Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Xavier
A week has passed since the attack. My head still throbs occasionally, a dull reminder of what happened at the clinic.
The stitches pull when I move too quickly, but Dr. Reeves says they’re healing well.
I’ve been sleeping better the last couple nights, the nightmares of shattering glass and slurred hatred gradually fading.
I drift toward consciousness slowly, my body heavy with the pleasant weight of deep sleep.
Sunlight filters through the blinds, warming patches of skin where the covers have slipped away.
Something feels different this morning, a pleasant tension building low in my body, a warmth that doesn’t come from the sun.
My eyes flutter open as I register the sensation of something hot and wet between my legs. The covers are tented, pulled back just enough that I can see dark hair spread across my thighs. Zach’s broad shoulders shift beneath the sheet, his mouth working with deliberate purpose.
“Oh,” I gasp, fully awake now as pleasure shoots up my spine. My fingers find their way into his hair, not guiding, just needing to touch, to anchor myself as his tongue traces patterns that make my toes curl.
He hums in response, the vibration sending another jolt through me. I feel him smile against my skin before he takes me deeper, the wet heat of his mouth enveloping me completely.
“God, Zach,” I manage, my voice still rough with sleep. “What a way to wake up.”
He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, but his hands tighten on my hips, holding me in place as he increases his pace.
My breath comes faster now, chest rising and falling rapidly as heat builds in my core.
The morning stubble on his cheeks scratches lightly against sensitive skin, the slight burn only adding to the sensation.
I lift my head, wanting to see him. The sight nearly undoes me. Zach’s eyes closed in concentration, his expression one of pure focus as he works. There’s something reverent in the way he touches me, like I’m something precious, something to be savored.
“Come up here,” I whisper, tugging gently at his hair. “Want to kiss you.”
He releases me with a final, teasing lick that makes me shiver, then crawls up my body like a predator stalking prey. His weight settles over me, familiar and comforting, as he captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes of me and him and morning.
“Good morning,” he says against my lips, voice rough with desire. “Sleep well?”
“I was,” I reply, sliding my hands beneath his t-shirt to feel the warm skin of his back. “Until someone decided breakfast couldn’t wait.”
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked too good lying there.”
My fingers trace the scar on his side, still pink and new but healing well. He no longer flinches when I touch it, no longer tries to hide it from me. Progress, for both of us.
“How’s your head?” he asks, suddenly serious as his fingers ghost over the healing wound at my temple.
“Better,” I assure him, turning to press a kiss to his palm. “Almost no pain today.”
Relief softens his features, though I still catch glimpses of the rage that’s been simmering beneath the surface since the attack.
Zach has been careful around me. Gentle, attentive, almost overly so.
But I’ve seen the darkness in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking, the way his jaw tightens when the clinic is mentioned.
His lips find mine again, the kiss deeper now, more urgent. His hand slides between us, wrapping around me with perfect pressure, resuming where his mouth left off. I arch into his touch, gasping against his lips as pleasure builds once more.
“Need you.” He tugs at his shirt. “All of you.”
He sits back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
The morning light catches on the tattoos across his chest, highlighting the phoenix in flight that spans from shoulder to sternum.
I reach up to trace it, marveling as I always do at how something so beautiful can exist on someone so deadly.
“Like what you see, Doc?” he asks, that familiar half smile playing at his lips.
“Always,” I admit, my hands sliding down to work at the drawstring of his sleep pants. “Every part of you.”
He helps me push the fabric down and away, then settles back between my legs, skin against skin now. The solid heat of him presses against me, making my breath catch. His hands frame my face, careful to avoid the healing wound at my temple.
“I love you,” he says. “Every part of you.”
“Show me,” I challenge, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
His smile turns predatory as he reaches for the nightstand drawer. “With pleasure, Doc. With pleasure.”