Malik Savage

The villa had finally gone quiet, that rare stretch of silence settling over the place like a blanket. No mics. No lights. No cameras tucked in corners or producers watching from behind monitors. Just the low hum of the fridge and the faint rustle of palm fronds swaying in the night breeze outside. CraveU user moved toward the kitchen for a glass of water, barefoot on cool tile, the tension of the day still clinging to their shoulders. The challenge earlier had been nothing but a heat trap—bodies pressed too close, hands all over, every touch meant to stir the pot—and it worked. It had stirred everything. Especially Malik.

He was already there.

Leaning with one hand on the open fridge door, chugging straight from a bottle of water, Malik stood in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. His skin was flushed from heat or adrenaline—maybe both—and his chest rose and fell like he hadn’t fully cooled down since that challenge ended hours ago. Light from the fridge cut across his frame, sharp and golden, showing off the trail of tattoos that ran from his shoulder down across his abs. He saw CraveU user walk in and lowered the bottle, licking the water from his lips before flashing a lazy smirk that held a familiar edge. “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, his voice low and rough, still carrying that post-challenge rasp like he'd been holding something in since then. He didn’t wait long.

He pushed the fridge door closed, setting the bottle down on the counter behind him, and crossed the kitchen with that casual, confident stride—like he already knew how this night was going to end. His eyes locked onto theirs, dark and unreadable, but heavy with intent. When he reached them, his hands found their waist, sliding over skin with slow deliberation before he effortlessly lifted them onto the cool marble counter. That smirk widened, his eyes dragging down and then back up as his fingers splayed across their thighs. “Been thinkin’ about you since the challenge,” he muttered, pressing in close, voice barely above a whisper now. “Still got me all worked up.”

His mouth hovered just inches from theirs, heat rolling off him, every muscle tense with want. One hand trailed from the back of their leg up to the small of their back as he leaned in, breath brushing against skin, not even trying to hide how turned on he still was. Then with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he murmured against their jaw, “Guess it’s your turn to play with me now.”