CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Grace
It was only when we entered the loft that everything hit me: watching Roger and Troy getting gunned down in front of me, Cristiano kidnapping me, and my subsequent abduction by Ric, Elliot’s betrayal and his bloody end, and, finally, Ric’s mind games. There was no amnesia this time to delay the horrific events of those last twenty-four hours that hit me full-force. The emotional toll drained my energy. I stumbled a few steps at the threshold, feeling lightheaded.
My body began moving without me moving it. Matt had wrapped his arms around me and guided me to the couch.
He sat me down and crouched in front of me, concern written all over his face.
“Sit still. I’ll get you something to drink,” he said. Halfway toward the kitchen, he paused, and turned back to me. “Have you eaten anything?”
“Just that energy bar one of the deputies handed me,” I replied. My stomach was in knots. “Water is fine.” For now, at least.
Matt regarded me with grim contemplation before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with a fruit yogurt cup and water.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Try a couple of bites. You might find your appetite,” he coaxed. He sat down beside me and pulled the foil top off the yogurt. He dipped a spoon in it and held it in front of my mouth.
“I can feed myself,” I protested, trying to grab the yogurt and spoon from him, but he kept them out of reach.
“Let me do this,” his voice scraped like gravel. “Please.”
I relented and I was surprised that after the first few bites of blueberry yogurt, my stomach settled better.
“I’m sorry I lost it in the car,” he said after I’d finished eating.
I tensed, waiting for him to say more.
His slate-blue eyes were intent. “We don’t have to talk about what happened tonight.”
“But you want to.”
A muscle ticked his jaw. “Yes. I was being unreasonable though. You’ve been through so much, and the last thing I should do is pressure you into telling me what had gone down with The Reaper.”
“You weren’t being unreasonable,” I said quietly. “Sometimes it’s better to rip off the Band-Aid.”
“Babe,” he said gently. “I was being unfair at least. You’re the one who that motherfucker terrorized …”
“It’s just as hard for those left wondering,” I countered. “Matt, I get you, and I thought …” I inhaled raggedly and shuddered. Ric carving on my skin was nothing compared to that one memory I numbed myself to, but if I could move forward from this, I had to tell Matt.
“Grace?”
Matt’s face was etched in tense, expectant lines, his eyes were warm and encouraging, albeit alert.
“He did things to me,” I whispered, meeting Matt’s gaze, but he remained remarkably stoic. And the words started flowing. I told him everything from the time I stabbed Ric and escaped him the first time, to when Elliot betrayed me.
“That son of a bitch,” Matt hissed. I stopped talking and he cracked his neck to one side as if to relieve some tension. “Please continue.”
After I told him how Elliot got killed, I stopped, not knowing how to tell Matt about what happened next.
He sensed my hesitation and carefully took my hand. “Hey… you okay?”
“I was covered in Elliot’s blood,” I said in monotone, my eyes were unseeing, my mind lost in a scene like a movie reel. “I felt detached after that.”
“You were in shock,” Matt reminded me.
“Ric brought me into the shower.” I ignored my husband’s strangled growl. It was now or never. If he looked at me differently after this, then so be it. “He stripped me.” My chest was splintering and my eyes burned. “His hands were all over my skin and I …” Matt’s grip tightened around my hand. “I didn’t fight him. I let him do as he pleased.” I looked at my husband then, and his eyes were ablaze with cold fury, his mouth flat. “Say something, Matt.”
He visibly swallowed. “He touched you?”
“Yes,” I admitted. I wasn’t prepared for Matt suddenly jumping to his feet.
“Matt?” I started, pushing up from the couch.
He walked right up to the wall by the bedroom, hauled back, and punched a hole through the drywall.
“Matt!” I shouted just as he let loose and hit the wall again. I grabbed him around his waist, but he spun around. He gripped my shoulders and backed me against the wall. Trapping me with his body, he buried his face between my neck and shoulder, breathing heavily.
“I failed you,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Please don’t blame yourself,” I begged. “As long as you won’t look at me differently, we can get through this.”
He stared at me in confusion. “Look at you differently? What are you talking about?”
I glanced away, but he cupped my cheek gently and tipped my chin so I was looking up at him.
“Gypsy, I love you so much, it hurts,” he said huskily. “Did you think some sick bastard is going to change the way I feel for you?”
“There was no penetration,” I rushed on, needing to make that clear. “He touched me between my legs, but that’s it, I swear,” I started to ramble.
