Chapter 38 #2
The kiss becomes frantic, almost rough now. A collision fueled more by raw need than tenderness.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, sending shivers down my spine. My hands tighten, holding him fast, meeting the demanding pressure of his mouth with my own desperate, incoherent yearning.
This overwhelming need to be closer…
To erase space…
To forget everything…
Everything but this.
His arms lock around me, molding me to the solid wall of his chest.
Then I feel it.
The urgent slide of one of his hands down my side, bunching the wet fabric of my sweater. His fingers find the clinging hem at my waist, fumbling for a moment in their urgency.
Then they’re underneath.
The shock of his warm palm pressing flat against the damp skin of my lower back tears a gasp from my throat. My whole body arches into his touch.
His fingers splay wide, learning the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine. Every point of contact is a brand of pure heat that obliterates everything but this desperate need.
We break our kiss for a ragged, mutual gasp for air. Our foreheads press together, eyes squeezed shut, chests heaving against each other, breaths mingling hot in the small space between our faces. His hand stays firmly on my back, a scorching brand amid the chaos.
Driven by an overwhelming need to feel him, all of him, I lift my head fractionally, sliding my hands down the soaked cotton of his black T-shirt. Urgency makes my fingers clumsy, but I grasp the wet hem at his side, tugging upwards.
A low growl rumbles through his chest, a vibration I feel as much as hear.
His hands leave my back to help. It’s a clumsy tangle of urgent, uncoordinated movements, our efforts hampered by wet fabric and trembling fingers. Together, we finally wrestle the T-shirt up and over his head.
He tosses it blindly aside. It lands with a wet slap against the glass enclosure behind us.
His skin is fire beneath my palms as I flatten them against his chest. His breathing turns harsh, his head tilting back as if absorbing the shock of the contact.
His gaze drops to mine.
Burning.
Possessive.
All-consuming.
His hands find the hem of my waterlogged sweater and pull it rapidly upward. I lift my arms instinctively, arching my back to help him peel the clinging fabric away. He tosses it aside, a second wet slap of fabric against the glass.
His hands return instantly to the bare skin of my back. His grip is possessive, pulling me flush against him, leaving no room for air. No room for thought.
Skin against skin.
My softer curves press flush against the hard planes of his muscular chest, both slick with water.
Our mouths collide again. This time, it’s a lit match to gasoline, an incendiary heat that burns away the last of my restraint.
My fingers dig into the knotted muscles of his shoulder blades.
Trying to absorb his suffering.
Trying to lose my own.
Our kiss continues, deep and consuming, a frantic exploration until he pulls back fractionally, his breathing harsh.
“Amy...?”
I pull my head back enough to meet his gaze.
His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, still swimming with hurt but now also burning with an undeniable need that mirrors my own.
I hold his gaze, trying to pour all my certainty into that single look. Then, I give an almost imperceptible nod.
His mouth finds mine again, capturing my answering gasp.
One arm slides securely around my back, beneath my shoulders.
Gently, but with undeniable purpose, he lowers me backward.
His other hand plants firmly on the slick tile floor, bracing himself as he guides me down.
I cling to his shoulders, lost in the dizzying slide of his tongue against my own.
He tears his lips from mine, lifting his head to look down at me, chest heaving.
His wet hair is slicked back except for the shorter strands near his temples, falling forward, framing his face.
His body hovers over mine, weight braced on his arms on either side of my shoulders.
His turbulent greens bore into mine. A maelstrom of grief, need, and brazen desire, mirroring the storm raging within me.
A shared surge of urgency overrides everything else.
It’s a clumsy tangle of wet, heavy fabric clinging stubbornly to wet skin.
Slick fingers struggle with resistant fasteners in the awkward confines of the shower floor.
Buttons yield. Zipper slides grudgingly down.
Sodden denim and fleece are pulled, shoved, and kicked away impatiently, pooling somewhere near our feet.
And then, it’s just us.
Breath against breath, the cascading water our only witness. I hold on to him, trembling slightly, overcome by the terrifying yet exhilarating feeling of being laid bare, skin and soul, in the shared devastation of his brokenness.
When he claims my mouth this time, his kiss holds nothing back.
It’s a desperate staking of a claim amidst the ruins of the day, a silent vow that eclipses everything else.
His body follows, lowering slowly, purposefully.
