Chapter 23 – Analyse
Chapter Twenty-Three
ANALYSE
We’re still wrapped around each other, clutching like the world might come undone if we loosen our grip.
Mateo’s face is buried in the crook of my neck, his breathing uneven, his tears soaking into my skin.
His hands are fisted in the back of my shirt like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart again. I hold him tighter.
There’s nothing I can say that would touch the depth of what he just shared—of what he’s carried. So I stay quiet, letting the silence speak for me. Letting my presence say: You’re not alone anymore.
Eventually, the tremble in his body fades. His breathing begins to steady, still a little raw but no longer unraveling. When he finally lifts his head, the look in his eyes nearly undoes me. Red-rimmed. Shining. But soft. So soft it makes my heart ache.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he murmurs, voice thick with leftover grief. “But being here with you…it’s the first time I’ve felt like I might be okay again.”
My heart swells and shatters at once. I press my forehead to his, noses brushing, our breaths tangling in the quiet space between us. Then I kiss him.
It’s gentle, tender, like we’re both afraid of breaking the fragile thread tethering us together.
But as his lips move against mine, I feel it shift.
The kiss deepens, grows warmer. His hand cradles my cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath my eye.
Like he’s memorizing me by feel. Like he needs this, needs me, to stay grounded.
When my fingers drift under the hem of his shirt, I pause, giving him the chance to stop me. He doesn’t. He lifts his arms, wordlessly letting me peel the fabric away.
Under the soft wash of moonlight, he looks unreal—broad shoulders, lean muscle. But it’s not just his body. It’s the look in his eyes, like I’m touching a part of him no one’s been allowed near in years.
“I don’t know if I deserve this,” he whispers, eyes searching mine.
I shake my head, threading my fingers through his hair. “You deserve everything good in this world.”
I pull him down to me again, and our mouths meet with more urgency. More need. It’s no longer gentle…it’s greedy, hungry. We kiss like we have lost time to make up for. Like we might never get another chance.
His hands move under my shirt, calloused palms sweeping over my bare skin, dragging a gasp from my lips. I arch into him, needing him closer, needing to feel all of him, all at once.
“Are you sure?” he rasps, voice shaking slightly.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I whisper.
Clothes fall away, slow and deliberate, piece by piece until nothing separates us. My body hums with anticipation, every nerve ending alive under his touch. His gaze drags over me like a caress.
“God,” he breathes. “You’re unreal.”
His weight settles over me, warm steady. I spread my thighs, and he nestles between them, his skin burning against mine. He groans softly at the contact, forehead pressing to mine.
“This okay?” he asks, breath ragged.
“More than okay,” I whisper. “Please.”
He reaches between us, lining himself up, and slides into me slowly. I gasp, my body arching as he fills me completely. He’s thick, warm, and overwhelming, and I feel everything. He stays still, forehead still against mine, waiting for me to adjust.
“You feel like home,” he whispers, and the words hit harder than anything else tonight.
I wrap my legs around his waist and roll my hips, urging him to move. “So do you.”
He begins to thrust, deep and unhurried, his strokes deliberate, like he’s trying to carve himself into my soul. I clutch at his back, fingers digging into his skin.
“Mateo,” I moan. “Yes. Just like that.”
He groans, his rhythm deepening, his mouth trailing down my throat to my collarbone, then lower. His tongue circles my nipple, sucking gently, and I cry out, hips lifting into his. Every part of me feels on fire. Needy and trembling and alive.
“You feel incredible,” he pants. “You—God, Lyse—you’re everything.”
My nails scrape down his back, hips rising to meet every thrust, our bodies locked in rhythm. His hand fines the place where we’re joined, thumb circling my clit in time with his movements. The pleasure builds, hot and unbearable.
“I’m gonna, oh God, Mateo, I’m gonna come.”
“Come for me,” he groans. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
And I do. I shatter around him, my whole body locking up as waves of pleasure crash through me. I cry out his name, clutching him tighter, the orgasm ripping through me like a storm. I don’t come down gently. I fall hard, breath stolen, vision blurred.
He follows seconds later, thrusts turning erratic, hips stuttering. His voice breaks as he groans into my neck, his release crashing into him. I feel him pulse inside me, his entire body trembling with the force of it.