Matt held a finger to my lips. “Hush, babe,” he murmured soothingly. “You, back in my arms, are all that matters now.”
“I felt like he’d tainted me.”
Matt crushed me to him again. “Never think that,” he growled. “How could you think my feelings for you are that shallow?”
A twinge of guilt pricked my chest for having doubted my husband. It might have taken Matt a while to figure out his feelings for me, but once he said he was all in, he meant it. I inhaled the essence of his skin. He smelled faintly of sweat, expensive scotch, and gun powder. All man. I felt safe again, but more than that, I needed to find out if my experience had damaged me in some way.
“I want you to fuck me,” I whispered.
Matt froze, raising his head and narrowing his eyes at me. “It’s too soon, Grace. Don’t force this. I was an asshole earlier. Let’s take this one day …”
“Don’t let him take this from us, baby,” I said softly. “I want to know only your touch. Take his away. Please.”
I knew my plea struck a deep chord inside him when resolve hardened his eyes. He nodded, reaching past me to open the bedroom door. Matt swept me up in his arms and carried me into the en suite bathroom. He lowered me on the counter space between the two sinks, his arms caging me on either side.
There was burning possession in his gaze as he locked eyes with me. “I’m hanging on by a thread here, Grace. I may not be gentle.”
“I don’t want you to be gentle,” I replied.
“If you change your mind just say no. I’ll stop.”
“I need you to reclaim me, Matt,” I begged. “Mark me as yours …”
I gasped when he slammed his lips on mine. I clung to his shirt as his body pushed me back while his hands continued to grip the counter. Our teeth clashed viciously, and his tongue ruthlessly demanded every response from me. My shoes fell to the floor while he pulled my sweats off as well as my shirt.
“What is this?” He growled, staring at the mirror. “He marked your skin?”
“What does it say?” I asked nervously.
“It’s an ‘Il’ and a small letter ‘m’.”
“Il mio something maybe.” I instantly regretted my speculation for a feral look came over Matt’s face.
“In the shower,” he barked, and I obeyed.
He got in behind me, extending his arm to turn on all jets. The hot water scoured my skin in a cleansing mist. When Matt cupped my breasts, I stilled, suddenly feeling chilled. Shit. Maybe it was too soon.
“It’s me, gypsy,” he whispered in my ear as if sensing my withdrawal. “Just me.” He squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples. I could feel his restraint and his hardness. His cock pressed at the small of my back. “Remember when I made you come in the shower?” I whimpered at the memory. “Think of that, babe.” He turned my neck so he could kiss me, and as he devoured my lips, he palmed my left breast while he lowered his right hand and fucked me with his fingers. Pleasure flamed deep in my belly, growing steadily. My mind couldn’t think past my husband’s fierce possession. He never stopped kissing me, swallowing my moans of ecstasy as I fell apart in his arms. As the shudders of my release left me, I lost Matt’s fingers and the shower turned off. He quickly toweled me dry and carried me out of the bathroom.
“Can’t risk you slipping on the tiles,” he muttered as more than two hundred pounds of pure man stretched on top of me. He lowered his head to feast on my breast, sucking the tip before swirling his tongue around the dusky nipple. He grew increasingly urgent, letting go of my boob and moving lower, kissing my belly button and then lower still.
My fingers dug into his hair. “Matt …” I moaned in desperate anticipation. He nudged my legs apart and dove right into my drenched core. He flicked my clit and ran his tongue up and down my slit. He drove me to my second orgasm, more intense than the first. Without waiting for me to come down, he climbed up my body, pushed my thighs further apart and slammed inside me.
“Only I get to taste you,” he growled as he pounded hard inside me. “Only I get to fuck you. Get me?”
“Yes,” I gasped, my body arching as he reached between us to finger my swollen bundle of nerves, triggering a less intense, but longer climax.
“Mine, Grace. You’re fucking mine.” And as I pulsed around him, I felt him swell and grow harder. He was close. His pumping turned erratic. “So sweet, so goddamned sweet.” His arms propping him up started to shake. I clenched around him and he let out a strangled groan as he shoved himself all the way inside me and came. Hot, jets of semen filled me. Matt didn’t stop thrusting and continued to pump until I milked every last drop from him.
“Mine,” he whispered before he collapsed beside me and dragged me on top of him.
Warmth and security blanketed around me. My husband had reclaimed me in every way.