corners on one side.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters. My eyes widen, and I growl again. What the fuck has come over me? My grip tightens further on the pizza boxes. The thought of anyone but me seeing her in this state has me seeing red. “I didn’t mean it like that, trust me. I just meant these are my normal lounging around clothes. If I order something, I answer the door this way.”

  “I don’t like it,” I reply honestly.

  “I got that, Malachi. The pizza guy got that. I am sure nosey Ms. Detwiler across the hall got that,” she says, laughing.

  “Ms. Detwiler?” I ask, setting the pizzas on the sofa table behind the couch.

  “She’s ninety years old, if she is a day. She watches the twenty-ninth floor comings and goings from her peephole. Not that anything goes on up here. Only two apartments are occupied. Watch out for her. If you stop and talk to her at the mailboxes, it’s all over. She’ll talk your ear off for hours,” she whispers. I move toward her.

  “Why are you whispering, Mallory?” I whisper as I reach her. Her tiny shirt has ridden up, revealing the creamy expanse of her stomach. My fingertips reach out and make contact. It suddenly feels like my arm is on fire. Goosebumps rise on her flesh and I can’t help it. My fingers grip her hips. I know I will leave a mark if I am not careful, but her moan does me in.

  “She can probably hear us through the door, knowing her. She's harmless though,” she says. Her voice is thick. When she licks her plump bottom lip, I snap. I close the distance between us roughly and press my lips to hers. She tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and a hint of beer. Her hands go to my hair, causing me to groan. Fuck, she is so responsive. I get lost in the kiss until I realize I am not who I used to be. I pull my lips from hers, reluctantly. “What was that for?” she asks, her fingertips pressing on her lips.

  “Forget I did that,” I say, like the asshole I am. I only say it because I feel like I should, not because I want to. I am trying to be a good guy, give her an out. I don't offer any further explanation for my actions or my behavior but—fuck—it's hard not to try to soothe the hurt look on her face.

  “Yeah, ‘cause that will be so easy,” she replies, grabbing a pizza and going back over to the couch. She picks up the remote and pushes play. Ricky Gervais starts talking again about downsizing, so I sit back down on the couch and eat my dinner, drink my beer. That kiss, though brief, was amazing.

  We both laugh at the same things on this ridiculous show, but I find myself watching her more than the show. She studiously tries to ignore me, but I see her look my way several times.

  “You just gonna stare at me all night?”

  “Mallory. Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with me.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “You shouldn't. I can’t be the man you deserve,” I say bitterly. My thoughts are even more bitter. I am not whole. I am a broken man who would only cause her pain.

  “Don’t I get to decide that?” she asks quietly. I don’t answer. After a few minutes, she gets up and walks out of the room. I hear her bedroom door close firmly. I clean up the dinner mess and throw the leftovers in the fridge. I turn the TV off and go into Margo’s room—my room for the time being.

  At five in the morning, I give up trying to sleep. I don’t have PTSD exactly, but I do have trouble sleeping. I have stopped all of the sleep and pain meds my doctor prescribed immediately following the accident. It’s been six months. I should be getting back to normal, but with nothing to get up for anymore, I’m dragging.

  I strap my running blade on. Out of my two prosthetic legs, this one is my favorite, because it has so many possibilities. Even when I’m not running, this is the one I wear most often. I never thought something like this would ever happen to me. I literally never saw it coming. I throw on a t-shirt and a sock, and my black and neon yellow Nike on my good foot. When I step into the hallway, I see Mallory’s door is open. She's awake and in her bed, typing on her laptop. The glow from the screen makes her look like an angel. She looks up but keeps typing. Impressive.

  “Are you going out?” she asks, looking me up and down and going back to her work.

  “I am going for a run,” I reply.

  “It’s early.”

  “Best time, fewer people to stare at me,” I say. She is still staring at her computer screen, fingers flying fast over the keys.

  “Why would they stare at you, besides the fact that you are hot as hell,” she says. She stops typing then and looks over at me. I smile. “I mean—” she starts.

  “I get it, Mallory,” I cut her off. Anything else she says would be torture. I'm trying to be a good man. “The leg gets a lot of stares.”

  “Assholes,” she says. The pinched look on her face tells me she doesn't tolerate assholes.

  “You really don’t notice it, do you?” I ask, a little in awe of her.

  “Of course, I do, but it doesn’t make you who you are, Malachi. Not in the slightest,” she says, standing. She just has on a hot-pink, short-as-fuck nightgown. It’s so short, I can see her puffy pussy lips.

  “Do you ever wear proper clothes?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “Not often.” She shrugs.

  �
�Goddammit, little girl. I tried, I really tried.” I close the distance between us and just as I’m about to kiss her, she puts her hand on my chest.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I just need to save this document. I wrote eight thousand words.”

  “Have you been to bed yet?” I ask, in awe of her.

  “Nope,” she says reaching over her bed, giving me a full glimpse of her ass. I clench my fist while she does whatever it is that she is doing. She closes her laptop lid and sets it on her nightstand. I am about to say she should get some sleep, but she turns and practically jumps into my arms. Her lips meet mine and I’m done fighting this.

  If she wants me, she is going to get me.

  All ten inches.

  Chapter 3

  Mallory

  Am I really going to do this? I just met him like, yesterday, but fuck, I’m beyond wanting him and well into “falling for him” territory, that I’m definitely going to do it. I turn my bedside light on.

  Last night, I went down to the fourth floor, to my friend Gwen’s apartment with two bottles of wine. For the millionth time. I really needed her brand of sassy to get me through my funk. We drank and dissected my sex scene, then I came back up to my bed to write my heart out. I also used the time to suss out my feelings for Malachi, as we discussed her love life with the sexy silver fox she’s dating.

  Sure, Malachi’s a bit of a grumpy ass, but I get it. He’s mad at the world and has no outlet for it. I can be that outlet. I need to be that outlet. Feelings like this have never been on my radar before. I quickly turned my laptop off and now I’m kissing him as though my life depends on it. In a way, I think it does. His mouth on mine makes me feel like a goddess. His hands are on my bare ass. My pussy is so wet. I try to take his shirt off of him, but our lips have to disconnect in order to do so; I really don't want to stop kissing him.