22. I Want To See You #2
“Show me the damn photo, Matt.” The words scrape out, sharper than I intend.
He hands me the polaroid, his hand trembling. My blood runs cold as the image registers. My stomach lurches, bile burning the back of my throat.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, horror crashing over me. “He watched us.”
I fling the photo onto the couch like it burns my skin, nausea twisting inside me. My legs move before I can think, pacing hard across the room.
Matt is on his feet in an instant, close but not crowding, his eyes brimming with guilt and fury. “Talk to me.”
“He fucking watched us?” The words rip out of me, jagged and broken—my entire body trembling with the violation.
Matt nods once, slow and heavy, grief carved into his features. “Yes.”
“Jesus.” My lungs shudder, chest heaving. “I can’t—I feel so violated. He watched the first time you—”
“I know.” His voice cracks as he steps closer. “I’m so sorry, Melina. I promise you, we’ll make him pay for this.”
A dark, humiliating thought slices through the haze. I freeze mid-step, turning sharply toward him. “Wait—when everyone was crowded around, looking at those pictures… did the guys see this one?”
His face falls, shame flashing hard. “Not all of them,” he admits. “At first, I only saw Harper’s photo, and I fucking lost it. Threw the rest at Bishop and went after the bastard. But… Bishop and Steele saw it.” He drags a hand down his face, gutted. “No one else. I swear.”
My breath stutters, the intrusion clawing deeper. “It’s okay.”
“No,” he cuts in, closing the distance in two strides. “It’s not fucking okay.” His hand clamps around my jaw, tilting my face to his, eyes searing into mine. “No one else sees you like that, do you hear me? No one.”
His grip gentles, thumb brushing my cheek, but his voice is still a growl. “This—” his gaze drops, scorching down my body before snapping back “—this is mine. Only mine.”
Tears burn at the raw intensity in his words. My throat tightens as I nod, arms sliding around his waist to hold him close.
“Only you,” I whisper, pressing my face into his chest—safe, claimed, his.
***
I wake up wrapped around Matt, our bodies tangled in sheets, arms and legs entwined. Morning sunlight filters softly through the curtains, painting him in a golden glow. I burrow closer, savoring his warmth—until his phone buzzes sharply on the nightstand.
He groans, reaching over with lazy reluctance, voice rough with sleep. “Mason.”
Steele’s voice crackles faintly on the other end. Matt sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there. Thanks, Steele.”
He hangs up with a heavy sigh.
I trail a fingertip gently over the discoloration shadowing his cheek, barely touching, afraid of hurting him. He tilts into my hand, pressing a soft kiss into my palm.
“Does it hurt?” I ask quietly, worry softening my tone.
“A little,” he admits, meeting my gaze.
I lean in and brush my lips against the bruise, tender as a whisper. When I pull back, I search his face.
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “See? All better.”
“What’s going on?” I murmur, touching his arm.
“Steele’s got a lead,” he mutters, exhaustion dragging at his words. “My relief will be here in ten minutes.”
“You hardly slept,” I frown.
“I know.” He sighs, stretching, muscles flexing beneath his skin. “But this could be important.”
He leans down, kissing my forehead. “I’m going to take a quick shower if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” I grin, a teasing spark in my tone. “I’d join you, but then you definitely wouldn’t be leaving in ten minutes.”
His chuckle rumbles low, eyes darkening with heat. “Facts. But hot shower sex?” His smile turns wicked. “That’s definitely on the agenda.”
He stands, padding toward the bathroom, and I watch him for a moment, appreciating the view, before slipping out of bed myself. I wander into the kitchen, deciding to throw something together for him to take on the road. He’ll need the energy after last night.
I connect my phone to Alexa and queue up some classic ’90s pop—Backstreet Boys, obviously.
Way better than *NSYNC. Within seconds, “Everybody” is thumping through the speakers, and I’m dancing around the kitchen, grinning as I whip up a bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich.
I wrap it in foil, pour his coffee into a travel mug, and set everything on the counter, still swaying to the beat.
I’m so caught up in belting lyrics and shaking my ass that I don’t notice Matt in the doorway until I spin mid-song and freeze.
He leans casually against the frame, freshly showered, dark hair damp and perfectly tousled. A fitted black tee clings to his chest, while his gray basketball shorts hang low on his hips. Barefoot, relaxed, dripping raw sex appeal. My mouth goes dry instantly.
His mouth curves into a smirk, amusement sparking in his expression. “Don’t stop on my account.
Heat floods my cheeks. I grab the nearest dish towel and chuck it at him, laughing. “Shut up, Matty.”.
He strides into the kitchen, catching me in his arms and crushing me to him. His lips find mine in a deep, lingering kiss that leaves me dizzy. When he finally pulls back, he studies my face with quiet intensity.
“I like seeing you this way,” he murmurs.
“What?” I ask with a soft laugh. “Dancing around like an idiot?”
“Happy,” he says simply.
My heart melts. Smiling, I press a gentle kiss to his mouth before slipping from his arms to grab the sandwich I wrapped and the travel mug waiting on the counter.
“What’s this?” he asks, his expression lighting as I hand them over.
“Breakfast,” I tease with a sly smirk. “Figured you might need some sustenance after last night.”
His grin spreads wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I certainly do. Thank you.”