He smirks, that dangerous half-smile that makes heat pool in my belly despite everything. “Well, aren’t you just the sitting pro.”
Water thunders into the tub as he turns on multiple jets, steam rising in lazy curls. Turning around, I look in the massive mirror behind me. My reflection blurs, pink hair like a halo around my slightly bruised face.
I feel as bad as I look. But that feeling gets worse when I lift his tee up enough to see my lower back and hip. “Oh no,” I cry out, horrified by the bruise that has formed partly on my ass. “That better go away soon.”
Matteo looks at me like I’m the most beautiful disaster he’s ever seen. “Your ass is still spectacular,” he assures me.
Turning back to the tub, he adds bath salts and deliciously smelling soap that creates a layer of bubbles. Once he’s done, he comes back to me, hands moving to the hem of his shirt that I’m wearing. “Arms up,” he instructs, voice soft.
I wince as I comply, my ribs protesting. The shirt slides over my head, leaving me naked. His eye tracks over my body,cataloging every bruise, every scrape, his expression darkening with each new mark.
“I’m going to find who did this,” he says, each word etched with deadly promise. “And I’m going to take my time with them.”
“We’regoing to find them,” I correct, emphasizing the first word. “Together.”
Something flashes across his face—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He nods once, while reaching for my hand. “We should take this off.” He fingers the compression bandage I hadn’t realized was wrapped around my wrist.
“Oh,” I say lamely. “I didn’t even notice it.”
After removing it, he sheds his pants and helps me stand. “Do you need help to get in?” he asks, gesturing at the tub.
Shaking my head, I get in and let the scalding water envelop me like a lover’s embrace as I sink into the tub. A sigh escapes my lips at the momentary relief it brings to my aching body.
Matteo slides in behind me, his legs bracketing mine, chest warm against my back as he pulls me against him. “Easy,” he murmurs when I hiss at the pressure against my ribs. His hands settle on my hips, steadying me. “Let me take care of you.”
“I need to see it,” I say suddenly, twisting despite the pain to face him. “Your arm.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then nods, unwrapping the bandage with methodical precision. The wound beneath is angry and red, a deep furrow carved along his bicep where the bullet grazed him.
My stomach lurches at how close it came to being so much worse. Two inches to the right, and it would have hit an artery. Three inches inward, and it would have pierced his heart.
“It’s nothing,” he says, watching my face. “Just a scratch.”
I lean forward, pressing my lips to the wound, tasting antiseptic and salt. His muscles tense beneath my mouth, a shudder running through him.
“Raven…” His voice has that rough quality that usually precedes him bending me over the nearest surface.
“Who did it?” I ask against his skin, lifting my eyes to his. “Who shot you?”
His hands slide up my back, careful of my injuries. “I don’t know. Not yet.” His jaw tightens. “Whoever it was got away.”
“What happened after I…” I trail off and bite my bottom lip hard. I don’t want to mention that he pushed me away, and not just because I instinctively know it won’t go down well.
The fact is he saved me, and I’m happy about that. Really, I am. I’m just not okay with him doing it at his own expense.
Matteo’s expression hardens. “After you got hurt, I had to choose between chasing the shooter or getting you to safety.” His fingers trace my collarbone, up my throat to cup my cheek. “It wasn’t a hard decision. You come first. Always.”
“You chose me over revenge,” I murmur, the realization sending something warm unfurling in my chest.
“And I would every time,” he says simply.
I shift in the water, ignoring the pain that radiates through my body as I straddle his lap. His cock hardens against my thigh, his eye darkening as I position myself above him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, hands settling on my waist. “You’re hurt.”
“I need this,” I whisper, lowering myself onto him with agonizing slowness. The stretch burns—I’m not as ready as I should be—but I welcome the pain. It grounds me, reminds me I’m alive. We both are. “I need you inside me.”
He groans as I take him fully, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Fuck, Little Thief—”
