Chapter 30 Mattie
MATTIE
"Just blushing," Mattie repeated, and the heat in her cheeks spread down her neck, across her chest.
Dimitri stood frozen, toothbrush in hand, staring at her as if she'd just announced she could fly. The steam from the shower curled around them both, making everything feel unreal.
Good. Unreal was easier than real right now.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "You're inviting me to shower with you?"
"Yes, and I suggest you move fast before I lose my nerve."
He set the toothbrush down. "You are going to wash me."
Dimitri looked so shocked that it was comical, and she laughed. "Do you want to pinch yourself again?"
"No. That hurt."
"Then get undressed and get in." Mattie closed the shower curtain and smiled.
Normally, she wasn't that bold, but Dimitri had already seen her scars, and his reaction to them had been the best she could have hoped for.
He hadn't recoiled or winced or looked at her with pity.
He had reached with his hand and caressed her skin.
He'd made her feel beautiful and desired, and at the same time safe, because he'd also made her feel appreciated and respected.
He made her feel seen.
Men like him were rare, and she would have invited him into her bed even if he hadn't saved her from a bunch of barbaric immortals. If not for his heroic act, she might have taken longer, but the opportunity had just presented itself, and she seized it.
Mattie was excited, and as she heard the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of his shirt hitting the floor, and then the whisper of his pants sliding down his legs, each sound sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
After seven months of cultivating the image of the shy, damaged girl who wasn't worth the trouble, tearing those walls down for a man she'd just met seemed reckless, but it felt right.
Dimitri had risked his life for her, attacking an immortal with nothing but a syringe and desperate courage, and he'd nearly died protecting her from a terrible fate.
She trusted him like she hadn't trusted any man before him. There had been some nice guys in her past, but there had never been anyone like him.
The shower curtain moved, and he stepped in behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body even through the warm spray. Was he still running a fever?
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi." She turned to face him, and the sight of him stole her breath.
He was thin, the short illness having somehow managed to carve hollows beneath his cheekbones and along his ribs, as if his body had consumed its reserves to wage war on the virus or bacteria that had invaded it.
But despite that, he was beautiful to her, all lean muscle and pale skin, dark hair plastered to his forehead, blue eyes looking at her with an intensity that made her knees weak.
She was tempted to look down, knowing she would find him erect, but she fought the urge and kept her eyes on his face.
The shower stall was tiny, barely big enough for one person, let alone two. There was no way to stand without touching, but Mattie had known that when she'd invited him in. Had counted on it.
She reached for the soap. "Let me wash you. You've been sweating for hours."
His expression changed, and suddenly he looked embarrassed, probably remembering that he was sticky and smelly.
Dimitri took a step back, almost falling out of the shower stall. "I can do that myself. I feel fine."
"I want to do it." She squeezed soap into her palm and worked it into a lather. "Come here and turn around."
After a split second of hesitation, he obeyed, turning around and presenting his back to her.
Mattie took a moment to just admire the line of his spine and the surprising breadth of his shoulders despite his lean frame. Under his baggy clothes, Dimitri was a well-built man.
She placed her hands on his back, and he shuddered.
"Cold?" she asked.
"No." His voice was strained. "I like the feel of your hands on me."
She smiled and began to work the soap across his shoulders, kneading the tension from his stiff muscles that must have been clenched for days. He groaned softly, head dropping forward, the sound sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine.
After months of cultivating the art of invisibility and mostly succeeding in being overlooked, the shift in perspective was intoxicating. She wanted to be seen and wanted by Dimitri, and she enjoyed making him feel good.
Her fingers found the edge of the bandage on his neck, the white gauze now damp and peeling at the corners from the steam.
"Can I take this off?" she asked.
"Go ahead."
She gently worked the tape loose, peeling the bandage away from his skin, and sucked in a breath at what she saw beneath.
Yesterday, this wound had been horrific—torn flesh, ragged edges, the kind of damage that should have required stitches and weeks of healing.
Now the wounds were closed, scabbed over with dark crusts that looked days old rather than hours.
The angry red inflammation had faded to pink, and new skin was already forming at the edges.
"Dimitri," she whispered. "This is impossible."
"What?" He started to turn his head.
"Don't move." She pressed her hand against his shoulder to keep him still. "Your neck. It looked so bad yesterday, and now it's almost healed." She traced a gentle finger along the edge of the largest scab.
"It must be the venom," he said quietly. "It has healing properties."
"This much?" She was shaking. "This isn't normal healing, Dimitri. This is something else."
She cupped water in her palm and let it run gently over the wound, washing away the last traces of dried blood and adhesive residue.
He held perfectly still, barely breathing.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"No. It itches a little, but it doesn't hurt."
She rinsed the wound once more, marveling at the impossible recovery.
Apparently, an immortal's venom could do much more than kill people and provide intense sexual pleasure to their partners.
It could also do serious healing. She knew next to nothing about chemistry or medicine, but she doubted that any other compound like this existed.
If humans had found out about it, they would have hunted these immortals and bred them in farms so they could milk their venom and sell it.
Shaking her head, she banished the disturbing thought and concentrated on the man in front of her.
"There." She smoothed her wet fingers across his shoulders. "All clean."
Her hands moved lower, tracing the ridges of his spine, the curve of his lower back. She wanted to learn and memorize every inch of him.
"You're killing me, Mattie," he groaned.
