Chapter 13

Matt

Norval finally leaves to check on Ian and yell at him about keeping secrets just as we get to the Bay Area, and it's a damn relief. He's been lecturing me for the past two hours, while Dylan put on his noise-cancelling headphones and went back to work. Being scolded by a ghost while trapped in an enclosed space is only slightly better than being scolded by a ghost at the gas station while I'm trying to pay for gas and there are four people in line behind me.

I drop Dylan off at his car, which is thankfully still where he left it—though there are three parking tickets on the windshield—and travel the three blocks to his place. There's a visitor parking spot that I privately think of as mine, though I'm sure the building's other residents would probably dispute that.

He pulls in less than five minutes later and parks in his spot, then we grab his bags and head up to his apartment.

The lights are on in the kitchen and his office, and I stop dead only a step inside the front door. Is someone here? Fuck, I wish I had my weapons. They even stole the leather cuffs that armor my wrists.

"What's wrong?" Dylan asks, squeezing past me, and I grab his arm and put a finger to my lips.

"The lights are on," I murmur, so softly it's barely audible.

For a second, he looks confused, but then comprehension dawns and a wry smile takes over his face. "Yeah, you idiot. Because when I found out you were in the hospital, I dropped everything and ran for it. Fuck the lights." He winces. "Though I'm not looking forward to the electricity bill."

I blink at him. He… "Did you secure your workstation?"

Scoffing, he drags me away from the door so he can close it. "Of course I did. I was freaked out and reacting, not dead."

If it was anyone else, I'd say that puts me in my place, but I know how Dylan is about securing his workstation. He locks it down even if he's just going to the bathroom or to get a snack. Once, when he had food poisoning, he delayed precious seconds getting to the bathroom just so he could secure it. There was vomit spattered across the tile, but he still maintained it was necessary. For him to not lock it down when leaving the apartment for an unknown amount of time, he would have to be… well, dead.

He left the lights on, though. I guess he really does love me.

Abruptly, I grab the duffel from his hand and drop it. "Put that down." I gesture to his laptop bag. I'm not stupid enough to touch it, not after just escaping from the hospital. The last thing I want is to end up back there.

"What?" He cooperates, though, and I tow him toward the bedroom.

"We're officially a couple, we're alive, I'm fully healed, it's been nearly three weeks since we've been alone together, and if we're lucky, we have about an hour before Norval gets back. I'm gonna sex you up so good."

He laughs, but suddenly I'm no longer towing him—he's towing me. "Oh, you are, huh? Think an hour is gonna be long enough for us to celebrate your new lease on life?"

Huh. "No. Got any salt?" It'll mean another lecture later, but sex with Dylan is totally worth it.

"Not enough to keep Norval out of the whole apartment," he says regretfully. "I'm running low. So let's not waste time." He flips on the bedroom light, kicks off his shoes, and gets naked in record time.

Yesssss . I take a little longer to strip, distracted by the sight of his beautiful body. Even though he spends most of his day sitting at a desk, Dyl takes his hunter training seriously and stays in shape. Not as good shape as me, but then I have to actually fight the demons.

"Hurry up," he says, stroking his cock as he lies back on the bed. The covers are already on the floor—I must have missed that while I was thinking about how beautiful he is. "I've been all pent up for weeks , Matty. It's not like I was going to get myself off while you were in a coma."

"Aww, you really love me," I tease, kicking away my pants and striding toward him. "That should be a question in those magazine relationship quizzes: Do you think he'd jerk himself while you're in a coma? If yes, dump him."

He laughs and pulls me down for a kiss. "You're so weird. Please don't ever—" He stops, and I try not to flinch. We both know I can't promise not to get hurt again. My job makes that impossible.

I don't know what to say that could make this moment better, so I kiss him again, harder, trying to put all my feelings into it. I need him to know that I'll always do everything I can to come home to him.

It only takes a few seconds for me to forget about my job and the coma and get lost in everything that's Dylan. His mouth is hot and greedy, and his hands are everywhere, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Suddenly, I don't care that my dick is achingly hard and desperate to get inside him—right now, the urge to worship him is stronger than anything.

I start with his neck, laying kisses down the side and then along his collarbone, pausing to lick his Adam's apple for no reason other than to taste his skin. It bobs under my tongue, and his breathing picks up.

Next, I work my way down the center of his chest, taking my time and lavishing attention everywhere. By the time I reach his nipples, he's already starting to squirm.

"Matty," he whines. "C'mon. It's been forever."

I lick his left nipple, then blow on it. It's already hard, but the shiver that racks him is like a stroke directly to my cock. I love seeing him react to me. Love that I can do this to him.

"Patience is a virtue," I murmur, going in for the next lick.

His combination laugh/groan makes his chest vibrate under my mouth. "Please. We both know I have more patience than you."

I glance up at his face with a smirk. "Prove it."

Conflict plays out in his expression. He's horny and wants me to fuck him but saying that would mean admitting he doesn't have as much patience as me. Which, honestly, isn't true—I'm usually the one who can barely wait.

Finally, he huffs and drops his head back on the pillow. "Fine. Take your time. You're not going to win."

Smiling, I nip his nipple and make him cry out. "Pretty sure we're both going to win in the end."

I probably shouldn't have taunted him, because Dylan takes that as a challenge, and suddenly his hands are on me, one stroking across my shoulders and the back of my neck, the other buried in my hair, directing me… controlling me.

And then he starts with the words of encouragement. "Mhm, Matty… again. Yeah. Just like that." His voice has gone low and husky. "You know how much I like nipple play. Remember that time you made me come this way? Bet you can't do that again."

This shouldn't be as hot as it is, but I love when Dyl decides to be mouthy in bed.

I ramp up my efforts, teasing the sensitive buds on his chest until he's whimpering, his hips thrusting frantically against me… which is when I stop and sit upright, pulling away from his grasping hands.

It takes him a second to comprehend the sudden lack of stimulation. His eyes open, pupils blown. He's beautiful, his lips wet and parted as he pants, color high on his cheekbones.

"I'm going to pass on that bet," I say, sounding a little rusty already, and I haven't even put my throat to work yet. "I have something else in mind."

He glares. "I'd hate you if I didn't love you so much."

I blow him a kiss. "Love you too, boo." I bend again, but not to his nipples. My target this time is a lot lower.

His cock is hard and pulsing, the dampness at the head testament to how close he was to coming. I lick it away, enjoying the bitter salt tang, and he exhales explosively. "Still want me to play with your nipples?" I ask, my mouth moving against the silk-over-steel of his dick.

"I swear to god, Matt, if you don't?—"

I choose that moment to wrap my lips around him and slide down his shaft the way I have a million times before. The size and shape of him is so familiar, the sensation of him in my mouth like coming home. His hand comes back to tangle in my hair, his low keening sound music to my ears. He won't last long, not after how close I brought him, but that's okay. We have all night.

Forever.

I pull back, then take him deeper, the head of his cock pressing past my tonsils and into my throat. The muscles of his thighs tense, so I hold for a five count, the thrill of having the man I love tremble for me greater than any other high could be, then slowly draw back again, maintaining a tight seal.

His breath hitches.

I press my tongue to the sensitive spot below the head, and he explodes, hips arching up, a cry torn from his throat.

I swallow as much as I can, and when he collapses back onto the mattress, wrung out and sated, I rest my head on his leg, suddenly understanding Norval. If I'd died after the attack, I would have stuck around as a ghost, too. There's no way I could leave Dylan. No way my soul could go on without him. Even without the amazing sex, there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep him in my life.