“Say my name while you get yourself off,” I say. “Malcolm,” he gasps. But that’s not right. That doesn’t hit the spot. “No. The name you call me.” He opens his eyes and looks at me, biting his lip, and then groans, “Mal.” My chest tightens. Yes. That’s it. Only he can call me that. That’s his name. It belongs to him. “More,” I say. “Mal. Mal. Oh fuck, M-Mal.”