We move together, driven by an urgent need for oblivion, right here in the heart of the storm that brought us both to our knees.
Low, guttural sounds from his throat mingle with my own breathless gasps as his kisses swallow them whole.
His grip on my hips is bruising, holding me here in this shattering present, filling an aching void.
The drumming water is a relentless soundtrack, cocooning us in steam and spray, washing away everything but this uninhibited connection. Every touch, every breath seems laced with the grief and pain, yet paradoxically offers a fierce, almost violent comfort.
A purging.
Erasing boundaries. Absorbing suffering. Finding a desperate refuge.
A desperate escape.
Higher and higher we go until the world fractures into a million points of light. A blinding, shattering release that leaves us utterly spent.
Utterly bare.
Utterly, devastatingly connected in this wreckage.
We lie tangled together, slick skin cooling slightly under the relentless spray of the shower. The sound of the water seems louder now against the sudden stillness. His weight is heavy, solid, grounding. His face is buried against my damp collarbone, his heart hammering a tattoo against my own.
Our breathing eventually slows. Matthew stirs, pushing himself up slightly, shifting his weight off me carefully but remaining poised above me.
He reaches up wearily and twists the shower control.
He looks down at me. His eyes still holding the deep shadows of grief and exhaustion, but that raw hunger has morphed into profound tenderness.
His hand, still shaky, rises to brush a stray strand of hair back from my cheek.
His touch is infinitely gentle against my skin.
He helps me sit up. Then, he gently takes my wrists, guiding my arms upward to loop around his neck.
My forearms rest lightly on his broad, damp shoulders.
He leans forward, wrapping his arms around my back, pulling me into a tight hug against his bare chest. I cling tighter, burying my face for a second against the slick skin of his shoulder.
His face turns into my neck, his lips pressing softly to the sensitive skin just below my ear.
A lingering kiss that pulls my eyelids shut against the electric shiver it sends down my spine.
Matthew rises smoothly, drawing me up with him until we stand facing each other.
He reaches for the large towel hanging on a hook nearby.
My palms slide to his chest. He lifts the towel to my soaked hair.
As his fingers gently work the terrycloth against my scalp, tingles trail in their wake.
He gathers my long strands and carefully squeezes the water out.
Using just a corner of the towel, he gently blots the droplets from my face.
Over my eyelids.
Across my lips.
My breath catches when he drops to his knees.
His head bows for a moment before looking up at me, his eyes shining with unmistakable gratitude.
He takes the bottom edge of the towel. Starting at my ankles, he begins to draw the thick fabric upward.
His gaze follows the path of the towel, focused, intense.
Over my calves.
Over my knees.
When he glides it over my thighs and higher over my hips, a soft gasp escapes me.
My knees buckle, my hands coming up to grip his damp shoulders for balance.
His hands falter. His eyes lift, meeting mine for a charged second before he rises slowly to his full height.
The towel continues upward over my stomach, my breasts, my collarbone, finally reaching my neck.
He gently dries the skin there, then uses the corner again to softly dry beneath my eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I didn’t even realize had fallen.
He just looks at me. His eyes convey everything words cannot.
He breaks the intense gaze, running the towel briskly over his own hair and body before letting it drop to the floor.
He ducks his head slightly, sliding one strong arm beneath my knees, the other wrapping securely around my back.
He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, cradling me against his chest. I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face against the curve of his shoulder.
He carries me out of the steamy bathroom, steps steady across the plush carpet. Toward his bed.
Not the guest room.
His own bed.
He lowers me gently onto the cool, soft sheets of the unmade mattress. Its yielding softness is a welcome relief after the hard tiles. He reaches for the heavy duvet and draws it up over me, carefully tucking it around my body.
A weary sigh escapes him, a sound that seems to come from his very soul, and he sinks onto the mattress beside me. He lies on his side, facing me. His eyes hold mine. In their depths, I see it all.
The shared trauma.
The raw vulnerability.
The fragile, undeniable connection forged between us in the storm.
Wordlessly, he pulls me gently against his side, his arm settling protectively around my waist. My head finds the hollow of his shoulder. I feel the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, a calming rhythm syncing with my own slowing pulse in the quiet darkness.
Absolute exhaustion takes over.
I drift off to sleep, held in the arms of the man who met my fractured soul with his. And in this collision, began to make me whole.