We collapse into each other, chests heaving, sweat cooling between our skin. His head drops to my shoulder. My fingers trace his spine, lazy and tender, trying to memorize the moment. The weight of him, the warmth, the safety. Neither of us speaks for a while.
Then, softly, he murmurs, “I didn’t think I could ever feel like this again.”
I smile, brushing back the damp hair from his forehead. “You can. You do. With me.”
He shifts onto his side, pulling me with him, keeping me tucked tightly against his chest. Our legs tangle. His hand rests on my waist, thumb rubbing slow, aimless circles.
“I never planned for any of this,” he says, voice low. “But you…you’re the best thing I never saw coming.”
Tears sting my eyes again, this time for a different reason. “You’ve got me,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Completely.”
By the time the sun rises, the world outside looks like a snow globe. Thick flurries are still falling, blanketing the rooftops and trees in white. Everything is still and soft, the kind of morning that makes you want to stay in bed all day. But Maya has other plans.
“SNOW DAY!” she shrieks, bounding into our room with mismatched socks and a sparkly unicorn sweater that’s three sizes too big.
Mateo groans beside me, lifting one arm dramatically over his face. “What time is it?”
“Time to play in the snow!” Maya answers cheerfully, tugging at the covers. “Come on! Come on!”
He peeks out from under his arms. “Don’t you want pancakes first?”
Maya pauses. “Okay, but snow after.”
I sit up, laughing. “Deal.”
An hour later, pancakes have been devoured. Cocoa mugs are empty. Maya has dressed herself in no less than four layers of clothes, insisting it’s her “snow armor.” Mateo is pulling on his boots at the front door while I zip Maya’s puffy pink coat.
“Do we have enough gloves?” I ask, checking the tote by the door.
Mateo lifts one of Maya’s sparkly mittens. “One glove only.”
“Sorry, Mami!” Maya says with a grin.
We finally manage to get out the door, bundled head to toe. The snow is deep, up to Maya’s knees in some places, and still falling gently. The whole neighborhood is hushed beneath the weight of winter, but there’s a buzz of life in the town square. Everyone in this town loves a good snowstorm.
“Where to first?” I ask,
“SLEDS!” Maya squeals.
Mateo slaps his glove against his palm. “To the hill it is.”
Lake City’s park has been transformed into a winter playground.
Kids are running wild, their squeals echoing against the buildings.
Someone’s set up a temporary sledding hill using hay bales and packed snow.
A small group is building an igloo near the gazebo, and there’s even a hot cocoa stand staffed by the high school drama club.
Maya clutches her sled to her chest. “Come on, come one!” she says, already running ahead.
We take turns going down the hill with her.
First me, then Mateo, then all three of us in a tangled, laughing heap.
At one point, Mateo pretends to fall off and flops backward dramatically into a snowbank.
Maya throws herself on top of him and announces she’s conquered the Fire Knight of Snow Valley.
“I yield,” Mateo says, eyes closed. “The Queen of Chaos has won.”
Snowflakes dust his eyelashes. He looks up at me, grinning. My chest aches a little with how beautiful this moment is.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as we gather our sleds, the vibration sharp against the softness of the day. I slip off one glove just long enough to glance at the screen.
Nico
When can I see her? She deserves to know her dad. Don’t drag this out.
My stomach twists. I lock the phone without answering, shove it deep into my coat, and paste on a smile. Not now. Not here.
Mateo grabs my sled in one hand, my mittened fingers in the other. Maya is already skipping ahead toward the square, cocoa on her mind, and I let myself follow.
Later that afternoon, we wander through the heart of the town, hand in hand, our boots crunching through the thick snow.
The gazebo at the town square glows under a canopy of string lights, soft yellow bulbs twinkling against the pale sky like trapped stars.
A local band plays classic holiday tunes with a jazzy twist—saxophones humming, a stand-up bass keeping time, and the gentle clink of tambourine bells keeping rhythm with the snowflakes that continue to drift lazily down.
Maya runs ahead, her tiny boots kicking up powder as she twirls beneath the lights like the snow itself is music. She’s got a cup of cocoa in one mittened hand and the other thrown dramatically in the air as she spins in wild, clumsy circles.
Mateo slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. His body is warm against mine, even through our thick coats.
“She’s happy,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving Maya.
I watch her, too, feeling the weight of it. The ease, the freedom, the laughter. It wraps around us like a blanket.
I nod, my own smile soft. “She’s safe. She’s loved.”