Page 32 of Saving Grace
I stripped out of my clothes and examined my body. The bruises had become a hideouspurple-blue on my rib cage, but I was glad no ribs were broken. Sighing, I grabbed a silicone bandage from the bag the hospital sent home with me. I fixed it firmly over the suture site on my thigh. I still wasn’t sure what caused that particular injury. The doctor indicated that some sharp debris had sliced into me.
I shivered in my nakedness but also at my close call. Whatever got my leg could have easily taken a fatal trajectory, like my jugular. I would have bled to death in an instant.
I was seized with the reminder of my mortality that somehow mocked my fear of recalling my night with Matt. Why deprive myself of the memory of mind-blowing sex even with how badly it ended? I opened my mind to more and indeed the erotic fragment was just lying underneath the surface, and I willed myself to set it free.
Hands grabbing my hips from behind, he plunged deeply inside me, his cock stretching my pussy to painful, yet pleasurable depths. And then he folded over me.
“I’m going to pound the fuck out of this cunt,” Matt growled in my ear. His need was palpable, and it made me feel euphoric. The man was crazed for me.
I gripped the edges of the sink as I felt wetness gush between my thighs.
I was alive—banged up, but alive.
I let go of the counter. Eyes staring at my reflection, I trailed my right hand up my torso and squeezed a breast. I let out a short laugh at how my existential crisis shifted to something primal like sex. The steam from the shower fogged up the mirror.
I squeezed my thighs together as my core pulsed with need. I was going to do this. I stepped into the shower and grabbed the soap, lathering my skin, gliding sensually down my curves and allowing myself to relive that night. A hand pressed down my pubic bone as I inhaled sharply and bit my lip, before cupping my sex and finding myself slick.
Oh yes, I was horny. Funny how I remembered all things elemental to sex. I was about to dip a finger into my entrance when the shower door flew open to reveal a furious Matt.
“What the hell are you doing?” he roared. I gawked at him, still frozen with a hand between my legs and the other on a breast. He stood there, shirtless, all sweaty with rippling muscles. The urge to jump his bones and do bad things with him was unbearable. I swallowed perceptibly.
“Need help?” He smirked as he took in the positioning of my hands. Brows that had previously been drawn in anger were now raised in sexy amusement. His hair was mussed up and damp, as if he’d been running and dragging his fingers through it.
“You’re letting the steam out. Shut the door,” I snapped when I finally found my voice. Regret lanced through me as he did as I ordered.
I finally got unstuck and leaned against the tiles, feeling my cheeks burn in embarrassment at being caught. Then I noticed his hazy form through the shower door. He was undressing.
“What are you doing?” I screeched his earlier question back at him.
The glass door opened, and he stepped in naked as if it was the most natural thing for him to get into the shower with me.
“Helping you out,” he muttered before dragging me gingerly toward him. Before I could protest, his lips caught mine. His tongue demanded entry and, when I yielded, he invaded with no hesitation. I whimpered while he growled softly and kissed me languorously, teasing me in slow stabbing bursts. I gripped his arms, and, God, he was hard. Everything about him was hard.
He turned me around, molding my back to his front and I felt his erection against the curve of my spine. His hand didn’t waste any time seeking the part of me that ached for his touch.
“You’re killing me, babe,” he groaned as I arched against him. Two fingers plunged into my slick channel, while his thumb massaged my clit that was coiled for release. He turned my chin gently, lowering his head to kiss me just as I moaned into his mouth with my shuddering climax. I felt, rather than heard the growl rumble from his chest as he clenched me to him until the remnants of my orgasm ebbed away.
He quickly put me away, grabbed the shampoo and proceeded to wash my hair. Uh, what? I couldn’t help the disappointment that washed over me. What happened to shower sex? Didn’t he want me to return the favor?
“Your timing is terrible,” he mumbled, after he’d lathered and rinsed me down. I noticed after I’d come, he tried his best to keep his obvious erection from touching any part of my body. “Go get ready, babe. We’ll have company in twenty minutes.”
“What?”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead and whispered, “Go.”
*****
Elliot Holden, the man before me, looked strangely familiar, but I wasn’t sure if it was my psyche forcingme to regain my memory. I’d expected a man who’d easily blend into the trenches of the criminal underworld. I was way off mark. Elliot reminded me of an Ivy League graduate and former frat boy. His expensive-looking suit was a far cry from Matt’s faded jeans and thermal Henley. My boss had brown eyes and styled his brown hair carefully. He looked more like a lawyer than a DEA task force chief.
The three of us gathered in Matt’s office. I sat in Matt’s chair behind the desk, while he was perched nonchalantly on its edge. Elliot was sitting in one of the two chairs in front of the table.
“You don’t remember what happened at the airport?” My boss enunciated his question as if he was convincing himself.
“She doesn’t remember much. Period,” Matt responded for me.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Foster.”
“I won’t have you harassing her.”