Tae Mo Malaki の小説・ストーリー

"You’ve built a cage for my mother, Malakai. You’ve stolen a fortune that could buy a small country. But look at us. We’re still just two ghosts on a rock in the middle of nowhere." ​Malakai set his drink down on the stone balustrade and stepped into my space, his massive frame effectively cutting off the wind. He gripped the railing on either side of me, pinning me against the cold stone. The scent of him—expensive tobacco, sea salt, and a raw, masculine musk—swirled around me, more intoxicating than the alcohol.

I said to him leaving the kitchen. "Daddy you do somethin' bad?" Malaya asked standing in front of me in her pink pajamas with her hands on her hips. "Who the father? Me or you?" I asked mugging her. She tried rolling her eyes. "Tee tee said you come over Sunday for cook out" She said to me with a little sass. I grabbed her up and she giggled. "You tryna boss me around? You can't even brush yo teeth good" I said chuckling as I sat in the couch next to Natalia.

She beamed, talking about the name and species, which one was her favorite to ride and which horse had an attitude. “Do you see this?” she asked, pulling up the shirt and pointing at the lightly darker skin, which looked like an old wound on her lower back. I nodded, eyeing the back of her spine and remembering how she looked on all her fours when I fucked her from behind. Zara didn’t notice the lust in my eyes when she continued, “I once snuck out to ride Malak. He is a new horse and everyone kept saying that he had an attitude so I wanted to tame him and test him.” She finally pulled down the shirt, her eyes gleaming as she said, “Malak not only allowed me to feed him, but ride him as well

The air grew warmer the closer I got to the grand hall, thick with the scent of roasted meat, sharp spices, and the heavy, intoxicating undercurrent of cedar and rain. Malakai was already there. He sat at the head of a massive, dark wood table, entirely alone. The high-backed chair looked small behind his seven-foot frame. He wore a black sleeveless top that showed off his massive, hyper-muscular shoulders and the dense tribal ink covering his arms and wrapping up the column of his throat. The table before him was loaded with enough food to feed an entire vanguard—roasted game, thick bread, and decanters of rich wine.

They were a cheerful lot and I went along. * We were allotted a half an hour lunch break, said Roger as we left the building and made our way to a small café in one of the buildings. ‘I usually bring lunch, a packed one and share it as well,” chuckled Malaika who was always chuckling. A happy person, I thought. “Mal makes the most amazing teriyaki chicken with broccoli,” said Roger as we sat at a small table in the crowded little area. A harassed-looking waitress turned up and gasped,

“Mail me some.” “Mail?” I arched a brow, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Babe, by the time it gets to you, it’ll be a science experiment. Mold cake deluxe.” Malik burst out laughing. “Kimani’s bakery: buy one, get free penicillin.” I gave him a glare through the camera. “Keep talking, Malik. I’ll put salt instead of sugar and dedicate the cake to you.” Zendaya clapped her hands like a seal. “Yes! Roast him, wife!”

Mira-aclee. As it's mentioned already I'm just reminding you again, Ma'la means bad. And the farmer was confused why the boy was introducing himself as 'Bad.' But keeping that side the farmer asked him what he really wanted? 'Ma'la needs a mentor and he wants to test you (middle aged man, a farmer), I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself and show if you're really worthy to teach me.' The little kid's confidence is at its heights already. Really my kid.

Once again, Amani and Malakai stood face to face, a short distance separating them. “Hello, Amani…” Malakai breathed, his eyes tracing the contours of her face beneath the glimmering sunlight. “Wow… you look…” “You have no business being here,” Amani cut him off, her tone harsh. “This is rogue territory, and you are trespassing.” “We brought aid,” Malakai replied. “What aid?” Amani questioned, her tone skeptical. “We brought food and included Archer’s favorite baked rolls… freshly made,” Malakai informed her.