She laughed and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. Impulsive. Unplanned. But when she did it, he made a sound that went straight to her core—low, hungry, and unguarded.
"Turn around," she said again.
He did, and this time she didn't look away from any of it. His chest, scattered with sparse dark hair, the flat plane of his stomach, the proof of his desire for her.
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she didn't drop her gaze. She'd meant what she said. She wasn't a blushing virgin. Just blushing.
"Do you like what you see?" He smiled despite the tension in his body.
"Very much," she said. "You're beautiful."
"That's my line."
"Too bad. I'm stealing it."
She soaped her hands again, and as she placed them on his chest, his breath hitched. She traced the contours of his muscles, the ridge of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat rapidly.
When her fingers brushed over his nipples, he sucked in a sharp breath.
"Sensitive?" she asked.
"Yes."
She filed that information away for later.
Her hands moved lower, following the trail of dark hair that led down from his navel. She watched his face as she went, watched the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips parted. When she reached the jut of his hipbones, she paused.
"Is this okay?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "Bozhe, dah."
Mattie didn't speak Russian, but she didn't need a translation.
As she wrapped her hand around his length, he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that echoed off the tile walls. He was hot and hard in her palm, and when she stroked him experimentally, his whole body jerked.
"Mattie…" His hands came up to grip her shoulders, steadying himself, but his hold on her was gentle.
She stroked him again, watching his face, learning what made him gasp, what made him shudder.
She took her time, exploring him with her hands while the water sluiced over them both.
He was so responsive, every touch drawing a reaction, every stroke pulling sounds from his throat that made her body pulse with heat.
His hands stayed on her shoulders, fingers digging in when the pleasure crested, relaxing when she eased back, but never bruising, always gentle.
"It's so good," he managed.
"Thank you."
"Mattie—" He broke off with a groan as she twisted her wrist. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."
"Then come."
"Not alone." He swallowed hard. "Together. Let me touch you, too. Please."
The 'please' undid her.
She released him and stepped back as much as the tiny stall allowed. "I'm all yours." She spread her arms in invitation. "Touch me."
His hands were infinitely gentle on her waist. She could feel the restraint in him, the careful control. He was holding himself back, afraid of scaring her, of pushing too fast.
"I won't break, Dimitri," she said softly. "You don't have to be so careful."
He stroked her hipbones with his thumbs. "You're precious to me. Of course, I have to be careful." His hands slid up her sides, mapping the curve of her waist, the swell of her ribs. When he reached the underside of her breasts, he paused and looked into her eyes as if asking permission.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
As he cupped her breasts, Mattie's head fell back against the tile wall. His hands were warm as he brushed his thumbs over her sensitive nipples in slow circles.
"Good?" he asked when she moaned.
"Yes." The word came out breathless. "More."
He gave her what she'd asked for. His fingers explored every inch of her—her breasts, her stomach, the curve of her hips, and his lips followed, kissing every surface.
When he reached the scars on her lower thighs, he didn't flinch or pull away.
Instead, he traced them with the same reverence he'd shown the rest of her body.
Then he dropped to his knees in front of her and pressed a kiss to the worst of them. The one that ran from her hip almost to her knee. The one she hated the most.
Mattie's eyes burned.
"Dimitri—"
"Shh." He kissed another scar. And another. "Let me."
She let him.
His mouth traced the map of her damaged skin, turning something ugly into something almost beautiful. By the time he finished, she was trembling.
He rose back to his feet, and his eyes met hers. "You're beautiful."
She kissed him, hungry and desperate and full of everything she'd been holding back. He responded in kind, one hand fisting in her wet hair, the other pressing against the small of her back to pull her closer.
Skin against skin, heat against heat, she could feel every inch of him pressed against her body, and she wanted more, wanted everything, wanted to crawl inside him and never come out.
He reached behind her to turn off the water, and the sudden silence was deafening, broken only by their ragged breathing and the drip of water from their bodies.
"I'm taking you to bed," he said.
"Yes."
He reached for the towel, wrapped it around her, and then lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Then his mouth was on her with another searing kiss.
How was he so strong when only a few hours ago he'd been burning with fever?
The narrow mattress creaked under their combined weight, then the towel was gone, and he was poised above her, his eyes seeking her consent.
She reached up and pulled him down. "I need you inside of me."
He entered her slowly, carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none, even though it had been a long time since she'd been with a man. The fit was perfect.
"Okay?" he breathed.
"Amazing." She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Move."
He moved.
It was nothing like Mattie had expected and everything she'd hoped for. Dimitri was attentive, adjusting his rhythm to her reactions, finding the angle that made her cry out and then repeating it until she was trembling on the edge of release.
"Come for me," he murmured against her throat. "Let go."
She did.
The orgasm crashed through her in waves, pulling sounds from her throat she didn't recognize, her body arching and shuddering beneath his. He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck as he climaxed.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. They lay tangled in each other, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync. The air in the room was thick with the scent of sex, soap, and hope.
As Dimitri lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes were soft, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"Blushing, but not a virgin. A sexy vixen."
She laughed, tracing a finger along his jaw. "We didn't use protection, but I'm clean, and I have a contraceptive implant."
"I'm clean, too. Haven't been with anyone other than my right hand in a long time."
She laughed again, surprised by his honesty.
"I hope I outdid her."
"Oh, you did. You ruined her for me forever. I don't know if I can ever go back to her."
"Good, because I'm not letting you go back." She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. "You are mine now."