Matt’s body tensed slightly at Herbert’s name, but he remained my silent anchor, letting me spill my secrets into the safety of his arms.
“You’re the first person I’ve told,” I admitted softly. “Besides Mia, obviously.”
Matt pressed a kiss to my forehead, and I melted into his touch. For once, my endless supply of quips and comebacks ran dry, replaced by the simple comfort of being held by someone who didn’t need me to be anything other than who I was—smart mouth, emotional baggage, and all.
The silence stretched between us like a luxury spa treatment—not the awkward kind where you don’t know if you should talk to your masseuse, but the good kind where everything just feels right. Matt’s heartbeat under my ear was better than any meditation app I’d ever downloaded—and subsequently deleted after five minutes. Each steady thud was like a five-star review of life’s You’re Not In That Dark Place Anymore playlist.
Maybe it was the emotional striptease I’d just performed, or maybe it was the way Matt’s arms felt like the world’s most expensive security blanket, but something inside me clicked into place. The darkness that had been trying to crash my mental party started to slink away like a vampire at sunrise, replaced by a different kind of heat—the kind that had nothing to do with trauma and everything to do with the grade A specimen of man candy currently holding me.
“Thanks,” I whispered before planting a kiss on his lips—a thank you, an apology, a lifeline all rolled into one. Pulling back with a mischievous glint in my eye, I added, “You know what else is good therapy?”
Matt’s eyebrow rose in question, though his lips twitched with knowing amusement.
“Sex,” I declared with mock solemnity, though my hands trembled slightly as they reached for him. “And look at that—it’s technically tomorrow now.”
His laughter filled the room—a rich, vibrant sound that chased away the last tendrils of my nightmare. “Well then,” hemurmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that made my toes curl, “I suppose I better keep that promise.” His expression sobered slightly. “But no penetration. You’re still healing.”
I flashed him a grin that probably didn’t quite hide the desperate need in my eyes. “That’s fine by me. I mean, there are plenty of other fun activities on the menu. I’ve missed touching you…” I let my gaze trail deliberately down his body, trying to mask my trembling with humor. “…and licking you. Though I have to say, watching you play Mr. Hands-Off in that hospital was like putting a starving man in front of a buffet and telling him he can only smell the food.”
“Is that so?” Matt’s voice was as smooth as aged whiskey, but I could hear the desire threading through it, see the concern in his eyes as they traced the lingering fear in mine.
“Pure torture,” I confirmed, aiming for playful but landing somewhere between desperate and needy. “Do you know how many nurses swooned over you? And there I was, confined to that bed, unable to stake my claim. It was like watching someone else unwrap my favorite Christmas present.”
He shook his head, gold-brown hair falling across his forehead as he reached for the bedside lamp. Warm light spilled across the sheets as his eyes, dark with concern, studied my body. “Let me see how those bruises are healing.”
“Well then,” I challenged, my voice wavering slightly despite my attempt at bravado, “you’ll have to kiss every single one of them to make the pain go away. And not just the physical ones—all of them.” The last part slipped out before I could stop it, raw and honest.
“I promise,” he murmured, and the weight of truth in those two words made my heart ache with need.
With a flourish worthy of a Vegas showman, I kicked the silk sheets away and turned my attention to him. Before he couldprotest, my fingers were already working their magic, stripping away his clothes with the deftness of a magician revealing his greatest trick. Each piece that fell away revealed more of that powerful form—muscle and skin and that magnificent dragon tattoo winding across his body like some kind of sensual road map.
“Still as hunky as ever,” I observed with an appreciative nod, my fingertips tracing the dragon’s sinuous form. “And this masterpiece is still as awesome and fearsome as ever.”
I reached for my own clothes, but Matt’s hand caught mine. “Allow me,” he insisted, his voice a sensual command that sent shivers down my spine.
He undressed me slowly, his gaze sweeping over each bruise like an artist studying his canvas. When I was finally bare before him, his eyes darkened with something fierce and tender all at once. Then he pulled me into his arms, and when our lips met, I poured everything into that kiss—all my fear, my need, my desperation to feel something other than the echoes of screaming metal and cruel fists. My fingers dug into his shoulders as if he were the only thing keeping me from drowning in my own memories.
The kiss deepened, became hungry and wild, my tongue seeking his with a desperation that had nothing to do with simple desire and everything to do with survival. Matt was my anchor, my safe harbor in a storm of trauma, and I needed him like I needed air. Each stroke of his tongue against mine pushed back the darkness a little more, each touch of his hands on my skin replaced a memory of pain with one of pleasure.
I wound my arms around his neck, drawing him closer until there was no space left between us, until I could feel his heartbeat echoing my own frantic rhythm. This was what I needed—the feeling of Matt against me, inside me in every way but one. His touch was my sanctuary from storms past andpresent, where pleasure outshone pain and even scars could fade into nothingness under the right caress.
For just a little while, the memory of the accident and the kidnapping faded away, replaced by the exquisite sensation of skin on skin, the sweet ache of desire, and the promise of release. In Matt’s arms, I wasn’t the broken boy who lost his parents or the victim in Carlos’ warehouse—I was just Andy, whole and wanted and safe.
When Matt pulled back, ending the kiss, his eyes held a warmth that could thaw winter. “Let’s kiss all those bruises now,” he murmured, voice husky with promise.
“Oh, pulling out your PhD in Bruisology, Doctor Caine?” I managed to quip despite my breathlessness.
His lips curved into a smile that could’ve lit up the Vegas strip. “Honorary degree,” he shot back. “Now relax and let the doctor work his magic.”
With an exaggerated sigh that didn’t quite hide my trembling anticipation, I sprawled out on the bed like a starfish offering itself to the tide. Matt’s lips found my nape first, and I shivered as his hands began their tender exploration of my body. Each caress was a promise, each touch a balm to the ache of memories and flesh alike.
I watched through half-lidded eyes as he kissed every bruise—a cartography of pain transformed into pleasure under his devoted attention. The large one on my side received special care, his lips pressing softly against the purple-tinged skin.
“Hmm,” he hummed against my flesh, “this one looks like it hurts.”
“Past tense,” I reminded him with a shaky grin. “It hurt. Presently it’s feeling rather… attended to.”
He moved to the dark blotch across my chest, just above my heart—a souvenir from Carlos’ less than tender mercies. His lipslingered there, each kiss a silent vow to chase away the shadows of my past.
